Page 118 of Nobody's Fool

“Victoria Belmond vanishes,” Debbie says. “You’re the only one who sees her in eleven years.”

“We all figured it would go nowhere,” Gary adds.

“Even me, to be honest,” Debbie says.

The hospital room is far too warm and clammy, but I still feel the chill. “So?”

“So the last case before you left the force was the murder at Farnwood, an estate owned by the Burkett family.”

“Right.”

And even before Polly says it, I flash back to my conversation with Thomas Belmond, to what he told me about driving his sister to that New Year’s Eve party.

“I drove Vic to that party. She and one of her friends—Caroline, I think…”

Caroline…

Polly is nodding as though she can read my mind. “Victoria Belmond’s best friend in high school,” she says, “was Caroline Burkett.”

I will skip the part where my doctors remind me that I had promised not to leave the hospital again if they gave me permission to go to Victoria Belmond’s funeral.

Marty rushes me to Farnwood, the uber-opulent Burkett estate made notorious by the murder that the entire world witnessed. There is an old man at the gate. He scowls at us, but he hits the button. Thegate creaks open so slowly it’s hard to see it move with the naked eye. We head up the drive, past a tennis court, past a soccer pitch. The house itself is a nineteenth-century English country home with Gothic elements like gargoyles and mullioned windows. It is built with Elizabethan red brick, perfectly symmetrical with turreted Tudor-style wings.

Standing there, dead center as though working the symmetrical lines, is the formidable figure of Judith Burkett. She is nearly eighty, but she still commands your attention. Her posture is ramrod pure, her head high. You can sense her elegance and charisma because she has both in droves, but I know that it’s all in the pursuit of evil. When we stop, she moves toward the car as though she is on a runway. She smiles at me. The glamour is still there. Her eyes are still steely.

“Mr. Kierce,” she says, stressing the wordmisterbecause last time we met, she knew me asDetective, and she undeniably wants to rub my downfall in my face. “Delighted to see you again.”

She holds out her hand, and I hesitantly shake it. She senses my discomfort, so she tightens her grip and makes me be the one to pull away. I want to say something or do something, including punching an old woman in the face, but I need information from her.

Marty gets out of the car too. He was the one who set up this meeting. He seemed surprised that Judith Burkett agreed to see me. I was not. Some people avoid confrontation. Some relish it. I’d figured that she wouldn’t be able to resist.

Judith Burkett smiles at Marty and says, “Detective McGreggor, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am. I want to slap him.

“I’d like you to wait down by the gate, please.”

She dismisses Marty with a nod and gestures for me to follow her. We head inside the foyer. You expect the décor to be antique-y, andwhile it is lavish enough to reflect the family’s wealth and former status, there are a lot of modern touches in the carpeting and upholstery. We stop in front of the enormous family portrait—Judith, her husband Joseph, and their four children—Andrew, Joe, Caroline, and Neil. Everyone is looking forward except for Andrew because when the painting was created, he was already dead. Now Joseph Senior is dead. Joe Junior too is dead. Shot in Central Park. Judith stops and stares up at the portrait and waits for me to speak.

“I would like to talk to Caroline,” I say.

“Caroline,” she replies, “isn’t here.”

“When will she be home?”

Still staring at the portrait, Judith smiles. “I can’t say for sure, I’m afraid. But not soon.” She finally turns away from the portrait. “I’m told you want information on Victoria Belmond. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Such a tragedy. The poor girl survives such a long, cruel ordeal only to get caught in street fire meant for someone else.” She tsk-tsks. “Our families used to be very close. Did you know that?”

“I knew Caroline and Victoria were friends.”

“Best friends,” Judith adds.

She smiles again. It kills me that so many died or were made sick to pay for this grand house and this tacky portrait—that this odious woman is allowed to enjoy these lavish grounds and breathe this fine air and smile like she is doing right now.

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