Fear Nothing (Detective D.D. Warren #7) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,59
CALL CAME while they were eating breakfast. Alex answered the phone, the two of them sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, pretending it was a morning like any other morning. Of course they’d slept well the night before, confident in the safety and security of their own home. Never jumping at unexpected sounds. Not getting up even once to double-check the lock, the security system, the Glock 10 Alex had moved to the top of his nightstand.
They were professionals. They didn’t get unraveled by the thought of a killer walking through their bedroom, bearing the same gifts he’d given to each of his murder victims.
At 2:00 A.M., D.D. had said, staring up at the ceiling, “We should name him. You know, like Melvin.”
“You want to name the intruder who broke into our house?”
“Sure. He’s a pain in the ass. Or she’s a pain in the ass. See, we don’t even know that much, and saying he-slash-she-slash-it all the time annoys the shit out of me. Our intruder needs a name. Maybe, like Melvin, it will make it easier to manage him, too.”
Alex was silent for a moment. “I vote for Bob.”
“As in SquarePants? You want to name our personal murder suspect after Jack’s favorite cartoon character?”
“Yes. Bob sounds very killable. How can you not be able to destroy a guy named Bob?”
By 2:05 A.M., D.D. had considered the matter. “What about Pat? Equally killable, but, in keeping with the spirit of investigative truth, androgynous. Bob implies information we don’t yet have.”
“Pat from the SNL skits,” Alex mused. “That works for me.”
“Then Pat it is. Melvin, meet Pat. Pat, meet Melvin. Now, both of you go away.”
Alex had reached for her hand. And they’d resumed their silent vigil, lying side by side in their shadowed bedroom, staring up at the blank ceiling, fingers lightly touching.
Now it was nearly 8:00 A.M. The phone rang, Alex answered and, a moment later, handed it to her.
“We have permission to interview Shana Day,” Phil said without preamble.
“When?”
“Nine sharp.”
“Where?”
“MCI.”
“Who?”
“Her sister must be present—Shana’s terms—plus one detective.”
“Not Neil,” she said immediately.
“Please, she’d eat him alive. I’ll do it.”
“Going with the kindhearted father figure?”
“Making it up as I go along.” Phil hesitated. “It should be you,” he said shortly. “Don’t think I don’t know that.”
“It should be me,” D.D. agreed. “She’s not going to buy into the kindhearted father figure, either. In her world, understanding is weakness, and males are her murder victims of choice.”
“I asked Horgan . . .”
“I’m not on active duty. I can’t do it. I know that.”
“Will you come anyway? I’m told the prison interview room has a viewing window. You can’t go in, but there’s nothing to say you can’t watch.”
“I’m there. Have you read her file yet?”
“Just pulling it up.”
“Don’t bother. I spent most of last night researching her and good ol’ Harry Day. Take it from me, you need to remember just one thing.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“Blood is love. And as the father figure, you’re going to have to prove that you love her very much.”
• • •
ALEX HELPED HER shower and dress. She was nervous, which surprised her. Her hands were shaking, and for a change, she barely noticed the ache in her left arm and shoulder. Alex helped ease a button-up silk shirt over her left arm. She winced; then the blouse was on, and Alex worked the buttons.
“For the record,” he commented, “I much prefer the removal process. This goes against my grain.”
She smiled but remained distracted.
“She’s just another killer, D.D. How many have you interviewed over the years?”
“Dozens.”
“Exactly. And this one’s behind bars, meaning she can’t even be that good.”
“She was fourteen. Didn’t have the maturity and foresight yet to better cover her tracks.”
“She’s just another killer,” he repeated.
She nodded, but they could both tell it wasn’t working. Then Phil arrived, looking even more hyped-up than she was, and Alex shook his head.
“You are the detectives,” he informed them both. “You’re smarter, more experienced and definitely more capable. Now, get out there, and learn what you need to know in order to destroy Pat.”
“Pat?” Phil asked.
“It’s a long story,” D.D. supplied.
“Perfect,” he said twitchily. “I could use one of those right now.”
. . .
• • •
ADELINE WAS WAITING for them in the prison’s lobby. She wore professional attire. Dark-brown slacks. A blue cashmere sweater. More respected psychiatrist than loving sister, D.D. noted. Girding her loins for what was sure to be a highly interesting conversation?