Page 128 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

This house echoed with memories. He and Mary had built the place—the planning and construction occupied one of the happiest few years in their lives. The couple and Kitt had spent many a weekend here. Along with his brother, Lawrence, and dear Betty.

Joanna too.

Whittaker was staring out the window at the sparkles on the waves. Long Island Sound was a sloppy body of water, at least near the North Shore. Dun-colored and rocky and home to an infestation of horseshoe crabs, perhaps the most space-alien sea creature that ever existed.

“What was it like? Where they kept you?”

“It was their boat. Your old yacht. The one you gave Uncle Lawrence.” He shrugged, suggesting what he’d endured wasn’t that bad. But it would have been. Whittaker knew the conditions would have been nearly unbearable. He would have been chained or somehow restrained. And there’d been the cloud of impending death hanging over him.

The hopelessness he would have felt.

And betrayal.

Kitt and Joanna had never been particularly close—she hewed to her uncle’s and father’s society life, while he had no interest. But, my God, they’d shared dozens of holiday dinners. Spent family vacation time in Curaçao, Saint Martin, Guadalupe, Cap d’Antibes.

“Kitt. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

His son sipped his beer. His lips were parched, and Whittaker boiled with anger again at what his niece and her spineless fiancé had done.

“Your mother …”

He knew that Kitt had not engineered this terrible crime, but that didn’t change the fact that Joanna’s premise was true: Kitt had disappeared from the family because of that terrible day years ago, March 2, when Whittaker had sat in his office and, after agonizing negotiations, signed the purchase deal to buy the TV station chain and had not been in St. Theresa Hospital.

“Go on.”

And he proceeded to confess about the acquisition. Then added, “I’ve only wanted to apologize and beg you to forgive me.”

The young man seemed perplexed. “Because you weren’t at Mother’s bedside?”

Whittaker nodded and felt his eyes fill with tears.

“Youdoknow that she lapsed into unconsciousness a couple of days before she passed. In fact, you were one of the last people to see her awake—that Saturday. You were there all night, holding her hand. The day she died, when I was there, she was asleep. The doctor said she’d never regain consciousness.”

“My God, no. I didn’t know that.”

Kitt offered a pallid laugh. “And to be honest? I wouldn’t’ve wanted you there anyway. What would we have had to talk about? Oh, Father, our lives went in such different directions. I never hated you, resented you. We were just entirely different people.”

“I blamed myself. I neglected you. It was my fault you never had a career. I should have given you guidance.”

“Never had a career?”

“Joanna said you jumped from job to job. Computers, drones, real estate, videography, oil and gas … One thing after another.”

Now the laugh was hearty. “But I have a career and I haveyouto thank for it.”

Averell Whittaker was frowning.

The handsome young man brushed his long hair from his forehead. “The truth, Father? I didn’t respect what you and Uncle Lawrence did. The paper, the TV station? You weren’t … helping people. I went in a different direction.”

“What exactly do you do?”

“I’m CEO of a nonprofit I created. We use drones to look for environmental violations.”

“I never heard about it.”

“I use a different name. Mother’s maiden name.”

“What does it do?”

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