Hide (Detective D.D. Warren, #2)(49)

"Catherine," Bobby acknowledged finally, coming to a halt well back. "Thanks for seeing us."

"A promise is a promise." Her gaze flickered briefly to me, but didn't linger. "I trust you had a good flight."

"No complaints. How is Nathan?"

"Excellent, thank you. Attending a very fine private school. I have many hopes for him." She was smiling now, a knowing look on her face as Bobby continued to hang back and she continued to stroke her arm. She finally turned to D.D.

"Sergeant Warren." Her voice chilled ten degrees.

"Long time no see," D.D. commented.

"And yet, not long enough."

Her gaze returned to me, if only to make a point of dismissing D.D. This time, she regarded me thoughtfully, eyes going from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet and back again. I held up under the scrutiny, but I was acutely aware of my cheap cotton top, my fraying jeans, my ratty shoulder bag. I worked two jobs to cover my rent as it was. Haircuts, manicures, fancy clothes. Those were luxuries meant for a woman of leisure like her, not for a working stiff like me.

I still couldn't read her face, but caught a faint tremor down her spine. I realized suddenly this meeting was costing her as much as it was costing me.

She turned briskly to the dark wooden table that dominated the room. "Shall we?" She gestured to the leather chairs, then to an older, gray-haired gentleman I'd just now realized was sitting in the room. "Detective Dodge, Sergeant Warren, please meet my lawyer, Andrew Carson, whom I've asked to join us."

"Feeling guilty?" D.D. asked lightly.

Catherine smiled. "Just Catholic."

She took a seat. I chose the one across from her. Something about the way she tossed her hair, slightly defiantly, right before she sat down, gave me a flicker of deja vu. And then in that instant, I got it. She honestly did look like me.

Bobby took out a recorder, placed it in the middle of the table. Catherine glanced at her lawyer, but he didn't protest, so neither did she. D.D. was also getting herself in order, arranging piles of paper around her like a small fortress. The only people who did nothing were Catherine and me. We simply sat, guests of honor for this strange little party.

Bobby started up the recorder. Announced the date, the location, and the names of those present. He paused on my name, started to say "Annabelle," then caught himself in time to switch it to "Tanya Nelson." I appreciated his discretion.

They began with the preliminaries. Catherine Gagnon confirmed she had once lived in Boston at such and such address. In 1980, she had been walking home from school. A vehicle had pulled up beside her, a man calling out from the window, "Hey, honey. Can you help me for a sec? I'm looking for a lost dog."

She described her subsequent abduction, rescue, and finally the trial of her kidnapper, Richard Umbrio, in May of 1981. Her voice was toneless, almost bored, as she ran swiftly through the chain of events; a woman who has told her story many times.

"And after the conclusion of the trial in '81, did you have occasion to see Mr. Umbrio again?" D.D. asked.

The lawyer, Carson, immediately raised a hand. "Don't answer."

"Mr. Carson—"

"Mrs. Gagnon graciously agreed to answer questions related to her abduction in October through November of 1980," the attorney clarified. "Whether she saw Mr. Umbrio after 1980, therefore, does not fall under the scope of your interview."

D.D. appeared highly annoyed. Catherine merely smiled.

"When you were with Mr. Umbrio, in October and November 1980," D.D. added for emphasis, "did he ever talk to you about other crimes, abductions, or assaults on other victims?"

Catherine shook her head, then added belatedly, for the sake of the tape recorder, "No."

"Have you ever visited Boston State Mental Hospital?"

Carson held up his hand again. "Mrs. Gagnon, did you ever visit the Boston State Mental Hospital in the fall of 1980?"

"I've never even heard of the Boston State Mental Hospital, before or after 1980," Catherine conceded graciously "What about Mr. Umbrio?" D.D. persisted.

"If he had, he obviously didn't mention it to me, or I would have heard about it, wouldn't I?"

"What about friends, confidantes? Umbrio ever mention anyone he was close to, or perhaps bring a 'guest' to the pit?"

"Please, Richard Umbrio was a teenage version of Lurch. He was too big, too cold, and just plain too freaky even at the age of nineteen. Friends? He had no friends. Why do you think he kept me alive so long?"

This elicited slightly shocked expressions. Catherine simply spread her hands, regarding the rest of us as if we were idiots. "What? You think I never figured out that he was going to kill me? I can tell you for a fact, he tried to kill me every other day. He'd wrap his big sweaty fingers around my neck and squeeze like he was wringing a chicken. Liked to look me right in the eye as he did it, too. But then, at the last second, he'd let me go. Kindness? Compassion? I don't think so. Not from Richard.

"He just wasn't ready for me to die yet. I was the perfect playmate. Never argued, always did as I was told. Like he was going to get that lucky in real life."

She shrugged, the very flatness of her voice making her words that much more cutting.

"He'd strangle you?" D.D. pressed. "With his bare hands? You're sure of that?"