Bliss sighed and stretched across the bed to grind the cigarette out in an empty glass on the bedside table. She was wearing black cotton underpants and red-and-orange striped knee socks. “You are such a cop,” she said.
Susan glanced at her watch. It was just past three A.M. This could be her chance to get the hell out of there. She got out of bed and crept toward the door to the hall. She was wearing her I SMELL BULLSHIT T-shirt and underpants. Not exactly escape clothes, but this was recon. She opened the door a crack and peered out. Bennett looked up instantly from his chair and waved.
Fuck, that guy never went home. He didn’t even nod off.
Susan waved back, trying not to look too disappointed. “Can’t sleep,” she explained. Then she ducked back into the room and flung herself back onto her bed.
“I may get fired,” Susan said. “That girl I was writing about, Molly Palmer. She’s dead. That was her body they found Saturday in the park.”
Bliss looked up, interested. “How did she die?” she asked.
“They don’t know,” Susan said. “They thought it was an OD. But the senator’s dead. And Parker. Again, tragic accident. But it’s got to be connected. And the Herald doesn’t want to run the story. Ian said it was because Castle had just died and they wanted to wait a few days to attack him. And now he says they can’t run it without Molly to verify her story.” Susan had promised Molly that everything would be all right. She had promised her a lot of things. She would have said anything to get her to talk. “I think he’s getting pressured,” Susan said.
“You have notes?” Bliss asked. “Tapes of interviews?”
“I gave all my story material to Archie,” Susan said.
Bliss raised an eyebrow. “You gave the only evidence you have to support your story to the police?”
Susan bit her lip. She hadn’t really thought of it that way. “Yeah,” she said.
Bliss reached over and turned off the bedside light, throwing the room back into darkness. “Sometimes,” she said, “I think all those protests I took you to as a kid didn’t teach you anything at all.”
CHAPTER
38
Is all this really necessary?” Sarah Rosenberg asked. She had agreed to see Archie first thing in the morning and her hair was still wet from a shower, a tangle of brown curls that left dark stains on the shoulders of her gray turtleneck. No makeup. A mug of coffee sat on a coaster on an end table next to her striped chair. The mug had a big red heart on it and the words WORLD’S GREATEST MOM.
Archie took a sip of his own paper cup of coffee. Henry was sitting outside the door to Rosenberg’s home office. Two squad cars were parked out front. A patrol cop was on the porch. “It’s in case you try to murder me,” he said. The green velvet curtains were drawn. He couldn’t see the cherry trees.
Rosenberg’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “Are you all right?” she asked.
There was no faking it. He’d seen himself in the mirror that morning. His skin looked like paraffin wax. There were dark circles under his eyes. His hands trembled. “No,” Archie said.
“How is your family?” Rosenberg asked.
Archie glanced at the grandfather clock. Still three-thirty. Someday he was going to pay to get that clock fixed himself. “Just giddy,” Archie said.
Rosenberg was quiet for a moment. She picked up the mug with the heart on it, took a sip, and put it back down. Tea, Archie realized from the smell. Not coffee. “I read about what happened at the school,” Rosenberg said. “That must have been difficult for you.”
He didn’t want to believe that Gretchen would kill his children. Terrorize them, yes. But would she be able to actually murder Archie’s own flesh and blood? “She killed a little boy once,” Archie said softly. “It was notable because she’s only killed a couple of children.” Who was he kidding? “That we know of.” He put his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin in his hand. Rosenberg sat, spine and neck erect, watching him. “Ten years old,” Archie continued. “He disappeared on the way home from playing at the park near his house. She made him drink drain cleaner and then she skinned him with a scalpel.” That had been in Washington State. He’d driven up for the autopsy. “Then she left his body, hog-tied, in his own backyard for his mother to find.”
Rosenberg’s posture didn’t change. “You’ve seen a lot of violence,” she said simply.
Archie took a sip of his coffee. It was a long time after his ten days with Gretchen that he could swallow anything without it burning his damaged esophagus. “It’s hard to drink drain cleaner,” he said. “You end up vomiting a lot of it back up. For the amount in his system, she would have had to hold him down, to force it down his throat.” Archie got out the pillbox. He didn’t even try to hide it. He opened the box and tapped a couple of pills into his hand. “I was lucky,” he said, putting the pills in his mouth. “She only fed it to me a few teaspoons at a time.”
“You weren’t lucky, Archie,” Rosenberg said. “And you didn’t do anything to deserve it.”