Find Her (Detective D.D. Warren #8)(22)

Horgan frowned. D.D. watched him mentally work his way back from the initial spark of name recognition, then: “You’re kidding. Florence Dane? The Boston girl who was kidnapped in Florida? Held for over a year? That Florence Dane?”

“Seems since her reentry into society, she’s made criminal behavior a bit of a hobby. Last night’s attack marks her fourth instance of ‘self-defense’ in the past three years.”

Horgan closed his eyes. “That’s not going to look good. Something like that . . . Goulding’s family could argue she set him up. And suddenly, instead of us happily announcing there’s one less predator in Boston, let alone possibly closing out two missing persons cases, we’re going to have to investigate a rapist as a victim?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you have to corroborate Florence Dane’s version of events?”

“Bruises on Flora’s face. Eyewitness accounts from the neighbors that she was discovered naked and bound in Goulding’s garage. Other testimonies from the bar where Devon worked that Flora didn’t even talk to him last night, but was hanging out with some other loser, whom Devon punched in the face.”

“Okay. Sounds promising.”

D.D. shrugged. Winced at the corresponding stabbing pain in her shoulder, then quickly recovered. “I don’t like it,” she stated bluntly. “The overall pattern of behavior . . . Flora Dane’s good deeds are going to hurt us. Especially if it turns out nothing happened to those other girls, if it’s just Flora’s testimony on Devon Goulding’s ‘true nature’ and his actions last night . . . The Gouldings could make the case she baited their son. That, given her past trauma, she sees predators everywhere and took the law in her own hands.”

“Isn’t that a Hitchcock movie?”

“Twilight Zone episode. Look, four instances of self-defense is more than bad luck; it’s a pattern of bad behavior. And given the latest episode ended in a man’s death, you can argue her behavior is escalating.”

“Meaning what?”

D.D. stared at her superior officer. “Meaning we should charge her!”

“With what?”

“Reckless conduct. Why not? She set in motion the chain of events that led to Goulding’s death. She should be held accountable.”

“I see restricted duty hasn’t made you go soft.”

“Cal, it’s not her job to police the world. It’s ours. We know what we’re doing. She, on the other hand, is a threat to herself and others. Not to mention, last night she potentially screwed up at least two other investigations.”

“How do you figure?”

“She killed Devon Goulding. Meaning if he did do something to Natalie Draga and/or Kristy Kilker, now what? Where are their bodies? What happened to them? I’d ask him, but oh yeah, he’s dead. Meaning what the hell do we have to bring back to the families? Here’s your daughter’s driver’s license—hope that’s good enough? Frankly, of all people, Flora Dane should know better.”

“Tell her that?” Horgan asked evenly.

“Waiting to get more information on the two women. Then I’ll bring it up.”

“You’re definitely going to interview her again.”

“In my mind, this party is only starting.”

“D.D. . . .” Her boss hesitated. “I know you pride yourself on being firm in your opinions. It’s one of the things that ensures working with you is never boring. But Flora Dane . . . You might want to pull her case file. There’s a good reason for her to see predators everywhere. Certainly, she spent more than a year getting a master class in criminal behavior.”

“Now you sound like her shrink. I’m sorry, her victim advocate. Seriously, the girl basically has her own FBI agent on a leash. Never seen anything like it.”

“All right. Plenty of questions ahead. But first, if you don’t mind: Go home, D.D. Shower. What’s that smell anyway?”

“Human barbecue. Or maybe rotten garbage?”

Her boss shook his head. “Clean up. We’ll have to do a press briefing in time for the evening news cycle. For now, keep it simple. Looking for information regarding Natalie Draga and Kristy Kilker, or anyone else who may have known Devon Goulding. No mention of Stacey Summers. No mention of Florence Dane.”

D.D. rolled her eyes at him. “Now who wants the impossible?”

Horgan flashed her a smile, then disappeared down the hall, leaving D.D. with mounds of paperwork and the smell of crime scene still lingering in her hair.


*

SHE WENT HOME. Given it was Saturday, Alex was home with four-year-old Jack. She discovered them sprawled on the living room floor, engaged in a fierce game of Candy Land. Jack was less interested in winning the game than he was in drawing the various character cards. Jolly was his favorite, and he’d been known to stash the card bearing the big blue gumdrop in his pocket or up his sleeve.

Alex glanced up from the game board. He gave her a welcoming smile, even as he sniffed the air.

Jack, on the other hand, came flying off the floor and flung himself around her legs. “Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

No doubt about it, that never got old. D.D. ruffled his brown hair with her right hand, as her left arm had stiffened even further on the drive home. She was holding it protectively against her side, and sure enough . . .