They all piled into an unmarked white van and drove to Back Bay, where Wintour kept a condo in one of the old brownstones. They parked about one block away next to a similar building to Wintour’s. Dorie looked out the window at the three-story brick structure with its iron railings and arched windows. “What do you think a place like this goes for? A million? Maybe two?”
“Five and a half,” Lockhart said, his gaze trained on the floorboards.
Reed could almost feel Conroy’s sphincter tighten at the thought of all that money coming down on BPD. The captain coughed and opened the back door of the van. “Remember, keep it casual. You’re here to get comfort from an old friend.”
“I don’t feel at all friendly.” Lockhart climbed out and walked down the street to Wintour’s place. “I hope you can hear me,” he said, glancing back as he mounted the steps to the front door. His voice crackled loudly through the speakers, and the officer at the wheel flashed his headlights once in acknowledgment. Lockhart rang the bell, and a few moments later Stephen Wintour appeared to let him in. He did not sound like a man with a terrible secret.
“Martin, good to see you. How are you holding up?”
“It’s hard. Harder still on Teresa.”
“I saw her on TV today, the poor thing. She said she’d been an awful, selfish mother, and I don’t mind telling you, I yelled back at her on the screen that it’s not true. She’s wonderful to Chloe.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Wintour became harder to hear as they moved into a larger room, someplace with high, echoing ceilings. “The police … no leads at all?” he asked. Their footsteps continued into a room with better acoustics. Reed heard the creak of a leather sofa as Martin took a seat.
“They have nothing so far. It’s hell, the waiting. I feel useless, impotent. I want to go door-to-door searching for her.”
Wintour gave an uneasy laugh. “Well, she’s not here. You can cross this place straight off your list.”
“I keep wondering, you know, where he’s keeping her. The photo doesn’t offer any clues.”
“Someplace private, I guess. Jesus, Martin, I hate to say it, but she could be anywhere by now.”
“Where, do you think?”
“Me? What I think?” Wintour was taken aback.
“Sure. If you were him, where would you go?”
“I don’t know. I guess if I’d planned this, I’d have a room already arranged. Somewhere remote—a cabin, maybe. Or a hidden, soundproof room.”
“Like an escape room.”
“Sure,” Wintour replied, sounding uncomfortable. “Like that.”
There was a moment of silence, and Reed could feel Lockhart thinking. “You have one of those, as I recall,” he said at length.
“It came with the house. Thankfully, I haven’t had cause to use it—knock on wood.” Reed heard three quick raps on a wooden surface. “I damn sure haven’t stored any kids in there.”
Reed met Ellery’s gaze, and she obviously heard the same odd tension in Wintour’s voice. Goose pimples broke out over Reed’s forearms, despite the hot conditions in the back of the van. He shifted closer to the speaker.
“Can I see it?” Lockhart must have detected something off in Wintour’s reply as well. His tone had hardened.
“What, now?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Martin, I realize you must be going out of your mind, but you can’t believe I’ve got Chloe here.”
A pause. “No, no. Of course not. It’s just, with everything, I wonder if maybe I should get one of those rooms myself, you know? For when Chloe comes back. Teresa would appreciate the extra security, I’m sure.”
Everyone in the van held their breath. Dorie cracked her knuckles in the silence.
“Maybe another time,” Wintour said. “When Chloe’s back. I’ll have you all over for dinner and give you the grand tour.”
“Sure, okay.”
“You want anything? Coffee, tea—vodka? I’d be tempted to drink myself blind in your position.”
“You have any of that scotch we drank for Allan’s retirement?”
“Ah, now you’re talking.” The sounds of glasses clinking came over the transmission.
“Stephen, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“The police are probably going to want to talk to you about Chloe.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.” Wintour was trying for breezy, and he almost pulled it off.
“No, I mean we found out Chloe kept a diary. Your name is in it.”
They heard the sound of a glass hitting the table. “My name? Why?”
“She said—I’m sure they’ve got this wrong, but she said you texted her and asked her to send you pictures.”
“No, that can’t be right.” He paused. “I mean, maybe I asked her to send me a picture of a selfie we took together. That could be true.”
“Sure, right.” Lockhart cleared his throat. “Except this wasn’t that kind of picture, if you understand what I’m saying.”
“I think I do. And you’re wrong.”
“Look, I’m not saying anything about it. The police have their suspicions. You know how they can twist things, how they see ulterior motives everywhere. They think the worst of everyone.”
“You’d have to, in that job. But Martin, I never—and I mean never—asked Chloe to do anything inappropriate. I remember now. I once asked her to send me a picture of her from our trip to the Cape last summer. She had that cute one on the rocks, remember?”
“The one in her bathing suit.”
“Yes,” Wintour replied with relief. “You see? Totally aboveboard.”
“Right. I see.” There was another stretch of silence. “I just wanted to ask one thing, though. How did you get her number?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Her cell number. Teresa’s pretty strict about Chloe giving that out.”
“I don’t really recall. I’m sure she must have called me at some point. Maybe one of those times when you asked me to give her a ride? All these questions. Martin … I feel like you suspect me of something here.”
“Hell, my kid is missing. My little girl. I suspect the mailman right now.”
“I understand. You must be going crazy.” They heard a ring tone followed by some rustling. Wintour spoke. “I’m sorry, Martin, but I have to take this call. I’ll just be a few minutes. Help yourself to the scotch.”
Reed heard retreating footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing. After that, Lockhart rose from wherever he’d been sitting and started walking the room. His footsteps were fast, his breathing erratic. “What’s he doing?” Reed whispered to the others.
They heard him opening and closing drawers and closets. “No, no,” Conroy said. “Nothing out of plain sight. He can’t be going through the house without permission.”
“We should get him out of there,” Reed replied.
“How?” Ellery asked. “Anything we do now tips off Wintour.”