‘That didn’t sound good,’ Meredith murmured.
‘No, it didn’t.’ Diesel quickly made the changes Isenberg requested then tapped a few more keys. ‘It’s up. Cross your fingers.’
‘I am. I want this to be over.’
‘I know. Let’s do our part. I’ll keep working at Bethany Row’s email server and you try the Indy detective again.’
Meredith gave his massive arm a friendly pat. ‘Thanks, Diesel. You’ve been an amazing help the past couple days.’
‘You’re an amazing help every day, Merry. Least I can do.’
She gave him another pat, then sat down to call the detective again.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 9.45 A.M.
‘Pull into the driveway, Rita,’ Linnea said quietly, holding the gun at an angle that couldn’t be seen by the older man fussing with a string of lights in front of his already over-decorated house. ‘Do not stop to talk to him. Just wave like you always do. No more tricks.’
Because Rita had driven around aimlessly for an hour before Linnea grabbed her purse and found her address on her driver’s license. Rita lived only minutes from the Gruber Academy, but had apparently been hoping to need to stop for gas – and help. But luckily, the woman had had a full tank. Still, it had taken them another hour to get back.
‘How would you know what I always do?’ Rita asked angrily.
‘Smile, ma’am. Smile like you always do. Now put down the garage door and turn off the engine.’ She waited until Rita had obeyed. ‘I know you always smile and wave, because you seem nice. I don’t know how you can be nice, but I heard you with your daughter this morning. You sounded real. Like you’re a good mother.’
‘Then why are you doing this?’ Rita asked for the twentieth time.
‘I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you. Let’s go inside.’ She waited until Rita had taken the baby from the car seat before taking him from her arms. ‘I’ll hold him.’ She held up her gun, knowing she’d never hurt the baby with it, but hoping Rita couldn’t see that. ‘This way you’ll think twice before using the phone.’
They walked into the house, a nice two-story, but not grand. Nowhere near the luxury of Voss’s home. Odd that he lives like this, she thought.
But he did indeed live here. Linnea’s heart stuttered when she saw him in the family photo on the bookshelf. Yes, this is the right place. Keep your cool and get this done.
And then she saw the next photograph and had to lock her knees to keep them from folding on her. He was wearing a uniform. A uniform.
He’s a cop. Oh my God. Stunned, she could only stare. He’s a fucking cop.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Now so many things made sense. He was a cop. He could break the rules without consequences.
I have to be ready to face him. I have to be ready to kill him with the first shot. I have to be ready to be hunted by his policemen friends once I’ve done the job. I have to be ready to be arrested. Maybe shot on sight.
But she was already ready to die. So nothing had really changed.
Not true. It was even more important now that she take him out. It would mean one less cop preying on the helpless and innocent.
Resolutely, she turned to find Rita standing in the middle of the room, hugging herself. ‘What are you going to do to us?’ Rita asked.
‘If you behave yourself, nothing. For now, I’d like you to make me some tea.’
Rita blinked at her. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, tea. I like tea. I’m a hooker, not a barbarian.’
Rita nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.’
Linnea followed her into the kitchen, watching her every move. Rita did as asked, then she and Linnea sat on their sofa. The toddler squirmed and Linnea tightened her hold.
‘Tell him it’s okay,’ Linnea said quietly. ‘Right now. In your nicest, sweetest Mommy voice.’
‘Mikey, sit nicely for the lady and Mommy will get you a cookie,’ she said brightly, and the boy settled down. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked once again.
‘Because your husband murdered my best friend.’
Rita gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth. ‘You lying whore.’
‘You got the whore part right, but that was because of him too.’ Linnea looked down at the toddler sadly. ‘I’m not going to say any more because you’re too young to know that your daddy is an evil man.’
Rita’s chin lifted. ‘You lie.’
‘No, ma’am.’ She shifted the baby to her knee, holding her gun in the same hand. The safety was on, but she hated taking a chance with him. The tea beckoned, though, and Linnea needed something to soothe her stomach. ‘When does your husband get home?’
Rita looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
Linnea sipped the tea, welcoming its warmth. ‘It doesn’t matter. In a minute I’m going to text him with your phone and ask him to come home. I’ll tell him Mikey is sick.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I’m going to kill him.’
Twenty-seven
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Monday 21 December, 9.45 A.M.
‘I don’t know,’ Deacon murmured as he, Adam, and Scarlett stood in front of the glass in the observation room. ‘Your dad’s an asshole, Adam, but he’s not a criminal.’
Jim Kimble sat on the other side of the glass, ready to blow a gasket. ‘Maybe not,’ Adam murmured back, ‘but Dale Hanson isn’t a criminal either – and he’s a truly nice man.’
‘He was,’ Deacon agreed. ‘I remember him taking us to your ball games, when you and Hanson were on the team. Then we’d go out for ice cream. I liked him.’
Adam had more than liked him. ‘Dale was a much better father to me than my own ever was. I hate that he’s been pulled into all this. I mean, did you see him?’
‘Of course we did,’ Scarlett said gently. ‘Deacon and I brought him in.’
Adam cursed silently. He knew that, dammit. He’d seen them escorting Dale into the interview room next door. ‘I know,’ he said, fighting to keep his frustration out of his voice. Because Scarlett and Deacon didn’t deserve it. ‘I mean, he’s almost blind. Macular degeneration. No way he could have fired a rifle now. Years ago, maybe. He was a crack shot when we were kids.’
‘I remember him taking us to the firing range once with Uncle Jim. It was you and me and Dani and Wyatt. We were, what, about sixteen?’
‘About that. Dale did tear up the targets that day. Every shot in the kill zone.’
‘I remember,’ Deacon said, ‘because it was the coolest thing ever. Watching that man fire a rifle was almost . . . like music. He was good.’
‘But not a killer,’ Adam choked out.
Deacon started to argue, but Scarlett gave him a quelling look that had him pursing his lips. ‘How long have you known Wyatt and his father?’ Scarlett asked.
‘His father, a long time,’ Adam answered. ‘Since I was old enough to remember. He was my father’s partner on patrol. We did cookouts and parties and all kinds of things with Dale and his wife, before she died.’
‘But not Wyatt?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Wyatt was adopted when he was about thirteen. His biological father had gone on a shooting rampage. Killed everyone in the house, then turned the gun on himself. Dale found Wyatt hiding in a closet. Took him to social services, then he and his wife fostered him. Ended up keeping him. Dale’s a good man.’
‘Let’s hold to that thought while Isenberg and Trip talk to your dad.’ Scarlett bumped shoulders with him encouragingly. ‘Maybe there’s a good explanation for how that rifle went from their possession to a killer’s hands.’
God, I hope so, Adam thought, but his gut was telling him otherwise. And then the familiar voice coming through the speakers had him flinching.
‘What the fuck is this all about?’ his father demanded as Isenberg and Trip entered the room and took their seats at the table. ‘Why did you call me down here?’