When they exited the freeway onto Hollywood Boulevard, she was startled to see the streets already festooned with holiday decorations beginning to sway, now, in the winds that heralded the storms imminent arrival. Christmas had seemed a long way off in San Diego-or maybe shed just been too preoccupied with her own troubles to notice.
The first raindrops smacked onto the windshield as they turned onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard where, thankfully, most of the traffic seemed to be going the other way, as residents of the Valley headed for the entertainment centers in Hollywood and Los Angeles. Even armed with a Mapquest printout and with Lindsey helping to search for house numbers, they drove past the address the first time and had to go up to Mulholland Drive to turn around. But at last they pulled into the miniscule driveway in front of a street-level garage tucked up against the steep side of the canyon.
Alan turned off the motor, and for a few minutes they sat, not talking, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine, the patter of rain on the roof of the car, and the swish of cars passing by on the street behind them, neither of them, apparently, quite ready to face what lay ahead. Lindsey watched Alans fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel, then looked over at him. Silhouetted intermittently against the headlights, his profile seemed tenseeven grim.
Whats wrong? she asked after a moment. What arent you telling me?
He shook his head but didnt reply.
Alan? Unexpectedly, her voice had begun to tremble. Okay, youd better tell me why were here, because Im not getting out of this car until you do. You told me this man is a private investigator who once looked into the case of that couple missing from Baltimore. You said he might have some details, be able to fill in some blanks.
Thats true.
What else?
He turned to look at her, finally, and his eyes seemed intent in the half-light. Didnt you wonder why he was looking into the couples disappearance? What his interest was?
She shook her head, not understanding-quite-but beginning to. I didnt-I guess it didnt-I just thought
He let out an exasperated breath. Lindsey, this guys name is James Holt Kincaid. He paused while she took that in, and when he went on, his voice was gentler. He was looking into the disappearance because James and Karen McKinney were his parents. Another pause. He was five years old when they went missing.
Lindsey stared at him. She didnt say anything because she couldnt. Couldnt speak, couldnt even seem to breathe. She felt cold-with shock, perhaps-then slowly began to shiver, but with anger, not cold. She swallowed once while he waited patiently, then again, fighting for control. After several moments she managed to say quietly, You think this is Jimmy, dont you?
He wouldnt look at her. Staring at the windshield, he gave a cautious shrug. Its a possibility. Or, it could be a coincidence. Jimmys a pretty common name.
The initial shock of the bombshell was wearing off, and the full implications of what hed told her were sinking in. Which would make him my brother, if everything else youve told me is true. She pausedwaited. Willing him to look at her. At last she said thickly, When were you going to tell me?
He didnt answerstill wouldnt look at her. Rage buffeted her, echoing the gusts of wind that now were slamming into the car. She lifted a hand and clenched it into a fist, wishing it was in her to actually hit him with it. Instead, she let it fall limp into her lap and drew a sobbing breath. When, Alan? Were you going to tell me?
He gave himself a little shake, and his voice, when it came, was gruff. I wasnt sure. I wanted to get your impressions of the man, without any interferencefrom emotions. Im sorry. I guess I just couldnt do it. He threw her a look she couldnt read in the dim light and yanked at the door handle. One things for sure. We arent going to find those answers sitting here. Lets go talk to Mr. Kincaid.
What could she do? Still shaken, still furious, battered by emotions she didnt know how to deal with-I have a brother? Oh, my God, Can it be true? I have a brother!-Lindsey opened her door and stepped out into the wind and spattering rain.
There was an iron gate to the right of the garage. When they approached it, a floodlight came on. Alan pressed a button beside an intercom box and spoke into it, giving their names. A moment later the gate slid open to admit them, then creaked shut behind them. As Lindsey followed Alan up zigzagging stone steps, above their heads the wind lashed trailing branches of eucalyptus trees so huge and old their tops were lost in the darkness and rain. The air was pungent with their scent.
When she looked up, trying to make out her surroundings through the rain, she saw that someone was waiting for them on the wooden deck at the top of the stairs. A man, bareheaded in the storm, wearing a long-sleeved dark pullover, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. Her legs weakened; she stumbled, and instantly Alan whipped around and his hand was there to steady her, then hold her elbow firmly as he brought her the last few steps remaining. The man on the deck opened the gate in the low wooden railing that surrounded it and held it for them, then closed it after them and thrust out his hand. Grasping Alans in both of his, he spoke in a voice raised above the rushing sound of the storm.
