“I’m sorry,” Ellery said. “I’m sure they have their reasons.”
“It’s my fault, you know.” He snapped his mouth shut, his jaw tight.
“What’s your fault?”
“All of it.” He stared straight ahead as the white lights came up on his wife. “Teresa didn’t want a child, not at first. I wore her down. Hell, I practically begged her. I promised her it would be different this time.” He swallowed visibly. “She loves Chloe, with every cell of her being. I’m sure of it. But she was so afraid. And now look where we are.”
“You didn’t know this would happen,” Dorie said.
“I didn’t know it wouldn’t,” he shot back, his voice raw with pain. “That’s what I didn’t see, what I wouldn’t admit. Teresa knew it.” He made a fist and pounded it lightly on the chair. “This monster is punishing the wrong person.”
“Mr. Lockhart,” Ellery said. “We need to talk to you in private.”
He turned hawklike eyes on her. “Is it Chloe? You know something?”
Ellery kept her tone neutral. “Is there someplace we can go?”
“My study.” He led them down the hall to his private office, taking care to shut the heavy wooden door behind them. “What is it?” he asked, his expression anxious. “Please don’t keep me in suspense here.”
“What can you tell us about Stephen Wintour?” Ellery asked.
“Stephen? We work at the same firm. We’ve been friends for two decades now. He’s as upset about Chloe as anyone.”
“He and Chloe are close, then?”
“He was at her christening. He brings her little treats whenever he comes to dinner—costume jewelry, markers, that sort of thing. He plays piano, so they’ve done duets together for fun sometimes. He’s like an uncle to her, I guess you could say.”
A funny uncle, Ellery thought. “Does he have her cell phone number?”
“I wouldn’t think so, but maybe. She might have called him at some point.”
“What if he called her?” Dorie broke in pointedly. “Would that be a normal occurrence?”
“Why are you asking me all of this? I don’t understand.”
“Chloe told some of her friends that an older man was ‘creeping on her,’ to use their words about it. She said it was one of your friends. A lawyer.” Ellery watched him for a reaction. His expression turned incredulous.
“That’s impossible and frankly disgusting. Stephen dates women—adult women. His interest in children is purely avuncular. He organizes charity drives for Boston Children’s Hospital. He takes kids from the Boys and Girls Club to Red Sox and Celtics games.”
“He spends a lot of time with kids, does he?” Ellery asked.
“You make it sound sick. Stephen helps these kids. He—he betters their lives.”
“He may have asked your twelve-year-old for a nudie pic,” Dorie said.
“Prove it,” Lockhart said harshly. “Show me the text if you have it.”
“It wasn’t in the material covered by our warrant,” Ellery said.
“I don’t believe it then.” He went to the window and peered out at the pink flowers. “Stephen would never hurt Chloe.”
“That’s good. That’s what we’re hoping for.” Ellery took a step closer to him. In her pocket, her cell phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw a text from Conroy: Wintour was arrested in Cambridge in 1989 for kidnapping a minor female. No charges brought. Claimed misunderstanding, but he agreed to move out of the building. It was his landlady’s daughter. “Mr. Lockhart,” she said as she tucked the phone away again, “Stephen Wintour was arrested once for kidnapping a girl. Did you know that?”
He whirled from the window. “What?”
“The charges were dropped. My guess is that she and her parents didn’t want to endure a trial. They just wanted him gone, and he agreed to move.”
“When was this?”
“Back in 1989.”
“Stephen would have been in law school then. Lots of students move around.”
“Mr. Lockhart,” Dorie said, but he held up his hands.
“Stop! Enough. You can’t be telling me it’s Stephen. You can’t be telling me I let the wolf through the gate.”
“We don’t know,” Ellery replied steadily. “But we need to find out. You can help us.”
He eyed her, wary. “How?”
“He’s not going to let us through his front door, but he would let you in. You can look around and ask him about Chloe.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Right. I just ask my friend if he’s been sexting my preteen daughter? Maybe I demand to check his closets to see if he’s hiding her in there?”
The girl in the closet. Ellery’s flesh rippled under her clothes. Her skin went clammy and her vision started to swim. “I … you?” Her throat tightened and she couldn’t think. Her brain buzzed an alarm that told her to run. Go, go, go.
Dorie’s hand appeared on her arm, gripping her. “We understand your skepticism,” she said. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe Stephen Wintour is a kindly man with the best intentions toward kids, including Chloe. But your wife is out there sweating bullets under the cameras, debasing herself on live TV in the hopes of getting your daughter back. I’d like to think you could at least ask your friend a few questions.”
Ellery released a slow, shuddering breath. Lockhart squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. “What is it you want me to do?” he asked finally.
“Ask to visit Wintour’s home. We will equip you with a wire ahead of time to record your conversation. Ask him generally if he has any idea of where Chloe is or who might have taken her. His answers could be revealing. Then, we’d like you to bluff him a little bit.”
Lockhart thinned his lips. “Stephen’s the poker player. Not me.”
“Good,” Dorie said without missing a beat. “Then he’ll believe you.”
“What is the bluff?”
“We’d like you to say that you’ve found a diary of Chloe’s, and that she wrote he asked her to send him photos of herself.”
“You want me to lie.”
“If he didn’t do it, then it doesn’t matter,” Dorie replied.
“I don’t understand,” he said, holding out his hands in imploring fashion. “If you suspect him, can’t you go in there and ask these questions yourselves?”
Ellery’s thoughts snapped back like a rubber band. “We don’t have enough evidence yet for a warrant,” she said, righting herself. “If we go in hard, he’s liable to clam up and refuse to speak to us. That doesn’t help us get any closer to Chloe.”
He bowed his head, his eyes on his smooth mahogany desk. “You really think he could have done this,” he whispered.
“I think we need to find out, and fast.” The room fell silent and nobody moved. An antique wall clock conveniently ticked out the passing seconds as Lockhart struggled with their request.
“Okay,” he relented at last. “I’ll do it.”