Fear Nothing (Detective D.D. Warren #7) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,89
that’s not why Phil and Neil decided to pay me a visit. Has nothing to do with my lack of official capacity. Coffee’s simply better here, right, guys?”
Phil and Neil both nodded. Phil rose to standing, shaking Adeline’s hand, then introducing her to Neil. D.D. wasn’t surprised by the uncertain look on the doctor’s face as she regarded their youngest squad mate. With his lanky build and mop of red hair, Neil appeared perpetually sixteen. Came in handy when interviewing suspects, however. They rarely took the veteran detective seriously until it was too late.
Then the doctor’s gaze took in the easel-size flipchart, divided into three columns, one for each victim. She didn’t pale, as much as her expression set. Clinical. Already distancing herself from the graphic details listed there.
“So.” D.D. couldn’t help herself. “What’s up, Doc?”
“Is that coffee? I would love a cup of coffee.”
Phil did the honors of pouring. When D.D. had tried it earlier, she’d missed the mug. Shooting a firearm one-handed, okay. Pouring coffee one-handed, not so great.
“You call your sister, or did she call you?” D.D. asked. She took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs Neil had dragged into the room, then indicated for Adeline to make herself comfortable on the sofa.
“She contacted the warden with her request to speak with me first thing this morning. I assumed it was to wheel and deal. Shana had heard of the latest murder and was willing to offer up additional information in return for a furlough from prison life.”
“Not gonna happen,” D.D. said. “Didn’t you mention that to her yesterday?”
“Can’t blame a girl for asking. Anyway, that wasn’t . . . exactly how the conversation played out.”
“Okay.” D.D. sat forward, waiting expectantly. Neil and Phil did the same.
“Shana claims she hasn’t been in contact with the Rose Killer or anyone else. No secret network of spies or adoring fans beyond the prison walls. She would need inside support to pull off such a feat, and as she put it, she has no friends. We all know that.”
D.D. frowned. Certainly not what she’d been expecting. “Denial, of course, is in her own best interest. How does she explain knowing what she knows?”
“The powers of observation.”
“Say what?”
“Thirty years in solitary. She’s had nothing better to do than observe her fellow man. She’s not a criminal mastermind. She’s Sherlock Holmes.”
Phil made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat. “How’d she know the magic number?” he asked with clear skepticism.
“As a teenager, she researched our father at the local library. According to her, she determined he’d collected one hundred and fifty-three scraps of skin simply by reading articles in the local papers. No reason the Rose Killer couldn’t go through the same effort—I’d tried a basic Google search but only cursory. According to my sister, the information is out there; you just have to be willing to dig for it. Furthermore, since the Rose Killer is obviously emulating our father, it makes sense he’d include some sort of grand gesture, say, removing precisely one hundred and fifty-three slivers of skin, as an homage to the master. Shana claims she didn’t know that he was doing such a thing. She merely anticipated it. Possessing, after all, a unique insight into the criminal mind.”
“You can say that again,” D.D. muttered.
“Thing is, she also went on to say the killer would’ve looked me up, too. The daughter of Harry Day, who also happens to suffer a unique genetic condition. My very presence calls to him. Meaning he’d be driven to visit my office, even enter my home, possibly under the guise of a deliveryman—”
“What?” D.D. interjected sharply.
“I called my condo building after leaving Shana and asked them if anyone had been inside my unit in the past few months. Mr. Daniels wanted to know if I meant in addition to the worker from the gas company. Apparently, four weeks ago, a uniformed gas company employee showed up, claiming there’d been complaint of a possible leak on my floor. Of course they let the worker inside my condo. Given the risk, Mr. Daniels didn’t enter my unit but stayed outside in the hall . . . He claimed the person didn’t stay inside my home too long, but then again, couldn’t tell me with any specificity how long ‘not too long’ constituted. I called the gas company right afterward. They have no record of receiving such a call or sending someone to my unit.”
“But Mr. Daniels saw the person?” Phil asked immediately.