right, Neesha.” Leota Darden patted her friend’s hand, then rearranged herself on the couch. “It all started when she talked to that reporter. I told her she shouldn’t talk to her. I said to her, ‘Sellica—’”
“Jane Ryland, you mean, right? Did you ever meet her?” Jake had to interrupt. Jane had never admitted Sellica was her source. But never said she wasn’t. And if Jane’s story had something to do with Sellica’s murder somehow … Jake’s thumbs flew over his BlackBerry as he continued his questions, looking up at her as he typed. “Mrs. Darden? Did you ever meet Arthur Vick?”
“I most certainly did not,” she said. Her back stiffened. “That man—”
“Ruined Sellica’s life.” Neesha finished the sentence. She turned to Mrs. Darden. “Well, he did, honey. You know he did. But she’s in a better place now.”
With that, Leota Darden lost it. She collapsed onto her friend’s shoulder in a flood of sobbing. Neesha glared at him again.
Can’t you go? she mouthed.
Probably should have questioned her alone. Too late now.
“I’m sorry, no, I can’t,” he said. This sucked. But he had no choice. “Take your time, though. It’s okay, ma’am.”
Jake scanned his BlackBerry screen, letting the women comfort each other, trying to give them some privacy. He scrolled his Google search results into view. Arthur Vick, owner of the Beacon Markets grocery stores, megabucks, big political donor, wife in hiding post-scandal, she was some kind of artist apparently, million-dollar judgment, yadda yadda, Wrong-Guy Ryland. Poor Jane. But it wasn’t so much Jane who was the key. It was Arthur Vick.
“See if L and C”—Jake’s shorthand for Longfellow and Charlestown —“connect with A Vick.” Jake banged out a reminder e-mail to himself, and hit Send. Maybe the other victims worked at grocery stores. He’d have the guys do a photo array at Beacon Markets. Maybe Arthur Vick used his employee files to track down his victims. Possible.
Maybe Arthur Vick’s grocery stores were not the only place the victims worked for him.
“Detective? I’m so sorry.” Leota Darden dabbed her reddened eyes with a shredding tissue. “I know you’re doing your job. I’m better now, thank you.”
“Tea?” Neesha stood, edging between the couch and coffee table. “I’ll go get you tea.”
She did not offer any to Jake.
“Arthur Vick,” Jake said as Neesha left the room. “We were talking about Arthur Vick. Did Sellica mention anyone who was missing? Someone she knew from her—work?”
“You’re thinking of the other Bridge Killer victims? You think they did what she did? No, Sellica never mentioned anything like that. Poor things.” Mrs. Darden leaned back against the softly flowered cushions, closing her eyes for a moment. Then she sat up straight, planted her hands on her hips.
“Detective Brogan. Arthur Vick promised my Sellica she could be in his grocery store commercials. She counted on it, with those other girls, thought it was a way out of the life. All she wanted was what he promised her. He promised her! Then he turned on her. Dragged her into court. And she, she…”
“She fought back by talking to Jane Ryland. Correct?”
One white candle hissed as it sputtered out, a wisp of smoke rising toward the ceiling. Jake leaned forward, needing to hear what would come next.
“Sellica was ordered by a judge not to tell,” Mrs. Darden whispered. “But she did. She did tell. Now she’s dead. Now Arthur Vick is even richer.”
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are…”
Matt tuned out the staticky voice coming from the plane’s public address system. His fingers worried the iPhone in his hand. The flight attendant had caught him using it during takeoff, almost confiscated it. Now he had to wait till the damn plane landed till he could call. He’d already programmed in the number.
Resting his forehead against the
“Jane Ryland, you mean, right? Did you ever meet her?” Jake had to interrupt. Jane had never admitted Sellica was her source. But never said she wasn’t. And if Jane’s story had something to do with Sellica’s murder somehow … Jake’s thumbs flew over his BlackBerry as he continued his questions, looking up at her as he typed. “Mrs. Darden? Did you ever meet Arthur Vick?”
“I most certainly did not,” she said. Her back stiffened. “That man—”
“Ruined Sellica’s life.” Neesha finished the sentence. She turned to Mrs. Darden. “Well, he did, honey. You know he did. But she’s in a better place now.”
With that, Leota Darden lost it. She collapsed onto her friend’s shoulder in a flood of sobbing. Neesha glared at him again.
Can’t you go? she mouthed.
Probably should have questioned her alone. Too late now.
“I’m sorry, no, I can’t,” he said. This sucked. But he had no choice. “Take your time, though. It’s okay, ma’am.”
Jake scanned his BlackBerry screen, letting the women comfort each other, trying to give them some privacy. He scrolled his Google search results into view. Arthur Vick, owner of the Beacon Markets grocery stores, megabucks, big political donor, wife in hiding post-scandal, she was some kind of artist apparently, million-dollar judgment, yadda yadda, Wrong-Guy Ryland. Poor Jane. But it wasn’t so much Jane who was the key. It was Arthur Vick.
“See if L and C”—Jake’s shorthand for Longfellow and Charlestown —“connect with A Vick.” Jake banged out a reminder e-mail to himself, and hit Send. Maybe the other victims worked at grocery stores. He’d have the guys do a photo array at Beacon Markets. Maybe Arthur Vick used his employee files to track down his victims. Possible.
Maybe Arthur Vick’s grocery stores were not the only place the victims worked for him.
“Detective? I’m so sorry.” Leota Darden dabbed her reddened eyes with a shredding tissue. “I know you’re doing your job. I’m better now, thank you.”
“Tea?” Neesha stood, edging between the couch and coffee table. “I’ll go get you tea.”
She did not offer any to Jake.
“Arthur Vick,” Jake said as Neesha left the room. “We were talking about Arthur Vick. Did Sellica mention anyone who was missing? Someone she knew from her—work?”
“You’re thinking of the other Bridge Killer victims? You think they did what she did? No, Sellica never mentioned anything like that. Poor things.” Mrs. Darden leaned back against the softly flowered cushions, closing her eyes for a moment. Then she sat up straight, planted her hands on her hips.
“Detective Brogan. Arthur Vick promised my Sellica she could be in his grocery store commercials. She counted on it, with those other girls, thought it was a way out of the life. All she wanted was what he promised her. He promised her! Then he turned on her. Dragged her into court. And she, she…”
“She fought back by talking to Jane Ryland. Correct?”
One white candle hissed as it sputtered out, a wisp of smoke rising toward the ceiling. Jake leaned forward, needing to hear what would come next.
“Sellica was ordered by a judge not to tell,” Mrs. Darden whispered. “But she did. She did tell. Now she’s dead. Now Arthur Vick is even richer.”
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are…”
Matt tuned out the staticky voice coming from the plane’s public address system. His fingers worried the iPhone in his hand. The flight attendant had caught him using it during takeoff, almost confiscated it. Now he had to wait till the damn plane landed till he could call. He’d already programmed in the number.
Resting his forehead against the
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