Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,67
and I’m left with a last impression of a woman who’s as anxious and exhausted as I am.
D.D. greets us with her normal chipper self. “What the hell?”
Quincy smiles. “Sergeant Warren. Nice to speak with you again. Shall we?” Quincy gestures to the conference room behind D.D. D.D. looks like she’s on the verge of arguing, probably on principal, but Quincy smiles again, says, “Not in front of the children,” and that does the trick.
The two female investigators enter the conference room, closing the door firmly behind them. Keith and I remain in the hallway, still in the company of the redhead, who’s fidgeting.
“Coffee?” he asks again. Most likely to have something to do.
Keith and I exchange a glance. “No,” we state in unison. Which makes me feel warm all over.
From inside the room: “A Boston shooting is a Boston case!”
“I’m not interested in your murder. I’m interested in the victim’s possible connection to Jacob Ness.”
“This has nothing to do with Ness. We’ve already charged the wife in the shooting.”
“Then my angle of inquiry won’t conflict with your own.”
“Like hell! You start digging in Conrad’s past, raise the specter of some serial killer bestie, and you’ve just handed the defense reasonable doubt. Evie Carter didn’t kill her husband. Clearly the ghost of Jacob Ness did it.”
“Do you know for sure someone else didn’t do it? Because a man who was known to go on frequent business trips, and at least spent part of them in the company of a serial rapist … As an investigator, these are questions I’d like to answer.”
“Me too. Which brings us back to the wife. Who in addition to shooting her husband, plugged even more bullets into his computer.”
“Anything recoverable?”
“Not yet.”
“The FBI forensic techs are the best in the industry—”
“Bite me.”
“Sergeant Warren, your case intersects with an ongoing FBI investigation. Period. You can invite me to assist gracefully. Or I can commandeer your case forcefully.”
“What ongoing investigation?”
“The disappearance of six women believed to be additional victims of Jacob Ness. With his death, we’ve lacked investigative avenues. However, this new information, that he might have met with other predators, could prove promising.”
“Conrad Carter can’t help you, he’s dead. And so is his computer.”
“Jacob Ness’s computer isn’t.”
For the first time, quiet. A long pause, where Keith and I lean forward. The redheaded detective as well.
“You have Ness’s computer?” D.D. asks.
“In all its mysterious glory.”
“What does that mean?”
“Invite me to play and I’ll be happy to share.”
“And Flora?” D.D. asks abruptly. “Why is she here?”
“She’s also agreed to help.”
“How?”
“A trip down memory lane. We’ve never found the house where Jacob originally held her. We have reason to believe it might be more significant than he let on. And that he took steps to mask its location.”
“You think Jacob Ness still has property out there? A personal cabin, residence?”
“I think finding such a thing could provide a great deal of information regarding six missing women, and, who knows, one recently deceased husband. Do you have all the answers for your case, Sergeant Warren?”
“No.”
“Neither do I. So, shall we?”
Heavy sigh. “You did help me with Charlene Grant.”
“And you did keep her alive.”
A change in tone. “How are the girls?”
“Amazing. Ten and seven. Ready to take over the world. Yours?”
“Jack is five. Has a new dog. They spring around the house going ‘roo, roo, roo.’”
“Never a dull moment.”
“Wouldn’t change it for the world.”
“Me neither.”
“Fine. You want in. Let’s do this. But I’m telling you now, there’s more about this case that doesn’t make sense than does.”
“My favorite kind.”
Just like that, the deal is struck, the hunt is on.
Quincy turns back toward us, motioning through the window for us to enter.
“Holy shit,” Keith whispers under his breath.
I don’t stop. I don’t think. I simply squeeze his hand.
Then we enter the conference room and the real work begins.
Chapter 19
EVIE
“YOU HONESTLY BELIEVED YOUR FATHER killed himself?”
After sitting in silence in the car for so long, the sound of my lawyer’s voice startles me. I’ve been staring out the window, watching perfectly normal people walk down the snowy streets of Boston, continuing on with their perfectly normal lives. I wonder if that’s how I look to others; like I’m normal and functional, too, when in fact, I feel completely emptied out. Stacks of money. Fake IDs. Not exactly a treasure trove of dead wives, and yet, I’d been right: Conrad had been hiding secrets from me.
Which I want to think is only fair, because I hid my secrets from him. Except it doesn’t feel okay