It was nice to walk directly out of the gallery and to their car rather than having to hunt down a cab. Vivian slid into the passenger seat with a very clear idea of what came next. They were going to have to find Thomas Stone. While there was nothing about him that clearly and without doubt screamed that he was the killer, there was more than enough circumstantial evidence to suggest he was absolutely worth looking into.
Sterling got behind the wheel and looked her way. “INTERPOL should have some sort of an address listed for this Stone guy,” he said. “Even if it’s nothing more than a last known residence, that should get us started on something.”
“So you think it’s a lead worth hunting down even though the guy has been nothing more than a phantom for the last few years?”
“Yes. I think the idea that no one has seen him makes it even more intriguing. Even if he’s not directly related, it seems that he and his partner would have certainly at least crossed paths with someone like our killer.”
“Do you want to make the call?”
“Absolutely,” Sterling said, instantly taking out his cell phone. Vivian watched him make the call and listened in as he made the information request to someone back in Lyon. Within a few seconds, Sterling, with the phone still pressed to his ear, looked at Vivian, and said, “I’m on hold. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“What if we get an address and it’s nowhere near Paris?” she asked.
“Then we’ll take a trip out to wherever the address is. I know there’s a lot of sitting around and waiting, but this job also comes with some pretty great travel opportunities.” He chuckled at this and then his attention snapped back to the call as the person on the other end came back to the line. “Okay,” Sterling said. “Yeah….I got it. Hey, it’s better than nothing, right? Thanks.”
He ended the call and started the engine right away.
“Did we get it?” Vivian asked.
“We got something. It’s an address where he used to live, the last known. But his ex-wife is still living there. And it’s just twenty-five kilometers outside of the city.”
“Perfect,” Vivian said, again feeling the thrill of the chase take her over.
Sterling pulled out into traffic and began making his way out of the city. Once they started pulling away from the city center, Vivian found herself thinking about her former career. She’d encountered a few people like the ones Gloria Tremblay had been describing. She knew some men would stop at nothing to get richer. But she’d never come across people who had no problem using death and murder as a means to get what they wanted. No, she’d only started to deal with that when she’d become an INTERPOL officer.
Roughly twenty minutes later, the countryside began to unfurl around them, a tapestry of green flecked with the gold of early blossoms. The peaceful nature of it all turned Vivian’s gaze inward, her thoughts ensnared by another voice that haunted her…Nils. Not knowing the intent behind his call, not knowing the new information he’d come across, was maddening. And though she’d managed to stomp it down, it was always there. It was a snake coiled and hiding under a rock, waiting to strike when she least expected it.
She had once been the protector, the older sister who would do anything to keep Olivia safe. And yet, here she was, hunting killers for INTERPOL, while Olivia danced on the edge of a knife she herself had sharpened. And, of course, their father had been no help, either. Vivian could feel the shift within her, the transformation from concern to ire. Each passing moment crystallized the realization that Olivia might not want to be saved, that she had perhaps chosen her current path with eyes wide open.
And who the hell was she to judge, given that she’d made the exact same decision?
She came out of her well of internal thoughts when Sterling slowed the car and turned onto a featureless two-lane road. It cut through a small field that was border by thin trees on one side and sporadic rows of houses on the other.
Vivian straightened up, her focus sharpened. She glanced at Sterling, whose jaw was set in that familiar determined line. “Almost there,” he said, noticing her watching him.
She again found it easy to dispel the lingering shadows of her thoughts about Olivia. Now was the time for action, for the hunt that lay ahead. They were close to something, a thread that would lead them to Thomas Stone, and through him, perhaps to the biggest answer they could hope for.
They arrived at the home a few minutes later. Sterling slowed and pulled the car into a well-maintained gravel lane. The house was small and quaint, more of a cottage than a house, really. A small car was parked at the end of the lane. Vivian’s gaze traced the ivy that clung to the aged stone walls of the cottage. The dwelling sat nestled among a group of trees that whispered and swayed, casting dappled shadows across the gravel path leading up to the front door. It was like something out of a storybook, with its green lawn and shuttered windows. It was hard to believe that the busyness of Paris began just twenty or so miles away.
