to happen.”
Simon shot her a weary smile. She didn’t return it.
“You can’t visit me at the retreat,” Paige said. “Not for another month. No visitors.”
“Okay.”
“They let me come down because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Thank you.”
He drove some more.
“So how did it work?” he asked her.
“How did what work?”
“When your first month was up, this retreat let you contact us?”
“Yes.”
“You read about what happened?”
Paige nodded. “My counselor at the clinic had seen a news report. She told me about it.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“So your counselor knew and kept it from you?”
“Yes. It was my only chance, Dad. Total isolation. Please understand.”
“I do.” Simon changed lanes. “You know we became friends with your old landlord Cornelius.”
Paige turned toward him.
“He saved your mother’s life.”
“How?”
He filled her in on their visit to the Bronx—the whole story of how they’d gone to her apartment and met Cornelius and gone to Rocco’s place in that basement.
“Cornelius was really nice to me,” Paige said when he finished.
“He also told us you ran out with blood on your face two days before Aaron was killed.”
Paige turned away from him and looked out her side window.
“Did Aaron beat you?”
“Just that once.”
“Badly?”
“Yes.”
“So you ran away. And then, according to the police, that hit man killed him.”
Paige’s tone was off when she said, “I guess.”
And he could hear the lie in his daughter’s voice.
Simon knew there was something wrong with the police’s theory on Aaron Corval’s murder. On the one hand, it made perfect sense, it was simple, it fit. Sort of. The cult was killing the boys who were illegally adopted. Aaron Corval was one of those babies, ergo he’d been one of their targets. Ash and Dee Dee had returned to the scene because they needed to kill Simon.
But how could they have known Simon would be there?
Simon had scoured through all the information. He’d seen the E-ZPass records and noted that Ash and Dee’s car had never gone near the hospital. So they couldn’t have followed him.
Then something else caught Simon’s eye.
A witness, Cornelius’s tenant Enrique Boaz, claimed to have seen Dee Dee on the third floor right before the shooting on the second floor in Cornelius’s apartment.
Why? Why would she be on the third floor?
To the police this had been a small anomaly, no big deal: Every case has inconsistencies like this. But it niggled at the back of Simon’s brain. So Simon went back. With Cornelius by his side, he questioned Enrique and uncovered a possible clue:
Dee Dee had been standing right in front of Aaron and Paige’s room.
Again: Why? If you already killed Aaron, why would you go back to his room? Why would you, as Cornelius had noticed after the cops left, kick down the door to get in?
It didn’t add up.
Unless you hadn’t been there before.
“Paige?”
“Yes?”
“What did you do after Aaron beat you?”
“I ran.”
“Where?”
“I…I went to get a fix.”
Then he just asked it. “You didn’t call Mom?”
Silence.
“Paige?”
“Please let this go.”
“Did you call Mom?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she say?”
“I…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I told her what I did. I told her I had to run away.”
“What else did you say, Paige?”
“Dad. Please. Please let this go.”
“Not until we both tell the truth. And Paige? The truth never leaves this car. Never. Aaron was scum. His death wasn’t murder—it was self-defense. He was killing you every day. Poisoning you. And when you tried to break free, he went back and poisoned you again. Do you understand?”
His daughter nodded.
“So what happened?”
“Aaron beat me that day, Dad. With his fists.”
Simon felt that rage engulf him again.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. But I knew I could pull out of it—I could be free—if he was just…”
“Gone,” Simon said, finishing the thought for her.
“Remember what you saw in the park? The way I looked?”
He nodded.
“I had to break his hold on me.”
Simon waited. Paige stared straight out the windshield in front of them.
“So yeah, Dad, I killed him. I killed him and made it all bloody. Then I ran away.”
Simon just kept on driving. He gripped the wheel so tightly he feared he might rip it right out of the dashboard.
“Dad?”
“You’re my daughter. I’ll always protect you. Always. And I’m proud of you. You’re trying to do the right thing.”
She moved in next to him. Simon put his arm around her, kept the other hand on the wheel.
“But you didn’t kill Aaron.”
He could feel her stiffen under his arm.
“The beating was two days before he was murdered.”
“Dad, please let it go.”
How Simon wished that he could. “You called