The press that was following the case—mostly the local paper and news stations—was focused on the idea of an outside threat. Hidden Hills was home to wealthy CEOs and movie stars; what better place to scoop up a kid who could be ransomed for millions?
But from the start law enforcement seemed to have a different view. Judging by the number of times he was reportedly brought in for questioning, it was clear to me who the FBI’s main suspect was.
Patrick.
? ? ?
Patrick found me out by the pool, where I was keeping an eye on Mia as she swam.
“Hey,” he said as he sat down in the lounge chair next to mine.
“Patrick!” Mia said. “Look how fast I am!”
She dog-paddled with little grace but great enthusiasm across the shallow end of the pool. Ever since the weather had turned warmer, she’d been practically living in the water, only emerging for school and meals, her fingers permanently puckered.
“That’s great, Mia,” Patrick said with a wide, white toothed smile. For a second I imagined him with blood spattered across his face, and I had to shake my head to lose the image. His smile was gone when he turned to me. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure,” I said. I had a handful of quarters that I’d been throwing one at a time for Mia to dive for. I grabbed them all and chucked them into the pool at once. Mia shrieked and dove. “What’s up?”
“It’s the FBI,” Patrick said. “I’ve put them off as long as I can. We need to go in again tomorrow.”
I swallowed. “Okay. At least I had a little time off, right?”
He put his hand on my shoulder, and I wondered why the FBI had suspected him. Was it just demographics, the fact that most killers are young men, and Patrick was the only one who fit the bill? Or was there some evidence against him I didn’t know about?
“I’m sorry, D,” he said, “but after this we’ll both be done with them.”
Mia swam up to the edge of the pool closest to us and dropped another quarter onto the small, wet pile on the concrete. “I’m rich!” she said.
? ? ?
Lex was not pleased.
“No way!” she said, slamming the cabinet door shut after pulling out a stack of plates for the takeout she’d ordered for dinner. “He’s not doing it!”
“Lexi, you knew this was coming,” Patrick said.
“It’s too much to ask of him,” she said, tearing up. I knew now that she was only scared for herself and whomever she was protecting, but for a moment it felt like it was me she was protecting again. “He’s only been home a few months. He needs time to heal, not all this constant questioning.”
“I wish there was something I could do, but—”
“Well try harder!” Lex snapped.
She fled the room, throwing off Patrick’s hand when he tried to catch her, and didn’t come out of her room for the rest of the night.
? ? ?
Patrick and I went back to the L.A. field office alone. Lex pulled a Jessica and disappeared after spending the night locked in her room. Maybe if I spent more time locked in my room, any suspicions Morales might have that I wasn’t really a Tate would be laid to rest.
Morales greeted us coolly when we met in the lobby. I understood now why just the sight of her made Patrick and Lex so tense and angry. Her cool professionalism, brisk walk, and smartly pressed slacks felt like a slap in the face when she was trying so hard to ruin my life. It made me want to shake her until she was as much of a mess as the rest of us.
“How’s school, Danny?” Morales asked as she walked us back into the office.
“Fine,” I said.
“Are you catching up okay?”
I could feel Patrick’s eyes on me. I just shrugged. “It’s a lot to catch up on.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get there,” she said.
She took the two of us back to the same interview room we’d used last time. Lynch came in a minute later with a laptop under one arm and a couple of bottles of water cradled in the other. He put the water on the table in front of us while he got the laptop up and running. Neither Patrick nor I took one.
Morales and Lynch showed me dozens and dozens of mug shots, asking if anyone looked familiar. I told them no a hundred times, that I had been blindfolded for most of my abduction, but pointed out a couple of men who I said looked a little like the men who’d held me captive over the years. I picked them out of the sea of faces at random. Hopefully that would keep them busy for a little while.
“Thank you, Danny. This is helpful,” Morales said. “Now my colleague Margaret Hamilton is going to come in here and talk to you. I’d like you to tell her your story, and Mr. McConnell, while that’s happening, I’d like to speak with you privately, if you don’t mind.”
Patrick’s hands curled into loose fists on the table. “Actually, I do. I wasn’t aware I was here to be questioned. I came as Danny’s lawyer, and I need to be present during his questioning.”
“It’s not questioning, Mr. McConnell,” Morales said. “Danny’s not in trouble. We just want to see if there’s any other information he may have that can help us catch whoever did this to him.”
“Regardless, I won’t—”
“It’s okay,” I interjected.
“No, Danny, it isn’t,” Patrick said.
“Really, it is,” I said. Hopefully, cooperating with Morales would earn me some goodwill, and I could lie just as easily—if not more so—without Patrick hovering over my shoulder.
Plus, there was a chance that being questioned by Morales would knock Patrick enough off-balance that I might be able to learn something from him.
“I’ll be fine,” I told Patrick when he continued to protest. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Patrick’s jaw strained against his skin, but he had to know that if he continued to argue, he risked making himself look more suspicious to a woman who already had her doubts about him. He looked at me and I looked right back at him, and something like honesty passed between us. I wasn’t his traumatized kid brother; I was a practiced con artist, and he knew it. I could handle this, and he knew that, too.
“Fine,” he said. “But if you start to feel uncomfortable, you tell them you want to see me, and you don’t say another word until I get here, got it?”
I nodded, and Patrick left the room with Morales while Margaret Hamilton came in and took Morales’s vacated chair. She was older than Morales and not as put together—wavy blonde hair that was graying at the roots, like she hadn’t had time to dye it in a while, a suit with a button coming undone, glasses instead of contact lenses—and she was wearing a wedding ring and another band with three small stones, the kind husbands bought for their wives to represent their children.
I wasn’t worried.
Agent Hamilton settled herself in the interview room and offered me a soda. I said no thanks. No playing fast and loose with my DNA inside the FBI field office.
“Good choice,” the agent said. “I always tell my kids that stuff will rot your teeth right out of your head.”
She was trying to make an emotional connection with me, to put me at ease. It was such a transparent tactic that I felt compelled to use one of my own.
“It tastes too sweet to me,” I said with a shy little shrug. “I guess I’m just . . . not used to it.”