a photographer.” He looked defiantly at her. “I take pictures of unusual situations.”
The photographs weren’t Terrence’s idea. They were Glover’s. Why? Was it just for the sexual pleasure? But Glover didn’t keep any photos in his trophy box. “Did Daniel tell you to take those photos?”
“No.”
“You put a necklace on her throat, right? The necklace with the cross. Why?”
“She always wore it. It made the picture seem better.”
“And did Daniel drink the blood?”
“No . . . he didn’t want to. But I slipped some into his coffee. And into his food.” Terrence seemed pleased with himself. “It made him better. It helped.”
Did Glover know this was going on? Did he let Terrence put some blood in his food just to make him feel like he was the one calling the shots? She doubted it. More likely, the brain cancer played havoc with Glover’s taste buds, and he hadn’t noticed the taste.
“Then why did Daniel go along with it?” she asked. “If you went to provide him with pure blood, but he wouldn’t drink the blood later, why did he go at all?”
“I . . . I’m confused. It’s all those drugs they give me here. He did drink it; that’s why we did it. It was my idea. But he drank the blood.” He shook his head violently. “He wanted to get well. That’s why we did it. For the blood.”
“And three days later, you went and grabbed another woman, near the train station. You did that for the blood too?”
“Yes. I wanted . . . we were running out of blood. So we went there and waited for the woman. And we took her blood.”
“But you also killed her.”
“It was an accident.”
“Why did you draw the pentagram? Drive the knife into her stomach?”
A note of hesitation. “Just props. For the photographs.”
“Whose idea was that?”
He mouthed unheard words again, turning away from her, looking at something unseen. She tried to read his lips but couldn’t make anything out.
“Terrence, whose idea was it?”
“It was mine.”
“And Daniel went along with it? Spent an entire hour with a dead woman, preparing the set, taking the photos?”
“He’s a good friend.”
“And then you took Rhea Deleon.”
His head wavered from side to side. “Who?”
“The woman we found in your house.”
“Oh, right. Her. Yes. Daniel didn’t want to take her. He was against it from the start.” His eyelids flickered. “It was all my idea.”
In this case, she believed him. “So he killed her.”
“No. It wasn’t him. It was the tumor. It was Rod.”
She eyed him sharply. “The tumor killed her? What do you mean?”
“It tried to. She’s still alive. But it tried to kill her. It drank her blood, and it strangled her and tried to kill her.” His eyes focused momentarily, and rage flickered in them. “It did it.”
Terrence was willing to take the blame for Daniel’s deeds, but not, apparently, for the tumor’s part in this. “What happened then?”
“I kicked him out. I thought Daniel was gone. That the tumor consumed him. So I threatened him with a knife, and he ran.”
“Do you know where he ran?”
“No, but it doesn’t . . .” He yanked his hand again, the handcuff clanging. “It doesn’t matter. He came back. And he was Daniel again. He helped me. He helped me silence Catherine again. We didn’t want her to tell about the blood.”
“Is that why you burned the newspapers?”
“Of course. But it was my idea. Not Daniel’s. He helped me. He’s a good friend. I won’t tell them. I won’t tell them.” His eyes flickered again, and he cocked his head, as if listening to something else.
“Terrence, can you tell us when Daniel first contacted you?”
“No. I won’t answer anything more. I won’t. I won’t.” Spittle shot from his mouth. “I told you everything. Leave me alone.”
“Just a few more questions, and then we’ll let you rest. When did Daniel first contact you?”
He whispered something, his lips moving emphatically. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.
He lunged so fast she barely had time to pull back. His teeth snapped inches away from her cheek, and she felt his breath, smelled the rot that rose from his mouth. She pushed her chair back, revulsion and fear swarming her mind.
“Leave me alone!” he screamed, spittle spattering from his mouth. “Just leave me alone! Get out, get out, get out!” He bucked in his cot, the handcuffs screeching on the metal rails. “Get out get out get out get out!”
Zoe rose and stepped back, almost colliding with Tatum.