Detective Cameron? Im Holt Kincaid.
Im Alan. And this is Lindsey.
Lindsey felt her hand swallowed up by a larger and warmer one; other than that, she was numb.
Holt Kincaid seemed oblivious to the rain that spangled his hair and shoulders and was beginning to drip from the end of his nose. He paused for a moment to look searchingly into her face, then abruptly gestured, urging them to follow him.
Come inside-this rains great, isnt it?
We needed it, Alan agreed.
He held the door and they stepped into a sunroom, cozy with woven sisal floor mats and wicker furniture with thick, flowered cushions. A playpen occupied one corner of the room, and an assortment of toys were scattered here and there on the cushions and floor. Pots filled with green and flowering plants were everywhere, sitting on the floor and tabletops and hanging from ceiling beams, and Lindsey was reminded suddenly, painfully, of her mother. Thinking how she would love this room
Their host led them on through a small kitchen that was separated by a wide countertop eating area from a den-like living room. The living room walls were covered in unstylish driftwood paneling, and a gas log burned in a fieldstone fireplace, turned down low. Because she still felt chilled, Lindsey went to stand in front of the fireplace, rubbing her hands together as she held them toward the warmth.
Their host led them on through a small kitchen that was separated by a wide countertop eating area from a den-like living room. The living room walls were covered in unstylish driftwood paneling, and a gas log burned in a fieldstone fireplace, turned down low. Because she still felt chilled, Lindsey went to stand in front of the fireplace, rubbing her hands together as she held them toward the warmth.
Please-make yourselves comfortable, Holt said. My wife will be right out-shes putting the baby down.
You have a child? It was Alan who asked the question as if he hadnt noticed the evidence, which she thought was unlikely. Lindsey turned just in time to catch the smile that burst over Holts angular face.
Her breath caught. My God. Its my mothers smile.
We do, Holt said, beaming and obviously besotted. Our son Jamies just fourteen months old. Now that hes walking, were actively looking for a bigger place-one with a yard he can actually run around in. This has been great for the two of us, but- he spread his arms to encompass not only the room but the whole outdoors -as you can see, its not exactly kid-friendly.
Interesting, though, Alan commented.
Uhcan I get you something to drink? Holt clasped his hands together in a way that betrayed his own nervousness-and for some reason, lessened Lindseys. Are you hungry?
He looked straight at her, then, and she realized shed been blatantly staring at him. Now she saw his eyes clearly for the first time. They were her eyes.
Her stomach felt hollow, but she was too queasy to eat. She shook her head. Holt said, Coffee, then?
Yeah, Alan said, coffee would be great. Thanks.
As he busied himself in the kitchen, assembling coffee and accoutrements with the efficiency that suggested a long period of bachelorhood in his past, Holt spoke to them across the counter, picking up Alans previous comment.
Yeah, he said, this canyon does have its history.
More like legends, Alan said. Wasnt this a hippie mecca during the sixties and seventies? Ive heard it was a big-time music scene-rock n roll, not to mention sex and drugs.
Holt chuckled. Oh, yeah. Even before that, though, the Canyon seems to have attracted characters-a lot of them famous. Or infamous. Still does, although its more gentrified nowadays. But- he dusted his hands, having completed his task, and aimed a piercing look across the room to where Lindsey still stood with her back to the fire -you didnt come for a Laurel Canyon history seminar.
He came around the counter, carrying a tray laden with four cups of steaming coffee, spoons and crockery containers of cream, sugar and sweetener. He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of Alan, then picked up the folder that was lying there.
This it?
Alan nodded. Thats it.
Holt opened the folder. Standing, he went through its contents one page at a time, studying each one before carefully turning it facedown on the left side of the folder. When hed finished, he sank heavily into a chair across from Alan, the folder still open across his knees. He shook his head. How could I have missed this? How did Baltimore PD miss this?
Alan helped himself to a cup of coffee and took a sip of it-black-before he answered. There wasnt any reason for it to show up on Baltimores radar-or yours, either. She didnt stay a Jane Doe long enough. Her husband showed up, IDd her. Nobody questioned it.
Holt sat for a long moment in silence, staring down at the folder. Then he looked up at Lindsey, and his eyes were gentle. Compassionate. This must be a tough time for you.
She managed to smile, even laugh, a little. Oh, yeah.
He held up the photo of the young Karen McKinney. This is my mother. I understand youthink it might be your mother, too.