Ozarks Missing Person, page 11
A morning spent researching the Powers family confirmed they had indeed reached an unfathomable level of wealthy. The original Tyrone Powers started accumulating the family fortune while working in the lumber industry. He was a logger in his teens, but he plowed every bit of his earnings into buying up land long before the area drew the attention of either conservationists or the US Department of the Interior.
According to an article she found, he’d decided to study the law in order to save on paying attorney’s fees when negotiating contracts or fighting the growing conservation movement.
Her jaw dropped as she uncovered old Tyrone’s involvement in one mind-bogglingly lucrative venture after another. He invested in Oklahoma oil wells, Texas cattle ranching, an investment firm based in Little Rock, and ended up being the personal attorney for a childhood pal who had a hankering to expand his local five-and-dime into a nationwide discount chain.
But, unlike his humble friend, Powers had no qualms about trampling anyone who got in the way of his ambitions.
Still stewing on all she’d read, and fueled with a healthy dose of righteous indignation, Grace prepared for her foray into the PP&W offices with steely-eyed determination.
Tyrone had made certain his sons had become attorneys as well, and he’d established Powers, Powers & Walton with his famous client’s favorite cousin’s kid.
His sons went on to help him amass even more power and prestige. He invested heavily in land development all along what would later become the industrial corridor of northwest Arkansas. After encountering a stubborn homesteader who refused to sell his acreage, Tyrone went through various legal and political back channels to essentially swindle the poor fellow out of the land.
A fact that made her even more keyed up to go toe to toe with them. Or rather, cop to lawyer.
Smoothing her hair flat against her scalp, she coiled the ends into a no-nonsense bun at her nape and thought about how Trey Powers’s grandfather had funded the campaigns of local politicians and eventually gotten his son William elected to state office and later the Senate.
She stepped into the pants that went with the suit her sister referred to as her “extra-basic cop suit” and pulled a plain white blouse with a button-down collar from its hanger. Her sister despaired of this look, but Faith had no idea how basic Grace was willing to be in order to convey the right message. Silks and high-heeled boots were for TV detectives.
The people at PP&W needed to understand she was the real deal.
Grace weighed her options as she surveyed her bag. She’d had the pants altered to make the belt loops large enough to accommodate an equipment belt if needed, but today it would be overkill. The boxy jacket hung loose enough to conceal the holster she wore at the small of her back when walking into a possibly tense situation, but if the meeting was seated, wearing a back holster would not only be extremely uncomfortable, but it would also make accessing her sidearm awkward.
The chances of needing her weapon in a roomful of attorneys were slim, but still, she wanted it on her body. Like the leather case holding her badge and credentials, it was part of the package. A person couldn’t convincingly pull off full-on cop intimidation without carrying a sidearm.
So she opted for her ankle holster.
With the straps secured to her calf, she gave her socks one last tug. After the previous day’s walk through the muck, she’d rinsed off her lug-soled oxfords and shined them up with one of the hotel washcloths. Glancing down at the scuffed toes, she gave a mental shrug. She’d done the best she could.
She reexamined her tote to be sure her cuffs, zip ties, notepad and tablet were in place, then pulled it from the seat of the sofa. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she checked her weapon, bent to insert it into the holster and secured it.
“Ready or not, here I come,” she murmured as she walked out the hotel room door.
* * *
THE LARGE RECEPTION desk at Powers, Powers & Walton had the sort of sleek midcentury-modern design that looked both quintessential and cutting-edge. A young woman wearing a headset sat in the center of the command module answering phones and passing along messages with well-modulated, studiedly unruffled efficiency.
Grace waited until she finished putting a call through. She walked to the desk with her wallet open, flashing her badge and credentials. “Special Agent Grace Reed of the Arkansas State Police Criminal Investigation Division,” she announced. “I’m here to see Trey Powers.”
To her credit, the young woman didn’t look at all fazed by either Grace’s presence or pronouncement. Instead, she simply smiled and said, “One moment, please,” in the same tone she used with the callers she dispatched with such alacrity.
She pressed a single fingertip to the earpiece of her headset. “Mrs. Branson? Special Agent Reed is here to see Mr. Powers.” There was a pause, then the receptionist nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
Rising as smoothly as she spoke, she smiled at Grace. “If you’ll follow me, Special Agent.”
Grace pocketed her credentials and followed the young woman past a glass half wall separating the reception area from an open-plan office space. She eyeballed the series of doors that blocked off private offices at the other end of the space, assuming they’d head that way. Instead, the receptionist drew to a stop beside a set of oversize double doors.
“If you’ll wait in here, please, Special Agent Reed,” she said with a sweet smile. “Can I offer you coffee or tea?”
Grace spied a backlit mini fridge built into the coffee bar setup in the conference room, and a pitcher of water and an arrangement of glasses sat on the table. “No, thank you. Water is fine for me.”
