to question Grace. Grace actually shifted closer to him. He knew she wasn’t aware of it, but the tremors had increased.
“Someone murdered Ale Sarto, and the policeman guarding him. Sarto was tortured before he was killed. It was very ugly.”
Grace tried to jerk her hand away, but Vittorio kept his fingers firmly around hers, pressing her palm into his thigh and stroking his thumb soothingly across her hand. He turned his head to look at her, letting her see he was with her. She wasn’t going through it alone, the way she’d done all of her life. He was there to help her if she needed it, but anyone brave enough to step in front of a gun for a virtual stranger would help the police when she got the chance.
He held her gaze for as long as it took. He didn’t care if the detectives were waiting. He cared about Grace and her state of mind. The police weren’t going to find Haydon Phillips if the Ferraros couldn’t, not that night. The detectives could wait until she was steady. He saw it in her eyes first. She had the beginnings of trust in him. He needed that from her. To gain the kind of absolute faith and trust he needed from her, he had to show in every way that he would always be there for her. That trust could never be in any way taken for granted or abused.
He nodded his head at her in approval the moment he saw her conquer the fear that had been so deeply ingrained in her by Haydon. Her restless fingers stopped digging into his thigh, but she pressed her palm harder into his muscle, a purely instinctive kind of reaction she didn’t seem aware of.
“I’ve known Haydon Phillips for ten years and I’ve been terrified of him for most of that time. I believe he’s a serial killer and that if anyone gets in his way, he hurts them. He’s been doing it since he was a boy. I’ve tried to get away from him. When that didn’t work, I tried to pretend to be his family in order to find proof. Neither worked. I know he lives in the attics of houses that belong to perfectly nice families, ones with children, and he watches them day and night. He’s never been caught. He claims no one’s ever suspected him and he’s gone into their bedrooms and held knives to their throats, including the young children. He’s eaten their food and made friends with the family pets. That’s always risky for the animals.”
“In what way?”
“He tortures and kills them and tends to leave them on the doorstep for the family to find.”
“How would you know that?”
“He shows me photographs when I don’t cooperate and pay his gambling debts.”
Now her fingers did dig into his thigh. He kept his body pressed against hers, taking some of her weight. Grace was shaking hard enough that the detectives couldn’t fail to see.
“I understand this must be difficult, Ms. Murphy,” Art said, gentling his voice.
That surprised Vittorio. The detectives were fair men, but hard-driving when they were after answers. Grace did look fragile, her arm in its collar and cuff as well as the bracing and padded bandages around the shoulder itself. She had plates and pins in her shoulder. More than one nurse had said it was a miracle that the surgeon had managed to piece her back together. They were all worried that one wrong move could undo everything he’d done.
“I’m afraid for every single person in this room. He takes delight in taunting me that he can go after the people I care about. I’ve lived a fairly solitary existence in order to placate him. I’m concerned for Katie Branscomb. Once, when I refused to take out a loan to pay his gambling debts, he showed me a picture of her sleeping, with him standing over her.”
Vittorio glanced over at Emme. She was dutifully using her oxygen mask, fading into the corner, staying quiet. Her phone was in her hand and she was busy texting, using lightning speed and one thumb so as not to draw any attention. If Haydon liked to gamble, so much so that he was willing to use his one real connection to pay his debts, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from it long. They could use that to find him.