people with machine guns who drove their armored truck into Gaffer’s Ridge—his town—and took it away from his uncle Booker? And all because Booker couldn’t get his mind around Mr. GQ being a federal cop? Rafer understood the way his uncle’s mind worked—sometimes he saw what he wanted to see, believed what he wanted to believe, but in this case, Rafer knew the reason his uncle had hauled them to jail. He’d quickly called Rafer’s pa, and taken charge. Last night when Booker and Rafer’s pa and ma had visited the hospital, he’d told Rafer not to worry, there was no proof he’d done anything to Carson DeSilva, and Rafer knew he’d gone through the house himself, made everything they shouldn’t find disappear, including his SUV and computer.
Rafer eyed the agents as he raised the bed. No way was he about to look up at these bozos. They were staring at him like he was a loser. He shrugged and said, his voice indifferent, “What do you lot want? My lawyer told me I don’t have to talk to you, so forget it.” He stopped when the woman, DeSilva, came forward to stand beside Mr. GQ. She looked bright and shiny as a new penny, as his grandma used to say, her thick blond hair loose to her shoulders, most of the beautiful stuff hooked behind her ears. She wore small diamond studs. He had to admit she was as beautiful as Charlize Theron, and everyone knew he’d worshipped the actress for years, even recorded her perfume commercials on TV. It didn’t matter how DeSilva looked, screw the top-notch packaging. He hated her for the crawling fear she’d made him feel, the fear that had made him panic. She’d known somehow about the girls, and then he’d really messed up, and all because of what he’d seen on her face, seen in her eyes. His brain had screamed at him, She knows, she knows, she knows it all. He’d felt instant corrosive fear because he’d believed to his soul she was dangerous, believed she was like his mother. His mother called it a gift, and said it was only for the special few, like his sister, Camilla. He remembered how his mother went on and on to his father about how fast Camilla was learning to do things even she couldn’t do. And he’d known for the longest time he had no gift, known there was nothing special about him, known they were disappointed in him, whispered about him. No, he wouldn’t think about his sister.
He forced himself to look away from DeSilva, to the man and woman standing behind Hammersmith, both looking at him with mild interest at best, both spit-shined in their cool black clothes, all sharp and hard, doubtless more FBI agents. Well, maybe not the girl with the curly red hair, but where were the freckles? He couldn’t see any. Was she that white all over? He wouldn’t mind checking that out for himself, then maybe, well, who knew? He stared hard at her. “You’re an FBI agent, too?”
Sherlock gave him her patented sunny smile, not realizing it was her trademark. She appeared to give his question some thought. “I’m told I am. Actually, I don’t remember, but I will soon.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not important. Now, I understand, Mr. Bodine, you were involved in the kidnapping of three teenage girls, very probably murdered them. Amy Traynor—we know she’s dead—that’s what you let on to Dr. DeSilva. But what about Heather Forrester and Latisha Morris? Are they still alive?”
Rafer’s lawyer had told him to keep quiet, and he’d meant to, but her question made him yell, “That isn’t true! Don’t believe anything she says, she’s lying. She claims she read my mind. Can you imagine anyone taking that seriously? You know it’s nuts, she’s nuts.” He saw his lawyer’s stern expression in his mind’s eye, and shook his head. “I’ve got nothing more to say.”
Sherlock said, “At least tell us why you kidnapped those sixteen-year-old girls. Did you rape them? Have there been other young girls, but from farther away, nowhere near Gaffer’s Ridge so they couldn’t be traced back to you? Were all of them sixteen? Are you a serial killer, Mr. Bodine?”
Rafer felt bile rise in his throat. He wasn’t about to sit here and let her spew this crap at him. He managed to keep his voice calm. “I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t ever hurt anyone. The lot of you, go away. Leave