Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(79)

“Of course you and Nathan must come with me immediately. Maryanne and I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“We're fine, thank you.”

“Nonsense! Surely you can't want to spend another night at the scene of a hanging.”

Catherine was very aware of the uniformed officer standing fifteen feet away and listening openly. “Funny, I don't remember calling you with the news.”

“No need. One of my colleagues let me know. Dreadful business, of course. I've always said I didn't think it was a good idea to go with foreign nannies. Poor girls. They simply can't handle the pressure. Nathan must be horribly distraught. Let me talk to him—”

He made a move to step forward; she blocked his advance. “Nathan's sleeping.”

“Amid all this chaos?”

“He's very tired.”

“All the better reason to let him come with me. We have a positively gargantuan suite at the LeRoux. Nathan can have his own bed; he'll get plenty of rest. Maryanne will be delighted.”

“I appreciate the offer. However, given that Nathan's already asleep, I think it would be a shame to disturb him.”

“Catherine . . .” James's voice remained kind, patient. He said, as if speaking to a very small child, “Surely you're not considering letting your son spend the night at a homicide scene.”

“No. I'm considering letting my son spend the night in the comfort of his own room.”

“For heaven's sake, there is fingerprint powder everywhere. How are you going to explain that to a four-year-old boy? Let alone the smell!”

“I know what's right for my son.”

“Really?” James gave her a smile. “Just as you knew what was right for Prudence?”

Catherine thinned her lips.

There was nothing she could say to that, and they both knew it.

“I hate to state the obvious,” James said now, “but perhaps you don't know what's going on in your own household as well as you think. Prudence was obviously deeply upset about what happened to Jimmy. God only knows how Nathan is feeling.”

“Get out.”

“Now, Catherine—”

“Get out!”

James still wore that horribly paternal smile upon his face. He tried to clasp her shoulder; she whirled on the policeman still in attendance.

“I want this man gone.”

“Catherine—”

“You heard me.” She pointed a finger at the officer, who was blinking his eyes in shock at being dragged into the middle of this scene. “This man is not welcome in my home. Escort him out.”

James was still trying. “Catherine, you're upset, you're not thinking clearly—”

“Officer, do I need to call your superior? Escort this man from my home!”

The young man pushed away from the wall, belatedly springing into action. As he stepped forward, James's voice dropped to a low octave, heard only by her ears.

“I'm running out of patience, Catherine.”

“Out!”

“Mark my words, things for you are only going to get much, much worse. I have so much power, Catherine. You have no idea . . .”

“I said get out!” She was screaming. The noise woke Nathan. He started to cry.

The officer finally crossed the room. He put his hand on James's elbow, and the judge had no choice but to comply.

He said out loud, for the officer to hear, “I'm dreadfully sorry to have upset you, my dear. Of course, Maryanne and I only want what is best for our grandson. Perhaps in the morning, when you're thinking more clearly . . .”

Catherine pointed stiffly toward the open door. James tilted his head forward in chilly acknowledgment. A moment later, she stood alone, listening to the sobbing hiccups of her hysterical son.

One battle at a time, one battle at a time . . .

She entered the parlor and picked Nathan up from the pile of pillows. He flung his thin arms around her neck, gripping hard.

“Light, light, light,” he sobbed. “Light, light, light!”

“Shhh . . . shhh . . .”

The foyer wasn't going to work anymore. Too dark, too strange. Her son needed deep, undisturbed sleep in an overly bright room where all the lamps could chase the demons away. Where he could finally relax. Maybe she could, too.

The police officer had already returned. No doubt James had told the man there was no need to walk him out. He'd go, not make any trouble. He was merely trying to help his family. His daughter-in-law was not quite stable, you know. . . .

Catherine took a deep breath. With her arms wrapped tight around Nathan, she looked the officer in the eye and announced, “I'm taking him to his room. I'm closing the door. He's going to sleep. I'm going to sleep. Whatever else you people need, it can wait until morning.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the officer said, sounding only slightly sarcastic.

Catherine turned away from him and, before she could lose her courage, mounted the stairs.

The smell was dissipating now, probably carted off with Prudence's body; she had seen the girl's corpse roll out the door on a metal gurney. Her mind hadn't come to terms with it yet, hadn't reconciled the image of Prudence sitting on the floor reading to Nathan with Prudence zipped up in a black body bag. The concept of Prudence dead remained abstract to her. It seemed more like the girl had gone out on her day off and had simply chosen not to return.