Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(73)

“Because they knew Catherine Gagnon.”

“Because they were allies of Catherine Gagnon. I spoke to Dr. Rocco the day he died—he fervently believed Catherine wasn't harming Nathan. Catherine trusted him as Nathan's doctor, just as she trusted Prudence to help with Nathan. Now she has no one.”

“She has a father,” D.D. pointed out.

“Really? I'd send a few patrol cars in his direction. Maybe he's next.”

“To be attacked by a knife-wielding butcher or to mysteriously hang himself? Come on, Bobby, the MO's don't even match!”

“He's isolating her.”

“He's a well-respected judge who doesn't need to resort to murder. By your own admission, he's got money, influence, and an intimate knowledge of the legal system. Face it, Bobby: if Judge Gagnon wants custody of his grandson, he's going to end up with custody of his grandson. He sure as hell doesn't need to resort to murder.”

“Five o'clock deadline,” Bobby said. “The judge wants me testifying tomorrow and he obviously prefers possession of his grandkid tonight. The judge is in a hurry.” He grimaced. “I wonder what's up.”





D. D. INTERVIEWED CATHERINE next, sequestered in the front parlor. Bobby wasn't allowed in the room. He roamed the foyer, trying to catch Catherine's muffled replies through the closed parlor door, and wondering why Copley still hadn't shown his ugly mug.

Catherine and Nathan had been out most of the day. Bobby caught that much of Catherine's report. The security system had been set when she'd left; it was still set when she returned. No, she hadn't seen Prudence all day; she assumed the girl had left before she'd gotten up that morning. No, she didn't know much about the girl's local associates or friends. Prudence had a cell phone; that's what Catherine used to reach her. No, she had not tried to contact Prudence all day; she hadn't had a reason.

Catherine didn't know where the candles had come from. She didn't know where the rope had come from. A ladder had also been discovered. Maybe from their storage unit in the basement? She didn't know much about these things; the basement was Jimmy's domain.

Last time she'd been in the master bedroom had been the night before. She'd been concerned about security, so she and Prudence had moved the dresser in front of the broken slider. She hadn't known that anyone had moved it away, and she doubted Prudence would've done so—the dresser had been too heavy for either of them to move it alone.

At this point D.D. asked dryly if the bedroom security camera was on—or did it still not know how to tell time?

Catherine responded stiffly that she hadn't touched the security system at all, but she knew for a fact there would be no video footage from the master bedroom—the police had seized all the tapes.

Having achieved conversational stalemate, D.D. switched to more neutral ground.

Prudence had worked for her for six months, Catherine supplied. She'd been referred by an agency in England. Yes, Catherine had based part of her decision to hire her on the fact that Prudence was gay. Just because she'd come to terms with Jimmy's incessant infidelity didn't mean she was going to encourage him.

She had thought Prudence was an excellent nanny. Quiet, hardworking, discreet. No, the girl had not seemed particularly upset about what happened to Jimmy. Did that seem odd to her? Well, the British were known for their reserve.

Prudence had been more concerned about Nathan's health, as she should be.

Had Prudence visited Nathan in the hospital? No, Nathan had been in the ICU, where only family members were allowed.

But Nathan had been in the hospital for the past two days. So what had Prudence been doing? Her employer was dead, her charge was in the ICU. What was Prudence doing?

For the first time, Catherine hesitated. She didn't know.

Had she seen Prudence? Not really. Catherine had been out a lot—she'd been with Nathan at the hospital.

Had she talked to Prudence? Not much.

So in fact, Prudence could have been quite upset about Jimmy's death. Prudence could have understandably been terrified about staying alone in a house where a man had been shot. Maybe she'd even harbored a secret crush on Jimmy. He'd been charismatic, charming, handsome. Or maybe, she'd overheard a few things. A girl that quiet, that discreet . . . Maybe she knew more than she was saying about Thursday night, and that had left the girl extremely upset.

So upset, Catherine countered quietly, that she'd snapped her own neck?

Bobby could pretty much hear D.D.'s mental curse through the door. D.D. would be writing up a report this evening; his name would not be mentioned favorably. And with her would go the other few allies he had within the BPD.

Isolation, he thought. Of himself, of Catherine. He wanted to think it was due to choices of his own making. Or was Judge Gagnon really that good?

The interview wound down. Little more D.D. could ask. Little more Catherine would tell.

The door finally opened. D.D. stalked out, looking even angrier than when she'd stalked in. Bobby didn't bother to try to apologize.

He slid up beside her, just as she was walking out the door.

“Get the f*ck out of my way, Bobby—” she started.

“I know how the murders are connected,” he said. She wasn't going to ask, so he supplied on his own: “Overpowering a grown man and snapping a young girl's neck. Whoever did this is very big and very strong.”