“He was seven, eight years old at the time those pictures were taken. Hate to think about the long-term effect on a kid that young.”
“Aren’t those files sealed?” Con remembered reading that in one of the articles she’d found about him. She didn’t love the thought of using someone’s childhood trauma against them.
“That they are,” Clarke said. “So, tell me how anybody but him knew about that house?”
Con returned the loaned file. She’d seen enough. “Money,” she said.
“Stop already. Whoever killed Constance D’Arcy knew a lot about Levi Greer’s life. Intimate, personal things. Take that in conjunction with his erratic behavior in the last few months. Neighbors report loud arguments from the Greer house in the weeks prior to her disappearance, and text messages between Greer and several friends indicate that he was worried his wife was having an affair. All those trips to Charlottesville.”
“She wasn’t having an affair.”
Clarke shrugged. “In the end, I don’t care one way or another. Only matters what he thought. Doesn’t give anyone the right to do what he did.”
“What he’s accused of,” Constance corrected. “You still don’t—”
“We have the murder weapon,” Clarke interrupted. “We haven’t told the press yet, but we found it during the search of his house. Ceremonial air force dagger hidden beneath a floorboard in the basement. It had been cleaned, but a field kit found traces of her blood type in a crack in the handle. It’s being tested now, but it’ll come back a match.”
“But—”
“He did it,” Clarke said. “He had motive and opportunity. He can’t provide a verifiable alibi for the day of his wife’s disappearance. I know he put on a good show in there, but they all do. Why do you think I’m such a cynical son of a bitch?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Con asked.
“Because somehow this little crusade of yours has made you news. We had press calling the station asking to interview you. They’re fixing to make you the face of cloning in America. I’m giving you the facts so if you do get it into your head to talk to the media, you’ll do the right thing and keep Levi Greer’s name out of your mouth. I know I’ve been an asshole, but that doesn’t make Levi Greer innocent. It’s always the husband. A jury should take about five minutes deliberating this one, believe me. But if you start up talking about corporations and conspiracy theories and whatnot, you’re going to muddy what are otherwise crystal-clear waters. Crystal fucking clear. And I can’t have that. A woman is dead, and the man who did it is locked up in there.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that all his little presentation had accomplished was to impress upon her the sophistication of the effort to frame Levi for murder. A woman was dead, but he had the wrong person. Greer was nothing but the fall guy.
“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in being anyone’s face,” she said.
“The media has a history of deciding that kind of thing for itself.”
“Fine, but I’m not talking to anyone.”
“Good to hear, because I want you out of Virginia today,” Clarke said. “It’s too dangerous for you here.”
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Now the media has made a symbol out of you, who else do you think is going to want to make you a symbol?”
“Children of Adam,” she said, realizing Clarke was right. The CoA was always going to be a threat, but now she would be its number-one priority.
“If they catch up with you, I guarantee you won’t enjoy the experience. Better for both of us if you get back across the Potomac before they find you. You hearing me?”
“Yeah,” she said, although that wasn’t where she was headed. Talking to Levi, she’d already decided that she needed to see Charlottesville for herself.
“You hearing me?” Clarke asked a second time, clearly underwhelmed by her answer.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Good. Now get the hell up out of here before I lose my famous charm and good humor. If you’re still here come sunup, you’re on your own. Interfere with my investigation again, and I’ll deliver you to the Children of Adam personally.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Charlottesville was only seventy miles west of Richmond, but the car wouldn’t make it on its remaining charge. Con found a nearby station and headed there first. When she arrived, the car pulled into one of the four bays. She got out and paid at the automated kiosk while a hydraulic lift raised her car. Battery life had improved dramatically from when she was a kid, but charging still took forever. The car companies had eventually wised up and switched to interchangeable batteries. So rather than plug in and charge for hours, drivers could simply pull in and have the battery swapped out for a fresh one in a matter of minutes.