Rob muttered, “I’ll tell you one thing. We’ve been sitting here talking in his front yard long enough.” He started the SUV’s engine and they pulled around and headed slowly back down the road.
“We need to learn everything we can about Berkle,” Adam said. “Including his old truck-driving route.”
Rob shook his head, but he didn’t argue.
* * * * *
Constantine House looked as though someone had picked up an antebellum mansion and plopped it down in the middle of the forest. A large, stately white structure with tall columns, sweeping verandas, and enormous windows, the house nonetheless looked odd, almost grotesque in its setting of pine trees and snowy mountains.
But then what could you expect from a guy who wore fringed buckskin in public?
“That’s a lot of house,” Adam commented, zipping up his jacket against the cold wind blowing down from the mountains.
“Yeah, it is,” Rob said. “Buck built it for Mary. She only got to live there for a couple of years.” He grimaced. “Cancer. It was pretty hard on the boys.”
“Buck too, I imagine?”
“Sure. Of course.” Rob eyed Adam consideringly. “Do me a favor and try to be a more tactful with the Constantines than you were with Berkle, okay? I like my job. I want to keep it.”
Adam said evenly, “It’s a murder investigation, Rob. Getting at the truth isn’t always tactful.”
Maybe it was the chilly breeze that brought pink to Rob’s cheeks. Maybe it was something else. He said, “That’s true. However, this is still my—our—investigation. You’re here in a support capacity, remember? So I’ll decide when and if we’re untactful.”
That was pointed enough. Adam nodded. Rob nodded back. They went up the wide white steps in silence. Rob rang the doorbell.
After a moment or two, the double doors swung soundlessly open. Adam was expecting a liveried butler, or at the least, a housekeeper. But Buck Constantine stood before them, clad in a blue smoking jacket and leather slippers. He was not smoking. He did carry what looked like a martini glass. And that seemed incongruous with both the mountainous and antebellum backdrops.
“Rob.” Buck’s surprise was evident. He glanced at Adam. “And…sorry, I forget your name.”
“This is Agent Darling,” Rob said. “May we come in, Buck?”
“Of course.” Buck stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. “We heard the Joseph girl was found. How’s she doing? Has she been questioned?”
“She’s undergoing medical treatment right now,” Rob said. “We hope to question her shortly.”
“I can only imagine what that poor kid has been through. We can talk in the library.” Buck led the way through a ridiculously grand hall—marble floors, a high ceiling with decorative panels and cove molding, and three life-sized family portraits—to a formal study. Or, according to Buck, his library, although there weren’t any books as far as Adam could tell.
The study was furnished in dark wood and green velvet. Somber paintings of Native Americans adorned the walls, though Adam thought most of the paintings featured Plains Indians and Eastern Woodland tribes, and not the indigenous peoples of Southern Oregon.
“Can I get you two something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?” He held up his martini glass. “I don’t usually start drinking this early, but it’s been a stressful week for all of us.”
“No thanks,” Rob said. “Is Bill home?”
Buck raised his silver brows. “Billy? No. Why?”
“We have a couple of routine questions to ask, that’s all.”
Adam said, “Mr. Constantine, were you aware of the relationship between your son and Tiffany Joseph?”
Though he felt the irritation in Rob’s gaze, Adam’s focus was on Buck as he tried to interpret those myriad, fleeting micro expressions. Not surprise. Not fear. Not anger… something. Disgust? Contempt? A strong and definite emotion, which was instantly suppressed.
“No. I didn’t. Because there isn’t one.”
Rob removed his glare from Adam’s profile and turned his attention to Buck. “Are you sure about that? We have reason to believe—”
“Absolutely not,” Buck said. “There was no relationship there. She’s a kid. Billy is a-a man.”
“A young man. And she’s a pretty girl. He used to tutor her in biology,” Rob pointed out.
“He’s tutored half the teenagers in Nearby. That doesn’t mean there was ever anything inappropriate going on.”
Buck’s tone was casual, even humorous, as though the idea were totally ridiculous. Surely the first and most likely problem Cynthia Joseph would have with any romantic connection between her daughter and Bill would be that he was too old.
Would a seventeen-year-old girl agree? Adam thought of Bridget. Not all victims were unwilling.
“No, of course not,” Rob was saying.
“Billy is a genius when it comes to science. I don’t know where he gets it from. Not from me, not from his mother. Dan never showed any interest in science.”
“I know,” Rob said. “I remember when he won that scholarship to Oregon Health and Science.”
“Exactly. He enjoys that kind of thing. Tutoring. He would have made a good teacher.”
“Does Bill have a girlfriend?” Adam asked.
At the same time Rob suggested, “But maybe Tiffany had a crush on Bill?”
“No,” Buck said, and Adam wasn’t sure if he was answering Rob or himself.
Back off was the message in Rob’s hard brown gaze. Was he overstepping? Yes, probably. This was the difficult mix of personal and professional. As easy-going and laidback as Rob was off the clock, he was still a cop, and a good one, and he didn’t need or want Adam trying to do his job for him.
Adam offered an apologetic look and swallowed his next question. Rob said, “When are you expecting Bill home?”
“He doesn’t work regular hours. He goes in when they need him.”
“Right. Will you let him know we’d like to speak to him when he’s got a moment?”
Buck nodded. He looked unhappy and wary.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Rob said.
Rob slammed the SUV door hard and said, “What part of this is my investigation do you not get, Darling?”
“I agree. I was overzealous,” Adam said.
“That’s big of you.” Rob jammed the key in the ignition. The engine roared into irritable life.
Rob did seem uncharacteristically pissed off. Even so, Adam couldn’t help asking, “What’s the big secret regarding Bill Constantine?”
Rob’s frowned deepened. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s obvious there’s something going on, some piece of information that you’re all aware of but no one discusses openly. A scholarship he apparently didn’t utilize, an expected career path he didn’t follow, a part-time job nobody wants to talk about.”
Rob stared. “Jesus. I’m starting to think you’re a fucking robot.”
The depth of his anger bewildered Adam, flustered him a little. He couldn’t see the reason for it.
Rob said, “This is the difference between the way government polices, and the way real people police each other. I live here. I care about these people. They’re my neighbors and my friends. Unlike you, I don’t get to pack up and leave when it’s all over. I have to stay here. Live with their pain and their loss and their grief. And I don’t want to add to that, if I don’t have to. Can you understand that?”
“Of course I understand that.”
“We don’t have to trample everyone under our hobnail boots.”
“Hobnail…”
“We don’t have to march in like it’s martial law and treat everyone like a suspect.”
Adam opened his mouth and Rob cut in, “And even if everyone is a suspect, one thing I do know, even if I’m not in the FBI, is that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Stung, Adam said, “That’s great if you’re trying to catch flies. We’re trying to catch a killer.”
“Funny.” Rob’s eyes were cold. “I’ll tell you what the big secret is about Bill Constantine. After his mom died, he had a breakdown. Or whatever the proper medical term is for it. He dropped out of college, lost his scholarship, and was hospitalized for a while. And now he’s working a shit menial job because the alternative is sitting home all day watching his old man get potted. Okay? I know you were hoping for something a lot deeper and darker. The kid has problems, and most people are sorry for him. Most people get the fact that we all have our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities.” Rob was glaring as he finished, “We can’t all be high powered hot shot special agents for the government!”