Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,37
anyone placing my mother or myself at the scene of the fire? For that matter, the city is filled with cameras and prying eyes. Surely, if the police had something more concrete, they wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time with these questions.
Mr. Delaney is fishing. Even I can tell that. Do the police have anything substantial? That’s what he really wants to know. The older detective doesn’t take the bait.
I find it interesting that my own lawyer is curious if the police have evidence that contradicts his clients’ statements. Do all lawyers believe their clients are lying to them? Or is it merely because he’s been a family friend for decades and knows us that well?
“What caused the fire?” When I finally interrupt, the sound of my own voice startles me. I sound hoarse, like I haven’t spoken in years.
The blond detective halts, stares at me. Neither investigator offers an answer.
“You think it was intentional, right?” I continue. “Otherwise, why would you be here? But why would I burn down my own home? I left last night without even a toothbrush. Everything I own … everything I had …” My voice breaks slightly. I force myself to continue, though I sound hollow even to me. “It’s all gone. My entire life … it’s all gone. Why would I do that?”
The blonde speaks for the first time. “This doesn’t look like such a bad place to land.”
Just like that, I’m pissed off. I shove back my chair. Rise to standing. “You of all people should know better. You of all people!” I’m almost yelling at her. Why not? I certainly can’t yell at my mom.
I stalk out of the kitchen. I can’t take the room, with all its creamy wood and expensive marble. A fucking stage setting.
My father was real. His smile, his booming voice, the way he pursed his lips when working a particularly difficult problem, the way he’d sit with his eyes shut and listen to me play the piano for hours.
He loved me. He loved me, he loved me, he loved me.
And Conrad had loved me, too.
The blond detective is following me. Mr. Delaney, too, clearly concerned. Emotional clients are probably a danger to themselves and others. My mother stays behind. With Call Me Phil. She’s probably offering him a glass of water, while briefly touching his arm.
I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t exit the house. Whatever is overwhelming me here is nothing compared to the media that’s waiting to pounce outside. I move into the formal room with the baby grand. Black and gleaming. I spent so much of my childhood sitting on that bench, working those keys.
I haven’t touched it since.
I can’t be in this room. I move into the front parlor instead. I never liked this room. What kid cares about a formal parlor?
“My client needs to rest,” Mr. Delaney is informing the detective.
She doesn’t listen to him but regards me instead. “You remember me, don’t you?” she asks.
I nod. Not sitting, but walking around the small space. It’s taken me years to realize that most people do not live like this, with carefully placed silk-covered wingback chairs and antique sideboards and crystalline decanters.
“Yes.” I finally glance at her. “You looked nicer then. The sympathetic cop. Not anymore.”
The blonde smiles, not offended at all. “I was younger then. Still learning.”
“What did you learn?”
“To ask more questions. To accept fewer answers. That even the most honest person will tell a lie.”
“My client,” Mr. Delaney tries again.
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. You can go help my mom. Or rather, save the other detective.”
Mr. Delaney gives me a stern look. Though he’s already torn. He does know my mother, and sometimes her manipulations, even done with the best of intentions, can backfire.
I feel stronger now, more certain. “She’s not going to ask me about Conrad, are you?” I address Sergeant Warren directly. Slowly, she shakes her head.
“Will you tell me about the fire?”
Another pause. She nods. We have a deal. Maybe my lawyer doesn’t understand the terms, but we do.
“It’s okay,” I tell Mr. Delaney again. “Give us a moment, please.”
“As your lawyer—”
“I know. A moment.”
He’s not happy. But I’m the client, he’s the lawyer, and he is worried about my mother. As he should be. Finally, he retreats, leaving Sergeant Warren and me alone. Last time, it had been her and me in the kitchen. My mom and the other detective in the parlor. I like this change of venue. I need it.