Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(84)

“You said she's manipulative.”

“Exactly. But at the same time . . . could she have pulled it off? I sure as hell wouldn't have gone anywhere near the trigger if Jimmy hadn't been holding a gun. So she'd have to engineer a scenario that would make him get a pistol, and then she'd have to risk herself and her son in a standoff with an armed drunk.”

“Dangerous,” Elizabeth observed.

“Ballsy.” Bobby shook his head. “If it was just her in that room, I could see it. But I don't think she'd risk her son.”

“You don't believe Catherine is abusing Nathan?”

“No.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “You sound very certain of that.”

“I am.”

“Would it bother you to know that I'm not as certain? In fact, the more I learn about Catherine Gagnon, the more I'm deeply concerned about the relationship between her and her son.”

“You and everyone else.”

“She's self-centered, you've said that yourself. And she's a victim of abuse, and we know these things tend to have patterns.”

“I'm a victim of abuse, too,” Bobby said stiffly. He added almost defiantly, “And we just established that I like to lie, too.”

“Bobby, look me in the eye. If Catherine Gagnon felt herself at risk, if Catherine Gagnon felt herself or her lifestyle seriously in jeopardy, do you honestly believe there's a line she wouldn't cross? A person she wouldn't sacrifice to save herself?”

He stared at her mutinously.

But Elizabeth wouldn't drop it. For his sake, she couldn't drop it. “You don't believe it, Bobby. That's another reason you can't let Thursday night go. Because, deep in your heart, you believe Catherine is capable of engineering the shooting of her husband. You're just not sure how she did it.”

“He was an abusive *!”

“How do you know?”

“She said—”

“She lies.”

“Dr. Rocco saw the bruises!”

“Who is Dr. Rocco?”

He flushed, chagrined. “Her ex-lover.”

Elizabeth let that sink in. Then, abruptly, she switched gears. “Why did you see Susan tonight?”

Bobby was clearly startled. “Because I felt like I owed it to her. After two years together . . . I should at least say goodbye in person.”

“What did she say?”

He shrugged. “Not much. I mean, we'd already broken up. What was left to say?”

“Did that disappoint you?”

“I don't understand.”

“When you went to meet her tonight, did you really want to finalize the end of the relationship, Bobby? Or did you secretly wish for something else? Did you wish that she would fight for you? Did you wish that she would beg you to stay? Did you wish, deep down inside, that she would love you so much she would not let you go?”

“I would never . . .” But he couldn't continue the protest. Caught off guard, stripped of his own defenses, he finally couldn't tell a lie. He whispered, “How did you know?”

“Someone you loved once left you and never looked back. Now, all these years later, you're still waiting for people to leave, Bobby. In fact, the longer a woman stays, the more anxious it makes you. So you engineer little scenarios, little tests. The woman will either fight for you or she'll leave you. Either one eases your anxiety. At least temporarily.”

“Jesus,” he said quietly.

“When Catherine calls, you tell her to leave you alone, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“But she doesn't go away. She fights to see you. She tells you she needs you. She reminds you of her poor, sick son, and when you do show up, she makes sure you see her and Nathan together. For some men, I imagine she plays the sex card. But your female fantasy isn't a woman in black lace. Your fantasy is a woman who would never—ever—abandon her child.”

Bobby closed his eyes. She could see the dawning realization in his face, because slowly, but surely, he appeared horrified.

Elizabeth leaned forward. “One more time, Bobby: Do you think Catherine Gagnon may have caused her husband's death?”

He murmured, “Yes.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Then you have to let her go, Bobby. You have to stop seeing her. Because if Catherine Gagnon is a predator, then surely you realize now that you make the perfect prey.”




I T WAS THREE a.m. when Bobby finally made it home. No lights were on in his unit. Just his answering machine blinked a frantic red dot in the night.

He slumped into one of the hard wooden chairs in his kitchen. He felt wrung out, drained, not an ounce of emotion or intelligence left. For the longest time, he simply sat there and watched the message light blink.

Slowly, he reached out and hit Play.

His lieutenant. A guy from the EAU. A hang-up. His father. Two more hang-ups. Silence.

Bobby leaned forward onto the kitchen table and used his hands to pillow his head.

Three hang-ups on the message tape. Catherine, he thought.

He squeezed his temples. Get her out of his head, get her out of his head. Don't let her mess with him like this. Sitting in Dr. Lane's office, it had all made perfect sense. Yet here he was, an hour later, alone in the dark, and already thinking of Catherine.