Liar Liar - James Patterson Page 0,28

for him. It was going to be the two of us, discovering the real him together.”

“Jesus Christ.” I covered my eyes.

“I never got that chance,” Regan continued. He sounded on the verge of tears. Mourning my brother. “When Sam died, everything that he could have been died with him.”

“You…” I struggled to find words.

“I thought it was all over,” Regan said. “But then I discovered you.”

“Don’t do this,” I said. “Don’t play this game. Just confront me. Don’t take any more innocent lives.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Because when I look you in the eyes for the first time, Harry, I want you to really see me. And I want you to have the gift of seeing yourself.”

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll see whatever you fucking want me to,” I snarled. “I’ll gaze appreciatively upon all the magnificent horseshit you’ve constructed before I feed your internal organs to you one at a time.”

“We can’t meet yet,” Regan said. “When we do, it’s going to be in a place that helps you understand me, but along the way, you’ve got to learn to understand yourself.”

“You’ve got a mystical fucking journey of self-discovery all worked out for me,” I said. “But you’re going to be sorely disappointed at the end when you realize that Sam was a good person, and so am I.”

“We’re going to find out,” Regan said. “I think you’ll be surprised. You’re not a good cop, Harry. I took that away from you. I’m going to keep taking layers away, and we’re going to see what we find inside.”

Chapter 36

WHITT STOOD BEFORE the mirrors in the men’s room, bracing himself against the sink. Reflected in the glass, he saw a failure. A man in pieces, wandering along the precipice of a gigantic fall. He took the packet of Dexedrines from his back pocket and threw a couple more into his mouth. Yes, he was over the twenty-four-hour mark of his relapse. But he needed to keep his blood pumping and mind sharp for as long as Regan was on his rampage. He would have to postpone his comedown at least until they had Banks cornered. Whitt could handle his addiction until then. He’d got sober before. It might even be easier this time.

He shouldered open the door to the bathroom and walked back down the hospital corridor to where Vada was waiting at the elevators, having escorted Bonnie Risdale’s body to the morgue.

The press on the footpath outside the Shoalhaven District Memorial Hospital emergency room didn’t recognize Vada, but they recognized Whitt.

Vada turned away from the cameras, slipping unnoticed toward the back of the crowd as the group assembled in front of Whitt, blocking his path.

“Detective Whittacker! Can you tell us about the woman killed in Nowra today? Is it him? Is Regan Banks in our community?”

“I can’t comment on the case.” He tried to wave them off. “Investigations are pending.”

“Who was she?” The calls were defiant. The huddle of reporters followed him down the footpath. “Did Banks know her? Did Detective Blue know her? Do people have cause to be worried?”

“Members of the public are advised to take all usual precautions,” Whitt said. It was an old line he rattled off with ease, but not something he easily believed. He was worried for the women here. For the men, too, for that matter. Regan was out there, probably moving on to his next target.

“Was Harry with Regan Banks?” someone asked. Whitt felt a chill run up his spine. “Are they in league with each other?”

“Who asked that?” Whitt snapped, looking at the faces around him, the polished countenances of the nation’s news media. No one answered. He spied Vada looking guilty for having left him to the hounds.

“Detective Harriet Blue is trying to find Regan Banks,” Whitt said, his face flushing as he felt himself wandering out of the bounds of professional conduct with the media. “She’s a good police officer. She’s on our side, and if any of you want to argue with me about it, you can put the cameras down and I’ll meet you in the fucking parking lot.”

There was a ripple of surprise from the crowd. The journalists turned to face one another, glancing uncomfortably at Whitt’s clenched fists. The Chief Superintendent from the Nowra police station exited the emergency-room doors, and most of the gaggle ran toward him, microphones at the ready.

Vada came to Whitt’s side as he walked to their car.

“You were really willing to punch a news journalist to defend