Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,75
about, did any other names come up? You want to find Jacob’s secret clubhouse—fair enough. But maybe the other way of coming after Jacob Ness is to identify the other members of the club. Especially if some of them are still alive …”
“They might be able to provide information on Ness, including his cabin hideaway.” Keith Edgar spoke up.
“Based on what SSA Quincy is saying, they were probably the ones who gave Jacob the pointers on how to keep it hidden.” D.D. looked at Flora. “What do you think?”
The woman frowned. “I don’t know. I was drinking heavily that night. Meaning, the quality of the data recorded …”
“At a certain point you were drunk. Drunks have notoriously lousy memories.”
“But I don’t remember Jacob calling him Conrad. I think it might have been another name. And that was in the beginning. Maybe there is more I saw, or noticed, than I think. If Jacob had help—and it seems like he must’ve—then, yes, I’d like to go after those men, too.”
“Not just one predator, but a whole network of them.” Keith Edgar sounded slightly breathless.
D.D. frowned at him. “Not so fast, big boy. This is an active criminal case. Civilians need not apply.”
“He’s not just a civilian.” Flora spoke up quickly. “He’s an expert on Jacob in his own right.”
“Hey.” Quincy tapped the table. “I believe the FBI wears that crown.”
“I’m not doing it,” Flora said, “if he’s not around.”
D.D. stared at her CI. Yep, Flora had definitely gone rogue. And was possibly love-struck? Except that didn’t fit with the Flora she knew at all. Meaning …
More and more questions. Where would D.D.’s case be without them?
“He signs a nondisclosure.”
“Done.” Edgar spoke up immediately.
“We talk to Dr. Keynes and get his agreement.”
“I’ll do it.” Flora already had out her phone.
“You should tell your mother,” D.D. said, mostly because she was a mom and she just couldn’t help herself.
She got back the answer she expected: a mutinous stare.
D.D. sighed. She didn’t know if this was the best idea or worst idea she’d ever had. She respected Flora’s strength but worried about her self-destructive streak. D.D. needed some kind of fresh approach to get her investigation going, but a “recovered memory” from a night spent binge drinking definitely felt like a stretch.
And yet, for the first time since D.D. had known Flora, the woman was willing to talk about Jacob. She was willing to look backward, at four hundred and seventy-two days of absolutely horrifying memories. There was a determination and resilience in evidence that D.D. had to admire.
If Dr. Keynes helped them, if they started with something easier than Flora climbing back into a pine coffin …
Maybe Flora could get the answers she now so desperately wanted. While Kimberly Quincy caught a new lead on six missing women, and D.D. found out what Conrad Carter had been doing on all his business trips and who, other than his wife, might want him dead.
It sounded simple enough. Which probably explained the sinking feeling in D.D.’s stomach. The best-laid plans …
Flora was still staring at her. SSA Quincy, too. Flora was going to do it one way or another, D.D. realized. She’d made up her mind sometime in the middle of the night. And once set on a course, she wasn’t the type of person to let anything stop her.
“Fine,” D.D. announced. “A trip down memory lane it is.”
Flora hit dial.
Chapter 21
FLORA
WHEN I WALK INTO FBI headquarters two hours later with a bag of takeout nachos and chicken wings, no one gives me a second glance. Wearing my usual uniform of worn cargo pants and a baggy sweatshirt beneath a bulky down coat, I probably look like a delivery person. Keith, trailing behind me with a six-pack of Bud cans, earns several startled looks, but that’s nothing compared to the attention Samuel gets just by waiting for us. My victim specialist, Dr. Keynes, has features that stand out in a crowd.
Compared to Sergeant Warren, Samuel was surprisingly agreeable to my plan. If anything, I had the feeling he’d been waiting for such a call. He probably recognized my refusal to talk about Jacob was a form of denial that couldn’t go on forever.
Now Samuel moves forward. I get a clasp on the shoulder, a show of warmth from a man who knows everything awful there is to know about me, including the fact I don’t do hugs. He shakes Keith’s hand, and the two take a moment to size each other up. Neither says anything,