Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(88)

“She didn't hang herself, she was murdered. Her neck was snapped. I told you that.”

“That makes no sense.”

“What makes no sense? That a woman can be murdered? Or that a woman can be murdered in my house?”

“There's no call for getting snotty, Catherine.”

“Someone is trying to kill me!”

“Let's not rush to conclusions—”

“You're not listening! James wants possession of Nathan. He's obviously hired someone to kill anyone and everyone who might be willing to help me. If I don't surrender Nathan soon, I may be next.”

Her father said stubbornly, “Seems to me a man as well bred as the judge hardly has to stoop to murder.”

Catherine opened her mouth. She looked at her father's implacable face, then abruptly closed her mouth again. It was no use. Her father lived in his own world. He wanted to believe in the sanctity of a neighborhood, in weekly rituals such as Wednesday night poker and Sunday afternoon barbecues. He'd never been cut out for a reality where little girls could be abducted walking home from school and where the person you feared the most was the man sharing your bed. He hadn't known how to help her when she was a child; he certainly didn't know how to help her now.

She rose quietly to her feet, thinking wistfully of Bobby Dodge. She could give him a call. . . . A shiver moved through her. A slight, unexpected tingling of the spine. She didn't recognize the sensation and it left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

She found herself remembering his face. She had been touching him, she'd been working him, she'd been winning. And then . . . He'd looked at her. He'd looked at her and he'd honestly seen her. And that had ruined everything.

Catherine returned upstairs to her son.

Nathan was starting to fret again, whipping his head from side to side. She stroked his cheek until he calmed. Then she kneeled next to the bed, feathering back her son's soft brown hair.

“I'll always believe you,” she murmured. “When you're older, you can tell me anything, and I'll believe.”

The phone calls happened shortly thereafter.

The first call came on her cell phone at nine a.m. It was the receptionist from Dr. Iorfino's office, confirming Nathan's three o'clock appointment. By the way, the doctor wanted to speak with Catherine at length. Maybe she could come by earlier, at one p.m.? No need to bring Nathan. In fact, it would be better if Catherine came alone.

Catherine hung up, her heart already pounding in her chest. Nothing good ever came out of meetings where the doctor wanted to see you alone.

She was still trembling when she heard her father's phone begin to ring downstairs.

Five minutes later he materialized in her doorway. He had a look on his face she'd never seen before. Shell-shocked, bordering on shattered.

“That was Charlie Pidherny,” he murmured.

“The lawyer?” Charlie Pidherny had been the DA who'd handled Catherine's case. He'd retired nearly a decade ago; she couldn't recall having heard from him since.

“He's out,” her father said.

“Who's out?”

“Umbrio. Richard Umbrio.”

“I don't understand.”

“They paroled him, on Saturday. Except according to Charlie, they don't release offenders without proper notification, and they don't release them on Saturday mornings. It must be a mistake. That's what happened. Some kind of mistake.”

Catherine was still staring at her father. Then, realization hit, hard and visceral.

Hey, honey. Can you help me for a sec? I'm looking for a lost dog.

Catherine bolted from the bedroom. She made it to the toilet just in time.

Nathan, she thought, Oh God, Nathan. Catherine threw up until she dry-heaved as the tears poured down her face.





B OBBY MET HARRIS Reed at Bogey's. Even a high-priced private investigator could appreciate a good diner. Harris went for the double cheeseburger, extra onion, extra mushrooms. Bobby ordered a sausage and cheese omelet.

Harris was in a good mood, taking big bites of his dripping burger and chewing enthusiastically. No doubt he thought Bobby had arranged this meeting to announce his submission; he'd surrender to Judge Gagnon's master plan and do whatever was required.

Bobby let the investigator get halfway through his burger before dropping the bomb.

“So, quite a scene in Back Bay yesterday,” he said casually.

Harris's jaw slowed, his teeth taking a momentary pause from grinding beef. “Yeah.”

“I hear the nanny hanged herself. What's the word from your contacts?”

Harris swallowed. “My contacts say you were at the scene, so you'd probably know better than them.”

“Maybe I do.” Bobby waited a moment. “Are you curious?”

“Should I be?”

“I think you should.”

Harris shrugged. He was doing his best to retain his casual demeanor, but he'd set down his burger now and was wiping his hands with the oversized paper napkin. “So the nanny hanged herself. These girls are young, doing a tough job a long ways from home. Given everything else, maybe it's not surprising.”

“Come on,” Bobby goaded softly. “You can do better than that.”

“I don't know what you mean.”