Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,61

know the contents.”

“So you admit—”

“All spouses keep secrets, Sergeant. I already told you to ask your husband.”

D.D. could feel her temper starting to rise. “Fine. Let’s head to HQ, where we can talk about yours.”

“Sergeant Warren, my client—”

“Is lying to the police and admitting it? Is possibly leading a double life of her own? Does your baby even belong to Conrad Carter? Or maybe it’s”—D.D. nudged the closest driver’s license with the tip of her boot—“Carter Conrad’s baby? Or Conroy Conrad’s?”

“Sergeant Detective!” Attorney Dick Delaney again, all outrage and bluster.

“I don’t know anything,” Evie repeated quietly. “I thought … He locked his office door. A room in his own house. Every time he went away. Except I was the only person around, and his business, selling custom windows … Why lock up customer spec sheets? And why protect such documents from your wife? Or was he protecting me from them?”

Evie glanced up. For a moment, she appeared as genuinely confused and puzzled as D.D. felt.

“You suspected something,” D.D. stated.

Delaney made another noise in the back of his throat. D.D. nudged Neil with her foot, and he shot immediately to standing.

“We’re going to need to see the file box again,” Neil said.

Delaney gave them a look, Neil’s bid at distraction not fooling him for a moment. “Then you can fetch it from the back of the trunk.” He tossed Neil the keys.

D.D. kept her attention on Evie. She was on to something. She could feel it.

“You shot the computer. Why did you shoot the computer?” D.D. moved closer, keeping her voice low. “What did you suspect, Evie? What did you catch the father of your unborn child doing?”

“My client—”

“First your father. You loved him, didn’t you? Idolized him. I conducted those neighbor interviews. Everyone talked about what a close bond you and he had.”

“Sergeant Detective, I am warning you—”

“You thought he killed himself, didn’t you? So acting on your mother’s orders, you became the patsy. All these years, carrying that weight alone. Just so you could fall in love and discover … what? That your husband’s sins were far greater?”

“This conversation is over.” Delaney had his hand on Evie’s arm. “Take the file box or don’t take the file box. Either way my client is coming with me.”

“No, she isn’t.” D.D. was staring directly at Evie. She knew she had the woman’s total, undivided attention. She understood then the truth to getting at her prime suspect. Every person had a lever, the button that a good detective learned how to push. Evie had given her the key just yesterday; the woman was her father’s daughter. She did work the math. And she couldn’t walk away from an unsolved equation.

Curiosity. That was Evie’s downfall. Which gave D.D. a slight chill, because curiosity had always been her weakness, too.

“Come to HQ. Answer my questions,” she told the woman now.

“She’s going home!” Delaney snapped.

Evie said, “Why?”

“Because in return, I have photos. From sixteen years ago. Going through them, I can prove to you, your father didn’t shoot himself.”

• • •

EVIE WOULD COME to HQ. D.D. never doubted it for a second. First her lawyer had to draw her aside and engage in frantic conversation. No doubt informing his client she was being foolish, letting the police get under her skin. If they had any real evidence, they’d be forced to disclose it prior to trial anyway. As for Evie, the woman seemed to have some strong words of her own. D.D. could’ve sworn she heard the woman state angrily, “I am your client and you will not call my mother.”

How interesting.

After a few more minutes of terse exchange, Evie climbed into her lawyer’s car, file box still planted in the trunk. D.D. couldn’t justify seizing the papers as evidence, though she was happy enough to have a photo of Conrad Carter’s life insurance for future reference. Neil bagged and tagged the metal lockbox and its contents as the BPD’s share of the spoils. They loaded up their car, then led the way to HQ.

BPD’s headquarters was an acquired taste. People either were sufficiently impressed by the modern glass monstrosity or, more likely, shook their heads at yet another example of their tax dollars at work. D.D. wasn’t into architecture. As a woman who liked to eat, she appreciated the café on the lobby level. And the upstairs homicide suite was far bigger and more useful than the old HQ had been, even if the blue industrial carpet, gray filing cabinets, and collection of cubicles