Fear Nothing (Detective D.D. Warren #7) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,124
a psychotic episode—”
“You mentioned that yesterday.”
“Yes, but the more I thought about it, the more I’m convinced. . . . Do you know what happened to our father? The last moments of Harry Day?”
“He killed himself,” D.D. said.
“Not exactly. According to Shana, our mother did it. Harry climbed into the tub, handed her the razor, and she did the deed. While Shana watched. Can you imagine how traumatic that must have been for a four-year-old girl? Literally, a defining moment in her development. Anything related to that, any kind of reenactment of that scenario, would hit a person such as my sister like a mental hammer.”
“Wait a second.” D.D. held up a hand. “Are you saying you think that’s what Shana saw that night? A girl attacking Donnie? Like your mother with your father all those years ago?”
“I think something like that definitely would’ve been powerful enough to trigger a psychotic episode.”
“A female killer,” D.D. murmured, “becoming, thirty years later, a female serial killer.”
“So what was the answer?” Phil asked with a frown. “What did your sister say?”
“I never got an answer. I said Donnie’s name and . . . all hell broke loose. Sirens went off, men were shouting. And Shana jumped me. Just like that.”
Adeline blinked, still appearing faintly surprised.
“She cut you pretty bad,” D.D. said.
“She had to. Otherwise no one would mistake me for her.”
“Still defending her?”
“I’m alive. In Shana’s world, that’s showing restraint.”
D.D. shook her head.
“Where do you think your sister would go?” Phil asked.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t been out in the world in nearly thirty years. Frankly . . . I would consider her vulnerable. Finding me would have made some sense, but given she slashed me in return for her freedom . . . I’m sure she understands I’m not likely to assist her now.”
“We think she had help,” D.D. challenged.
“She doesn’t have any friends.”
“But she has a fan. The Rose Killer.”
For the first time, Adeline faltered. “No,” she breathed, but the word didn’t come out strong enough.
“Shana and the Rose Killer,” D.D. said. “The Rose Killer and Shana. Now, where would those two crazy homicidal maniacs go for fun?”
Then, in the next instant, she didn’t have to ask Adeline anymore; she already had a hunch. They’d go back to the beginning. To where this had all started, thirty years ago.
She turned quickly to Phil.
“Mrs. Davies’s house,” she stated urgently. “The old neighborhood.”
Chapter 34
SUPERINTENDENT MCKINNON INSISTED on driving me to a car rental agency. The police had already impounded my vehicle, she informed me. Given that it would now be processed as a crime scene, no telling when I’d get it back. Or if.
We drove over in awkward silence. Myself, thinking of all the things I couldn’t reveal. And McKinnon with an intent look on her face that was hard to read. As if she had her own secrets she didn’t trust herself to speak.
It occurred to me that in all the years we’d been working together to best manage my sister, the superintendent and I had become more than colleagues; we’d become friends. I wondered if Officer Maria Lopez or Chris or Bob thought the same. I wondered what it would do to them when, if, they discovered I was the one who’d broken my sister out of prison. I was the one who’d betrayed their trust.
I thought I should say something. An outreach of sorts, a cryptic apology she might not understand now but that might give her comfort later. But then she turned and looked at me with such blazing dark eyes I couldn’t help but lean away.
“A smart woman would change her locks, Adeline,” she stated, her tone less helpful than challenging. “Are you a smart woman?”
I didn’t answer.
“A smarter woman would go on vacation. Say, to Bermuda. Someplace far, far away from here.”
“If my sister wanted to hurt me, I’d already be dead,” I replied steadily.
She eyed me with that intent expression again. “You’re assuming your sister is all you have to fear.”
“What do you mean?” I asked sharply.
But she’d turned away, was watching the road, and we didn’t speak again.
At the car agency, the desk clerk took one look at my heavily bandaged face, my oven mitt of a left hand and immediately recoiled. McKinnon, however, wasn’t having any of it. She started barking commands, and in twenty minutes or less I had a midsize sedan in deep blue.
“I’ll follow you home,” she announced briskly. “Help get you settled.”