They stepped out of the car and made their way to the small front porch. It was very rustic-looking, complete with a weathered rocking chair. Sterling rapped on the door with a brisk, authoritative knock. Moments ticked by, before the door was opened. A timid-looking woman stood behind the door as if using it as a shield. Her chestnut hair, threaded with silver, was pulled back in a loose bun, and the lines around her eyes told of laughter now seldom heard. She wore a simple cardigan over a floral dress, and a pair of reading glasses hung from her neck.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
"Mrs. Stone?" Sterling began, his tone respectful yet firm. "Mrs. Mary Stone?”
“Formerly Stone,” she said. “I took my maiden name back several months ago. I’m Mary Chateaux now. And who are you?”
Sterling politely showed his badge and said, “I’m Agent Sterling and this is my partner, Agent Fox, with INTERPOL.”
Mary smiled but there was no humor in it. “Is this about Thomas?”
“It is,” Vivian said. “You don’t sound very surprised.”
“Well, a few reporters were always coming by for the first several months after he went away. I got a visit from the FBI, too. But INTERPOL…so far removed from his disappearance; I wasn’t quite expecting that.”
“Would you mind if we came in to ask you a few questions?”
Mary shrugged as if it really didn’t matter to her, but Vivian saw the resentment in her eyes. Vivian figured the poor woman was tired of living in the twisted shadow of her missing husband. “Come on in,” Mary said.
She led them into her home, which consisted of a mostly open floor plan. The living and dining room were all in one large space, separated only by a little half-counter off the kitchen. It was quite cozy, the sort of place where Vivian could curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book.
“Have a seat,” Mary said, gesturing to the couch. “And I still have some coffee remaining from this morning, if you’d like some.”
“I’ll have some, thanks,” Vivian said.
She and Sterling sat down on the threadbare couch as Mary made her way into the kitchen to grab the coffee. “Black?” she asked.
“That’s fine, thanks,” Vivian answered.
The space was so small and joined that Sterling was able to launch into conversation while Mary was still in the kitchen. "We're investigating a series of murders," he said. "Your ex-husband’s name has come up in the course of the investigation, and it’s vital that we speak to him. Do you have any idea at all where he might be?"
Mary laughed softly as she poured Vivian’s coffee. "I haven't seen him in some time. And I haven’t spoken to him in nearly eight months. Maybe more.” She brought the coffee over to Vivian and settled down into a small armchair. “And while Thomas has many faults and committed many crimes, I would find it hard to believe that he was capable of murder.” But there was a momentary flicker of doubt in her eyes, as if she wasn’t certain this was true.
“And when he spoke with you, he didn’t tell you where he was?”
“No. But I assume he’s still in Paris. He was always very much in love with the city. He grew up in rural America for most of his childhood, and then moved somewhere near Oxford during college. But when he came to Paris in his early twenties, he fell in love.”
“Mary, when everything came to light with Serenity Auctions, were you at all surprised?” Vivian asked.
Mary's fingers knotted together in her lap, the veins on the back of her hands standing out like cords against her pallid skin. Vivian noted the tremor in the woman’s fingers, the universal language of fear that needed no translation. As if sensing the scrutiny, Mary clasped her hands tighter, steadying them with a determined effort.
"Thomas," she started, her voice thin as gossamer, “wasn't always like that. Not the man you're describing. But his mind... it began to unravel at some point. I’d love to blame it on that blasted partner of his, that Federline ghoul who killed himself. But I think it started before that. And I think it had to do with his painting."
“So Thomas is an artist?”
“Yes, he is. Or rather, was. Some of the things he encountered while with Serenity changed things for him. He started to resent art. When that happened, he had no outlet. Painting was where he always went when he was unhappy or stressed. But then, like I said, it all changed when he and Simon created Serenity.”
"You said his mind began to unravel,” Sterling said. “Unravel how, exactly?"
"Rage," she whispered, a shudder passing through her frame. "The kind that comes without warning. He was just so mad all the time. At the art world, at Simon, at me, at the weather, at the birds outside in the morning. You name it, and it would set him off. Sometimes it was the smallest, silliest things.”
Vivian leaned forward, placing a comforting hand atop Mary's quivering ones. "Depression too?"
"Like a specter haunting him," Mary answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He'd vanish into himself for days, unreachable. He could be sitting right there on that couch but he may as well have been on the other side of the world.”
"Was there a particular event that made things worse?"