“Please help yourself.”
The young woman disappeared, closing the door after her with a click. Grace gave a soft snort and strolled over to the large oval table dominating the room. A self-deprecating smile tugged at her lips. “So much for fear and intimidation.”
She was about to pour a glass of water when the conference room door opened again.
“Special Agent Reed?” a man in his midfifties asked as he strode through the door. He was followed by another man who appeared to be ten years younger, six inches shorter and markedly rounder.
“I’m Harold Dennis, personal counsel to the Powers family,” the older man announced. “This is my associate, Michelle Fraser.”
Grace glanced back at the door as a woman closed it behind them. “Will Mr. Powers be joining us?”
Mr. Dennis shook his head. “I’m afraid Mr. Powers is in court this morning. His assistant asked we take the meeting with you. How can we be of help?”
He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the tall leather chairs. Grace set her bag down on the table with a heavy thud. “Were either of you in attendance at the crawfish boil Mr. Powers hosted last Friday evening?”
Ms. Fraser shook her head and glanced over at Mr. Dennis, as though he wondered if he’d missed an invitation. He, too, wagged his head, then answered. “No, ma’am.”
“I’m not sure how you plan to be of help to me, then.” Grace picked up her bag and hoisted it onto her shoulder again. “Can you tell me when I might be able to speak to Mr. Powers in person?”
“I don’t handle his scheduling,” Mr. Dennis replied, lifting a mocking brow.
“Fine,” Grace said briskly. “If you’ll point me in the direction of his assistant, I will make an appointment.”
“Special Agent Reed, if you have questions for Mr. Powers, I’d be happy to convey them to him,” Mr. Dennis offered.
“I’d prefer not to use an intermediary,” she replied evenly.
“Perhaps if you were to submit the questions you have for Mr. Powers to me in writing,” the older man continued, “we could clarify the timeline of Friday evening’s festivities and hopefully fill in any blanks.”
Grace offered him a cool smile. “I’ll wait to speak to Mr. Powers in person.”
“Your prerogative.” Dennis inclined his head in a gesture she assumed was supposed to convey deference but somehow felt condescending.
“Ms. Fraser will introduce you to Serena, Mr. Powers’s assistant, to coordinate a meeting when we are all available.”
“Does Mr. Powers have reason to worry about speaking with police without counsel present?”
The older man shrugged and gave what was meant to appear as a helpless smile. “I don’t have the vaguest idea what Mr. Powers worries about.”
Tiring of the cat-and-mouse game, Grace nodded and turned to the other attorney. “If you would make the introduction, I would appreciate it.”
Fifteen minutes later, she breezed past the sleek reception desk and out the doors, her temper simmering. Matthew had been right. It wasn’t going to be easy to get near Trey Powers. But if the guard dogs at PP&W thought she would be put off by the runaround, they were sadly mistaken.
Chapter Ten
Grace Reed knew how to make an entrance, that was for sure. The minute she walked into the prosecuting attorney’s offices, the air felt charged. The low murmur of voices paused for a few noticeable ticks of the clock. For the first time since he’d opened the folder containing a motion he intended to file in one of his cases, Matthew’s concentration broke.
He had only planned to come into the office for a few hours to line things out for Nate, but it was already past noon and he was still up to his elbows in work. Without conscious thought, he rose from his chair as she approached his open door. Her expression might have looked neutral to anyone who hadn’t spent the past two days studying her, but he knew at a glance whatever she had to tell him wasn’t good.
Wordlessly, he gestured to the guest chair across from his desk once she closed the door. “What have you heard?” he asked, suddenly grateful for his own chair as his knees grew wobbly.
“I had a call from the Benton County coroner. The initial indication of blunt-force trauma was correct. Mallory struck or was struck by something.”
“Before or after?”
“Hard to tell the exact timing, because she did aspirate water, but the angle, size and shape of the injury don’t line up with hitting her head on a log or something submerged in the water.”
He fidgeted with the pen he’d left beside a pad of legal paper. “And the angle, size and shape were?”
“It appears to be something wide and flat. The injury was to the side of her skull, behind and above her ear.” She gestured to the general vicinity on her own head. “Not generally consistent with someone hitting their head after they’ve fallen into a body of water.”
“Someone hit her with something,” he concluded.
She raised her hands in a staying motion. “It’s early days.”
He slumped into his chair. “When will they release her?”
“He said probably the end of next week.”
Matthew nodded, his mind instantly shifting to funeral arrangements, because it was far preferable to thinking about his sister’s murder.
“Have you been to her apartment yet?”
Grace’s question jarred him from his thoughts. “What?”
“Have you gone to Eureka Springs to start sorting out Mallory’s belongings?” she repeated, her diction careful.
He shook his head, gestured to his laptop and the pad filled with notes beside him. “No, I was going to call her roommate when I finished this and make sure it was okay to head over there, but I got...drawn in.”
