Fear Nothing (Detective D.D. Warren #7) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,142
condo back into his pants pocket.
Then he came to me.
“Paul Donabedian,” he announced, his voice muffled through the mask. He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I rented a unit in this building two months ago. Gives me plenty of reason to enter and exit without arousing suspicion. And once a person is past the doorman, well, no one’s watching anymore, right? I’ve been taking the stairs up to your condo for weeks, scoping out the unit, making a master key, then, of course, installing my little cameras. But you found them, didn’t you, Adeline? Had a little snit and taped my lenses. As if such a thing would really stop me.”
He stepped over my body. I should move. Roll over, lash out at him. Or at least stumble for the door. My chest felt unbearably tight. A sense of building pressure as my lungs fought with increasing desperation for oxygen.
Charlie set down his duffel bag on the bed. Then he crossed to the electric heating unit next to the bed, reaching behind it to flip the kill switch. Next, he opened the two windows set on the far side of the room, airing out the space.
I willed my lungs to expand, to inhale the first tendrils of fresh air. But the windows were too far away. Or I was already too far gone.
“Don’t want the carbon monoxide levels to be too high,” Charlie stated. “Might affect me, too. Not sure, really, how good these masks are. Besides, removing the obvious carbon monoxide levels will make things more interesting for the investigating officers. A renowned doctor, intelligent, insightful, forewarned, a woman who really should’ve known better, still found murdered in her own bedroom. Think of the drama of such a scene. Readers will go nuts.”
He returned to his duffel bag. Unzipped.
On my right hand, my fingers twitched. Signs of life. Or simply the beginnings of a seizure due to my oxygen-starved brain?
“You should feel privileged, Adeline. I saved the best for last. The first two women were specially selected, of course. But what I loved most about them was that they lived alone, they were attractive and they made for great victims. I mean, ugly women, unsympathetic characters no one cares about. But two pretty females with good jobs, caring friends and supportive families—that grabs headlines. That sells books.
“I think your father thought the same. You ever study the full photo gallery of his victims? Not a fugly among them. He had good taste. As the soon-to-be bestselling author of his biography, I’ve done my best to follow in his footsteps. Except I don’t have the luxury of my own home with a private workshop or loose floorboards, of course. Apartment living in Boston has its downfalls.”
He pulled on latex gloves. Then drew out a small, clear glass bottle. Chloroform. In case the carbon monoxide poisoning wore off. In case I attempted to put up a fight.
I strained for sounds from the adjoining master bath. Shana. He didn’t seem to know she was here. If she regained consciousness, still had her knife . . .
“Now,” Charlie said briskly. “I need you to do something for me, Adeline. This case needs to wrap up tonight. Things are getting too hot, what with the intense police investigation, not to mention your sister having flown the coop. Otherwise I might have played things out for maximum tension, but then again . . . No need to take unnecessary risks. I’ve brought a few pieces of hair with me, generously donated by Sam Hayes, whether he knows it or not.
“I need you to, um . . . place them down there. You know. Then later, when the ME examines your body, he will comb them out. DNA matching will lead them to Sam’s apartment, where it turns out he lives all by his lonesome, with no one to provide a solid alibi. He also happens to be the proud owner of some priceless Harry Day memorabilia. If the police can’t build a definitive case out of that, I don’t know why I’ve even bothered.”
Charlie withdrew a ziplock bag. With his gloved hands, he opened it, removing two short brown hairs. He bent over me, peering into my glassy eyes, my torn-up skin.
“Wow, look at you. Always knew Shana was a bitch. Still, to tear apart her own sister . . .” He clucked his tongue, then pressed the strands of hair into my open right hand, folding my fingers around them.