Page 38 of Paternal Instincts
Quaid flashed his credentials. “Detective Quaid Valor with Toronto Police. Dontrel let us up. Do you have a minute?”
Jude didn’t move. He didn’t blink or breathe, but anyone could tell the gears inside his head were spinning so fast they smoked. It was a full three beats before his eyebrows dipped. “What’s going on?”
Quaid entered the room uninvited, and I followed. Jude studied me briefly but didn’t ask for an introduction. Quaid settled in a lone chair on the opposite side of the desk, feigning a relaxed stance.
I remained standing.
Sensing my husband’s desire to play bad cop, I wandered the room and jovially remarked, “This is a nice office. You must be the top dog around here.” I stopped and admired the shiny nameplate on the door, running my finger over the embossed letters forming another man’s name.
Jude didn’t correct or inform me it was Nixon’s office. Quaid had already announced that we knew who he was. Jude smartly waited for us to show our hand or explain ourselves.
His stiff posture and short, shallow breaths said enough. The man was nervous.
“Mr. Marigold, we’re here on a serious matter, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Quaid didn’t wait for Jude to acknowledge or agree. “You work for Nixon Davis, correct?”
Fire blazed in Jude’s pale green eyes. “I don’t workforNixon. We’re equal partners. This isourcompany. I’ll ask you again. What is this about?”
“Apologies.” Quaid shuffled so he could retrieve something from his back pocket. He unfolded a colored photograph and placed it on the desk, turning it to face Jude. “Do you know this boy?”
Jude’s confusion deepened as he glanced from the glossy print to Quaid. I couldn’t read his mind, but his thoughts clearly spun. He touched the photograph, drawing it closer before yanking his hand away like he had been burned. He moved his fingers to the hollow at his throat before lowering them to his lap.
“That’s… That’s Crowley. Nixon’s son. Is he… Is something wrong?” Jude’s lips quivered as he glanced between us, waiting for someone to fill in the blank.
“He’s missing.” Quaid let the information sink in.
I watched every nuance of Jude’s behavior and every shift in his expression, wanting to catch him out. Was the news shocking? Did he already know the kid was gone? Did he take him from the Soccerplex somehow? Meet him outside the camera’s range? Did he send the warning to the Davises because of an inevitable embezzlement charge? Why was he in Nixon’s office on a Saturday?
The questions piled up as the silence expanded.
When neither Quaid nor I spoke, Jude repeated with a croak, “M-missing?”
“Yes,” Quaid said. “Since Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” Jude’s eyes shifted from side to side. Thinking? Looking intothe past?
“He was taken in the vicinity of the Toronto Soccerplex.”
Jude’s throat bobbed before he managed, “The Soccerplex?”
“We have a parrot,” I said sotto voce.
The corner of Quaid’s lips twitched with irritation, so I figured he noticed it too. Constant repetition of questions was a form of distraction often used by guilty suspects to give themselves time to think. They appeared engaged but were merely echoing what you said.
Quaid waited for a beat before leaning forward and tapping the boy’s image. “Crowley Davis, your business partner’s eight-year-old son, was meant to walk himself to a soccer game a few blocks from his house on Tuesday evening. So far as we know, he didn’t arrive. No one has seen him since.”
Jude’s attention moved to the photograph, his brows knitting as perspiration dotted his upper lip. “That’s not possible. On Tuesday? No, Nixon would have told me.” He huffed a sharp laugh. “You’re yanking my chain.” He shoved the picture away. “What is this really about?”
“I assure you, Mr. Marigold.” I paused at the edge of the desk and stared down at the man, using my daunting height to intimidate him. “We have better things to do with our Saturday than yank people’s chains. At least, I do. What about you, Detective Valor?”
“Considering I was supposed to be on leave as of yesterday, that is a resounding yes from me.”
To Jude, I confirmed, “See? No chain yanking. We’re all very serious in this room. Some cooperation would be appreciated.”
Jude swiped one hand over his mouth and picked up the photograph with the other. “Nixon’s been out of the office all week, but I thought…”
“You thought…” Quaid prompted.
“I thought he was avoiding me.” Jude shook his head. “How can this be? He would have told me if his son was… missing.”
