Mouse…
But Linda didn’t have Sam’s reticence. “And what gives you the right to talk? You were just some tramp pretending to be this bohemian artist.” Linda’s voice shook with anger, tears streaming down her face. “Sure, we had some problems, Sam and me, butwe cared for each other. You were just a whore.
And here you are, judging us. You weren’t any better!”
Rebecca sat back, her face still. Sam could almost see the anger bleeding away. She looked down at the table, said in a soft voice, “You’re right, Linda. You’re absolutely right. I’m no better at all. I fell for it too. He did the same thing to me.”
“You?” the woman snapped. “You didn’t haveany connection with Daniel! You were just there to fuck.”
“Exactly,” she said with a sad smile on her face, one of the saddest that Samantha McCoy had ever seen.
Sam asked, “What do you mean, Rebecca?”
More wine. “How do you think he gotme hooked?” Another sip of wine. “I never told you that I hadn’t
slept with anybody for three years before I met him.”
“You?”
“Funny, huh? Sexy me. The femme fatale of the Central Coast? The truth was a lot different. What did Daniel Pell do for me? He made me feel good about my body. He taught me that sex was good. It wasn’t dirty.” She set down the wineglass. “It wasn’t something that happened when my father got home from work.”
“Oh,” Sam whispered.
Linda said nothing.
Downing the last of the wine. “Two or three times a week. Middle and high school…You want to hear what my graduation present was?”
“Rebecca…I’m so sorry,” Sam said. “You never said anything.”
“You mentioned that day in the van, when we met?” Speaking to Linda, whose face was unmoved.
“Yeah, we were there for three hours. You thought we were fucking. But all we did was talk. He was comforting me because I was so freaked out. Just like so many other times—being with a man who wanted me, and me wanting him, only I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t let him touch me. A sexy package—with no passion inside. But Daniel? He knew exactly what to say to make me feel comfortable.
“And now look at me—I’m thirty-three and I’ve dated four different men this year and, you know, I can’t remember the name of the second one. Oh, and guess what—every one of them was at least fifteen years older than me…. No, I’m not any better than you guys. And everything I said to you, I mean it twice for myself.
“But come on, Linda, look at him for who he is and what he did to us. Daniel Pell’s the worst thing you can possibly imagine. Yes, itwas all that bad…Sorry, I’m drunk and this’s brought up more crap than I was prepared to deal with.”
Linda said nothing. Sam could see the conflict in her face. After a moment she said, “I’m sorry for your misfortune. I’ll pray for you. Now please excuse me, I’m going to bed.”
Clutching her Bible, she went off to the bedroom.
“That didn’t go over very well,” Rebecca said. “Sorry, Mouse.” She leaned back, eyes closed, sighing.
“Funny about trying to escape the past. It’s like a dog on a tether. No matter how much he runs, he just can’t get away.”
Chapter 38
Dance and Kellogg were in her office at CBI headquarters, where they’d briefed Overby, working late for a change, on the events at Reynolds’s house—and learned from TJ and Carraneo that there were no new developments. The hour was just after 11:00P.M .
She put her computer on standby. “Okay, that’s it,” she said. “I’m calling it a night.”
“I’m with you there.”
As they walked down the dim hallway, Kellogg said, “I was thinking, they really are a family.”
“Back there? At the lodge?”
“Right. The three of them. They’re not related. They don’t even like each other particularly. But theyare a family.”
He said this in a tone suggesting that he defined the word from the perspective of its absence. The interaction of the three women, which she’d noted clinically and found revealing, even amusing, had touched Kellogg in some way. She didn’t know him well enough either to deduce why or to ask. She noted his shoulders lift very slightly and two fingernails of his left hand flicked together, evidence of general stress.
“You going to pick up the children?” he asked.
“No, they’ll stay at their grandparents’ tonight.”
“They’re great, they really are.”
“And you never thought about having kids?”
“Not really.” His voice faded. “We were both working. I was on the road a lot. You know. Professional couples.”
In interrogation and kinesic analysis the content of speech is usually secondary to the tone—the “verbal quality”—with which the words are delivered. Dance had heard many people tell her they’d never had children, and the resonance of the words explained whether that fact was inconsequential, a comfortable choice, a lingering sorrow.
She’d sensed something significant in Kellogg’s statement. She noted more indications of stress, little bursts of body language. Maybe a physical problem on his part or his wife’s. Maybe it had been a big issue between them, the source of their breakup.
“Wes has his doubts about me.”
“Ah, he’s just sensitive about Mom meeting other men.”
“He’ll have to get used to it someday, won’t he?”
“Oh, sure. But just now…”
“Got it,” Kellogg said. “Though he seemed to be comfortable when you’re with Michael.”
“Oh, that’s different. Michael’s a friend. And he’s married. He’s no threat.” Aware of what she’d just said, Dance added quickly, “It’s just, you’re the new kid in town. He doesn’t know you.”
There was a faint hesitation before Kellogg answered. “Sure, I can see that.”
Dance glanced at him to find the source of the pause. His face gave nothing away.
“Don’t take Wes’s reaction personally.”