"The auction house scandal, naturally," she replied, her eyes clouded with the memory. "When Simon took his life... Thomas was never the same after that. He felt implicated, cornered by accusations and disgrace. Then we lost everything we had built together all because he and Simon got in over their heads and, from what I gather, started just blackmailing people. I couldn’t believe it at the time. It…well, it wasn’t the man I’d married and fallen in love with."
"Is that when you filed for divorce?" Vivian prodded, aware they were edging closer to something big. Based on the details Mary was providing, she was starting to think Thomas Stone may be more than a source of answers. He may very well be the man they were looking for.
"Yes, I had to,” Mary said. “For my own sanity. When I did, it was as though I'd flipped a switch in him. He left immediately, didn't fight, didn't even pack more than a suitcase. It made me feel like he’d been wanting me to take that step. Like he was glad it happened."
"Where did he go, Mary?" Vivian asked. "In the early days of the separation, do you know where he went?"
Mary hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, then pressing into a thin line. "He was in—" She cut herself off, glancing towards the window as if expecting to see him there, peering in at the home he’d left behind.
“Yes?” Sterling said, urging her on.
"Initially," Mary's voice wavered, betraying a hint of trepidation, "he settled in some small town an hour away from here. But that didn't last. Thomas couldn't stay away from the city—or from me, it seemed." A sad smile touched Mary's lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He tried to reconcile, said he'd changed. But the calls...they were too much. He became persistent. Overbearing. I had to start ignoring them."
“He was still angry?” Sterling asked.
“A bit, yes. But not as much as when I asked for a divorce. The thing was…I could just tell from speaking with him that he was different. And not in a good way. He sounded distant, sort of like he was high all the time. Though, I know he wasn’t. Maybe just…I don’t know…disconnected.”
Sterling shifted beside Vivian, his expression grim. He was piecing together the same puzzle as she was, realizing the depth of obsession that might fuel a man like Thomas Stone. It was a dangerous mix when spliced with the capability for violence. But the more they learned about Thomas, the more likely it seemed that they were nearing the end of this.
"Mary," Sterling interjected gently, "do you know where he is living now? It's imperative we find him."
For a moment, Vivian thought Mary would refuse, perhaps out of some residual loyalty or fear. She’d already skirted over the question earlier in the conversation. But now that she knew why they were here and had been able vent, it seemed that she’d changed her mind. After a few moments, Mary simply nodded, standing up from the armchair. She walked over to a side table cluttered with mail and various knick-knacks. She rifled through a stack of envelopes, pulling out a scrap of paper with a scribbled address.
"Here." Mary walked across the room and handed the paper to Sterling. She carried it tightly in her fingers, as if she feared the paper might blow away if she let go. "That's the last address I have for him."
“How recent?”
“As recent as the past three months. He left it under my door one day while I was away.”
“But in all the time with the phone calls and attempts at reconciliation, has he ever lashed out?” Vivian asked. “Have you ever feared for your life?”
“No. Not at all. But, like I said…the Thomas I knew was very different.”
Vivian took the paper from Sterling, her eyes scanning the handwritten lines. The address wasn’t in Paris but she was pretty sure she recognized the name of the town; it was adjacent to Paris, much like the little town they currently found themselves in.
"Thank you, Mary," Vivian said earnestly, tucking the address into her jacket pocket. "You've been more help than you know."
“And you’re sure about this?” she asked. “His name, in relation to the murders you’re looking into?”
“We just don’t know yet,” Sterling said.
Mary walked them to the door, her feet shuffling and her eyes downcast. “If it does turn out that he’s involved somehow,” she said, “please…just know that he wasn’t always like this.”
“Of course,” Vivian said, because she simply didn’t know what else to say.
As they stepped out of the quaint cottage, Vivian felt the weight of urgency settle onto her shoulders. More than that, she also felt Mary’s gaze. She was watching them from her door, leaning against the frame with that same downcast look.
“I feel terrible for her,” Vivian said as she and Sterling slipped back into the car.
“Same here,” Sterling said. “I’ve seen this before, though…when a former spouse or even an estranged family member has to face the fact that the person they once knew has drastically changed. It’s sad, but it’s more common than you think.”
Vivian looked back out of the window as they pulled away and couldn’t help but lift her hand in a little wave. But rather than respond, the woman formerly known as Mary Stone closed the door. Vivian took no offense. She felt that Mary wasn’t so much shutting them out as she was the man her ex-husband had become.