Susan was startled. “Really?”
Archie’s face didn’t register any emotion. “We’re taking a break,” he explained. It was the kind of thing you’d say about a trial separation, not a continuing homicide investigation. We’re taking a break. Seeing other people. Exploring our options.
Gretchen Lowell. The Beauty Killer. The Queen of Evil. Susan had met her only once. Blond. Porcelain skin. She was even more beautiful in person than she was in all the pictures.
Susan had been sixteen when they discovered the Beauty Killer’s first victim, and that’s about how old Gretchen Lowell still made her feel.
There were newspaper stories almost every day back then, most of them written by Quentin Parker. That was how Susan first knew Archie Sheridan, as a photograph in the paper, standing behind a podium at a press conference or standing over some new corpse.
“I haven’t seen her,” Archie said. “Since the After School Strangler case.”
An involuntary shiver raised the hairs on Susan’s arms. She changed the subject. “I heard you got back together with your family,” she said.
Archie smiled and picked at something on the leg of his pants. “We’re working on it,” he said, his voice softening.
Susan smiled. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
They sat for a moment in completely awkward silence. Well, it was completely awkward for Susan. Archie seemed fine with it. But she didn’t like silence. It made her feel as if she might blurt out something she would regret. Or start to cry. Which is exactly what happened.
“Oh, God,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek and examining it, as horrified as if it were blood.
Archie put his hand on hers. He didn’t say anything. He just waited while she wept.
“I get scared sometimes, when I’m alone,” she said, blubbering. She dug in her purse for an old tissue and blew her nose. “Isn’t that pathetic?”
Archie was perfectly still. He squeezed her hand. “Not at all,” he said quietly.
Susan closed her eyes. Sometimes she wished she could go back three months, before the case that had brought them together. And then she remembered Archie, and all he’d been through, and felt like a jerk.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Parker’s making me feel sorry for myself.”
“It’s okay to be scared, Susan,” Archie said. “You’re going to be okay. There is nothing pathetic about you.”
She smiled at him and nodded a few times. He always called her “Susan.” Never “Sue,” or “Suzy,” or “Suze.” She liked that about him.
“Do you really think the Atomic Turquoise is okay?” she asked.
She could see Archie eye her hair, considering his words carefully. “I like the fact that you have the guts to do it,” he said.
She wiped her cheeks and nose with her palms and forearm and started to get out of the car.
Archie stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I might need your help with something else,” he said. “I’ve got a body I need to identify. I might need to ask a favor. To get some coverage. I’m afraid the story will get lost in all this mess.”
“The girl in the park?” Susan asked.
Archie raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Let me know what you need,” Susan said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Walking away, she wondered for a moment if Archie had been playing her a little, wanting her help getting coverage, and if she was being just a little bit manipulated. Then she pushed the thought out of her mind. Archie wasn’t that calculating.
CHAPTER
6
Archie watched as Henry maneuvered his large frame into the driver’s seat and started the car. “You get her to cover the park?” Henry asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as Susan made her way back to the assembled pen of reporters.
“Yeah,” Archie said. It had been easy. He felt a little bit bad about that. But he felt worse for their Jane Doe. It was something that Debbie was always accusing him of—feeling more connection to the dead than the living.
Archie pulled his seat belt over his chest and fastened it.
“No questions?” Henry asked. “She just agreed?” He twisted around in his seat to get another look at Susan, who was easy to spot, her turquoise hair like the head of a match. “What did you do? Hypnotize her?”
It was hot in the car and Archie fiddled with the air conditioner. “You ever hear anything about the senator screwing his kids’ babysitter?” he asked.
“Heard something like that,” Henry said. “Didn’t know she was his babysitter.”
Archie winced. The air conditioner choked to life and some small bit of crud caught in the vent rattled and snapped. “Ever think about looking into it?” Archie asked. He slammed the heel of his palm into the dash near the vent and the rattling stopped.