away from the wall and sauntered over to the table. “It sounded like you were pissed. Really, really mad. At Susan.”
“It was a minor disagreement. She wanted to move in; I said I needed my space. Hearing Gray and Darnell planning the move, it set her off. And I can’t believe you two. You’re supposed to be helping me; that’s why I asked for you. You’re supposed to be making this better.”
“Did she see something she wasn’t supposed to?” Dulac said. “We’ve been thinking about that. After you killed Rory Engels—”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“—and mutilated Phil Camerata—”
“I’ve never hurt anyone!”
“—and gutted Mitchell Martin—”
“Stop it!” Whirling to Thompson, Wesley shouted, “Make them stop this!”
“—what did you do after that?” Dulac was still asking. “Did you keep something? A trophy? A little memento you could jerk off to? And Susan found it, got curious, started asking questions. You said she was smart; maybe she started to put things together. She confronted you—”
“At a dinner party? Are you out of your mind?”
“—and you realized she had to go. Is that what happened?”
“I’m done,” Wesley said. “I’ve got nothing else to say.”
“I think that’s enough for right now,” Thompson said, braids clicking as she stood.
“What was the fight about?” Somers asked.
“That’s all for now, Detective.”
“What were you arguing about?” Somers said.
“I don’t know,” Wesley screamed. “I don’t know. I want to go home. I hate this and I want to go home.”
“Susan Morrison isn’t ever going home again, you little fuck,” Dulac shouted, bulling towards the table. “Susan Morrison isn’t ever going anywhere again because you murdered her—”
“Detective,” Thompson shouted, getting in Dulac’s path. “Get a hold of yourself!”
“—killed her to keep your secret—” Dulac was shouting.
Grabbing Dulac, Somers forced him out of the interview room and dragged the door shut behind them. As soon as the latch clicked into place, Dulac shivered and wiped his face.
“Fuck,” he whispered. Then, louder, “That was fucking awful.”
The door to the observation area opened, and Riggle came out. He was appraising Dulac, an eyebrow raised, as he said, “Pretty good work in there, Detective.”
Dulac stared at the ground and nodded.
“The feebs still have the crime scene locked down. I want you guys to check out Wesley’s apartment, see what you can find. If you’re right, Detective Dulac, and Susan Morrison did find something, I want to get it before the feds do.”
“Chief,” Somers said, “we pressed Wesley pretty hard in there, but I honestly don’t see him as a suspect. A person of interest, yes, but we’ve got nothing solid except his relationship with Susan. I’d be more comfortable if we let him go for now while we built a stronger case.”
“Detective Somerset, I’ve got twenty-five years of experience. I know a guilty son of a bitch when I see one, and that freak is guilty as sin.”
“Chief—”
“You got your orders, Detective Somerset. Get the fuck out of my stationhouse and do your job.”
Riggle’s polished boots clicked against the linoleum as he strode away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Somers said quietly to Dulac. “In there, I mean.”
“No matter which way this goes, dude, somebody’s going to be the bad guy. It might as well be me.”
The comment was so strange that Somers didn’t know what to say, and before he had recovered, Dulac was moving toward the doors.
“Let’s go,” Dulac said. “We’ve got orders.”
CHAPTER TEN
JULY 2
TUESDAY
9:10 AM
HAZARD GOT OUT OF BED, washed his face, and stood at the sink. Water ran down his cheeks, beading along his jawline before sliding to his chin, where heavier drops fell to splatter against the porcelain. After Somers brought him home from Mitchell’s, he had pretended to sleep so that Somers would leave. But pretending had turned into a kind of restless dozing. The tsunami of panic that Hazard had experienced in the elevator of Mitchell’s building had drained him, and however Hazard might disagree with some of Somers’s conclusions, he had to admit that Somers was right about one thing: the attacks were getting worse.
Drying his face, he went back to the bedroom and grabbed jeans and a tee. He tossed the wet towel over the back of a chair, dressed, and went downstairs. He grabbed a container of yogurt and ate standing at the sink, staring out the window. A cardinal perched on the branch of a wild plum, feathers ruffled as though he’d just had a scare. Hazard saluted him with the yogurt.
Ok. A plan.
The Keeper of Bees was active again. He had killed Susan Morrison, and