“Poor choice of words. Blame it on the late night. The worry about you. Oh, and throw in the fact that my sister took off, my nephew in tow, for parts unknown last night, and yeah, I’m probably lacking a bit of my usual finesse. Give me twelve hours of sleep and this case solved, and I’ll do better.”
Her temper dissipated as quickly as it had flared. “You don’t know where they went?”
He gave her a tight smile. “The workings of my sister’s mind have long been a mystery. She resents me, has since we were kids, really.” He rolled his shoulders, looked away. “Can’t say I blame her. I was the football star, the one the parents were always bragging on. She was five years younger and had to fight just to get noticed. It . . . shaped her, I guess. By the time she was a teen, she was searching for more and more outrageous ways to get their attention. And she got it, all negative.” His expression turned guilty. “I was in college by then, but my folks still attended the games. It was a vicious cycle for her.”
She contemplated him, glad for not the first time that she’d never had siblings. “She wouldn’t have gone to see your parents?”
He shook his head, picked up a pen from his desk, and clicked it. “They died within a few months of each other about seven years ago. They never knew Tucker.” An unwilling smile tugged at his lips. “They would have loved Tuck. He’s a great kid. Anyway.” He set the pen down again. It began a slow roll to the edge of his desk. “I’ve got someone working to track her down. Kristin still has custody; there’s not much to do about her leaving. I just want to make sure they’re okay.”
“I hope you find them,” she said softly. Seemed like both of them had been through an emotional wringer in the last eighteen hours or so. And likely that’s what had elicited his unexpected declaration. The thought should have made her feel better. Somehow it didn’t.
He reached out to nab the pen before it fell to the floor as a knock sounded at the door. It pushed open a ways and Darrell appeared. He held a piece of paper out toward Risa. “I haven’t found anything yet for tonight, but here’s a couple hotels not too far from here that would have a room starting tomorrow.”
“Wow. You work fast.” She got up to take it from him.
“I know a gal who’s a travel agent. I’ll keep you posted if something else turns up. Also . . .” His gaze encompassed her and Nate. “They just showed someone to interview two. A Sergeant Walter Eggers. I was told you wanted to see him.”
“Thanks, Darrell.”
When he’d withdrawn, Risa sent a frown to Nate. “Why do we want to see him?”
“Because we’ve got an ID on ‘Johnny’ from the video.” Nate rose, picking up a notebook that was sitting on the corner of his desk from this morning. “And he just happens to be a Philadelphia police detective.”
Adrenaline kicked through her veins. Had her beating Nate to the door. “Then Darrell was right. We definitely want to see him.”
Walt Eggers sat motionless in the chair, his hands on his lap. Alarm was doing a fast skitter up his spine, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. He knew how these things worked. He’d been on the other side of the table more times than he could recall. There might be someone behind the mirrored glass on the far side of the room. Somebody else monitoring the video recording from that camera secured above the door. And McGuire himself would be watching for nervous tics. Telltale body language. Convince the cops you had nothing to hide and you were halfway home.
Except that he hadn’t expected to end up in a formal interview. He swallowed convulsively. Best-case scenario, he’d hoped to maybe waltz in here, talk to McGuire cop-to-cop. Answer any questions he had as truthfully as possible while still lying his ass off on pertinent details. Get a slap on the back for his cooperation.
His palms were damp. He resisted the urge to wipe them on the front of his pants. Anyone reviewing the tape would take that as a sign of nerves for sure. So he wouldn’t offer to shake hands. Problem solved.
Every problem could be solved if a person had the brains.