Live to Tell (Detective D.D. Warren, #4)(22)

“We can talk food. What I enjoy cooking, what you enjoy eating.”

“I enjoy eating everything.”

“Works for me.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Don’t let my current good mood fool you; I’m a bitch most of the time.”

“Don’t let my current charm fool you; I get as pissed off as the next guy.”

“Why the classroom?” she asked. “Why leave the field for the classroom?”

“Had a wife. Wanted kids. More traditional hours seemed a good idea at the time.”

“What happened? She change her mind about Bolognese sauce?”

“Couldn’t get pregnant. When my wife couldn’t become a mother, she decided she didn’t want to be a wife either. We split amicably two years back.”

“You’re still teaching.”

“I like it.”

“But you’re here now.”

“I like this, too.”

“That’s awfully likable,” D.D. said with a scowl.

“Which is why you should come over for dinner.”

“I don’t do kids,” she warned. “I’m too old, too cranky.”

“Perfect, because I was just hoping for lots of sex.”

D.D. laughed, surprised and a little charmed. Laughter felt good after eighteen hours of working a crime scene. So did lunch. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally. She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “Now, back to the matters at hand: What do we make of nine-year-old Ozzie Harrington?”

“Kid’s tricky,” Alex said at last.

“Kid’s dead.”

“We’ve already had allegations of animal cruelty and petty arson. I’m guessing there’s bed-wetting in there somewhere, which makes him a textbook serial killer.”

“Dexter thought the barbecue accident was really an accident,” D.D. countered.

“Dexter fidgeted uncontrollably every time we mentioned Ozzie’s name. Kid gave him the heebie-jeebies. He was just trying to be polite about it.”

“He said Patrick and Denise could control Ozzie. Also, that Ozzie worshipped his older brother Jacob. Seems unlikely, then, that Ozzie would turn on them, especially one by one like that.”

“That’s the problem,” Alex said. “A nine-year-old boy with a history of severe psychiatric problems could absolutely take out an entire family. In the middle of the night, armed with a shotgun or baseball bat, going from bedroom to bedroom … If that were our crime scene, I’d say the freaky son did it and Patrick was lucky to get out alive.”

“But it’s dinnertime with a kitchen knife,” D.D. said quietly. “Patrick’s not a small guy. Then you have fourteen-year-old Jacob, also athletic. Seems like the two of them would be able to wrestle a scrawny nine-year-old to the ground.”

“And you’d see more defensive wounds,” Alex said. “From the girl, everyone. Ozzie’s the smallest member of the household. They’d absolutely put up a struggle. For that matter, I’m not sure a nine-year-old would have the strength to strike the mortal blow to Mrs. Harrington. We’ll get a report back soon enough, but I’m already guessing the angle of the blow suggests someone taller than Denise, not shorter.”

“Methodology makes it tricky,” D.D. commented. “Assuming Ozzie is the perpetrator, that means he, what? Shot his father with a gun. Then grabbed a kitchen knife and killed his mother with a single blow, killed his older brother with a single blow, then chased his sister through the house before ultimately catching her and strangling her. Then, after all that, he slit his own throat? Tough way to commit hara-kiri.”

“Actually, I’ve seen it done.”

“Really?”

“Case back in ninety-seven. Depressed ad executive slit his own throat. We had our doubts, given the injury, but the ME could prove it from the angle of incision. Don’t ask me. There are times forensics seems like pure voodoo.”

“All right. So Ozzie slit his own throat. Then he carried the bodies through the house to a single location? It just doesn’t make sense. Blood tells us Ozzie’s throat was slit in the sister’s bedroom. Physical size tells us there was no way Ozzie would’ve had the strength to drag his mother or father through the house.”

“Which brings us back to Patrick,” Alex agreed. “Only logical explanation.”

D.D. pushed back her plate. “So why don’t I feel good about it?”

“Because sometimes, we never understand our neighbors, not even after the fact.”

D.D. sighed, thought he had a point. “We dig into the financials, bet we’re going to find some consumer debt, some past-due bills. We’ll see just how on edge the Harringtons were living. Then we’ll pay a visit to the kids’ school, Denise’s work, Patrick’s former employer, round out our victim profiles.”

“We should also pay a visit to the psychiatric unit where Ozzie stayed. Remember, Miss Patsy said he was hospitalized for a bit.”

“I thought we just ruled out Ozzie.”

Alex shrugged. “There’s still something we don’t know. Or, for that matter, someone.”





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NINE