Grace pursed her lips. He knew that look well. Had worked with the police for too long. He wasn’t getting the whole story.
“What? What am I missing?” he demanded.
She uncrossed her legs and sat forward in the chair, her elbows braced on her knees. “I want to be sure I’m clear. You have not been to the apartment Mallory shared with Kelli Simon, correct?”
He raised an eyebrow. The woman would have made a fine prosecutor if she’d been inclined. “I have not,” he stated, matching her concise delivery.
“Someone has,” she said grimly as she pushed back in the chair again. “Ms. Simon called me when I was on my way here. She says she came home for lunch and discovered someone had been in her apartment.”
“Burglary?”
She shook her head. “No electronics or items of value taken.”
He frowned. “What makes her think someone was there?”
“The place had been tossed.”
“Tossed?”
“Someone went through the apartment looking for something.”
He blinked. “Looking for what?”
The thin line of her mouth told him the detective had her guesses but was reluctant to share them with him outright. He tried a different tactic.
“Okay, so far this morning you’ve been told my sister likely died by being struck in the head with something...” He broke off, waiting patiently for her to supply at least a tidbit of information.
“Something smooth and flat,” she said at last.
Matthew swallowed the unexpected rush of emotion that rose when he tried to envision Mallory being struck. He drew a deep breath, then blew it out on a huff.
“Flat and smooth,” he repeated. “I’m going to assume before her body went into the water.”
“You can make that assumption, but we have no way of being certain.”
“And you are also telling me her apartment has been...ransacked?”
“Correct.”
“But what you aren’t saying is you have your suspicions about what they might be looking for, and you don’t want to share them.”
Grace startled. “It’s more I’m debating how best to use the information.”
“Against me?” he asked, incredulous.
“No. Against the person I suspect did this to her.” He was still forming his next question when she raised a hand to stall him. “And no, I have no proof. No way of knowing my suspect had anything to do with an assault that may or may not have taken place, and no grounds to point any fingers.”
Their gazes met and held, both of them all too acutely aware of the impotence of the moment.
“To make matters even more frustrating, I went to the PP&W office this morning.”
His jaw dropped, but he quickly reeled in his surprise. “You did?”
She nodded. “Figured I’d storm the castle.”
“How did it go?” he asked.
“I’ll give you a guess for free,” she said dismissively.
“He wasn’t in.”
Grace touched the end of her nose, pointed to him. “I did get to meet with a man named Harold Dennis, who is apparently the legal counsel to the Powers family, and another attorney named Fraser.”
“Not surprising.” He resisted the urge to remind her he’d told her so, but only because he knew she could hear the subtext.
“I suppose not, but it was worth a try.”
“No way they were going to let that happen.”
She opened her hands. “All I wanted was a simple sit-down with a man who by all accounts was with her the evening of her disappearance.”
“There’s no such thing as a ‘simple sit-down,’ and you couldn’t have been shocked to meet with his attorneys,” Matthew insisted, not fooled for a minute.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t, but I was hoping I’d at least get him in the room with them.”
“You’ll have to come at him with something more than a desire for an informal chat.”
“Right, but a girl can hope”
He frowned as he considered the possible reasons for the nonmeeting. “Fraser? I don’t remember seeing anyone with that name among the associates. Fraser what?”
She shook her head. “Michelle Fraser.”
Realization sent him back in his chair. “Whoa,” he said quietly. “They must be worried.”
Grace startled. “What makes you say so?”
“Michelle Fraser is the only attorney on the PP&W staff who specializes in criminal defense.” He gave his head a bewildered shake. “You say her name three times out there,” he said, pointing to the office beyond his door, “and people run for the holy water.”
Grace nodded as the information sank in. “Interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” He eyed her narrowly. “I wonder what has them scared enough to bring her in this early in the game.”
She hesitated only a moment. Then, leaning forward, she admitted, “I’ve been holding back on something I was thinking might get some traction with him.”
“What’s that?” he asked, perturbed to discover she hadn’t been forthcoming with him, even though he knew it was standard for police to hold some evidence close until they knew it was most useful. “What do you have?”
“Your sister might have been pregnant.”
The air whooshed from him. He had to blink until she came fully back into focus again. “What?”
“Mallory may have believed herself to be pregnant. I’m waiting for confirmation from the coroner’s office, but Ms. Simon found a positive at-home pregnancy test in the trash the weekend Mallory went missing,” she explained. “When I went to her apartment, the box was there with only one positive test wand.”
“Only one?” he asked, his head spinning with the import of this new information.
“It was a two-pack. Women often take multiple tests to be certain.”
“Oh, God. Mal—”
“I’m sorry to put it bluntly, and I’m sorry not to have divulged this information sooner, but your reaction,” she said, pointing to his face, “is the kind of visceral response I want to get from Mr. Powers.”
“Pregnant,” Matthew repeated.
