Live to Tell (Detective D.D. Warren, #4)(87)

“Seven to seven.”

D.D. considered the matter. The Harringtons had presumably died around dinnertime. Considering how long it would take to subdue an entire family, clean up, make it from Dorchester to Cambridge … “What time did she clock in?” D.D. asked.

“Danielle arrived at six-thirty and prepared for her shift.”

“And Friday night?”

Karen thinned her lips. “Technically speaking, Danielle concluded her day shift at seven p.m. She remained on the unit, however, debriefing with me, then catching up on paperwork until after eleven. At which time she was involved in an altercation with Lucy, who had a violent episode.”

“The bruises on Danielle’s neck,” D.D. said, remembering.

“Exactly. So while Danielle was not on the clock, she was here, and I have it documented, per hospital policy.”

D.D.’s turn to thin her lips. Meaning Danielle had alibis for both the Harrington and Laraquette-Solis murders.

“She was working last night when Lucy disappeared,” D.D. said.

“Correct.”

“Now, call me crazy, but you’re saying she worked Thursday night, Friday day—lingering until after eleven p.m.—then was back for Saturday night shift. That’s a lot of hours in a short span of time.”

“Our staff tends to lump their shifts, pulling doubles in order to maximize their days off. Work-three-days, play-five kind of thing.”

D.D. stared at the nurse administrator.

“Danielle is also a workaholic,” Karen conceded. “Particularly this time of year.”

“Who else knows her history?” D.D. asked.

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“She’s infamous, even by our drama-rich standards. Most of the parents hear about her past sooner or later, as well. Gossip, rumors. People are people.”

“What about Gym Coach Greg? Was he working Thursday night? Or Friday?”

A fresh perusal of the time sheet. “Not Thursday night. On Friday, he had the day shift. Seven a.m. to seven p.m. Of course, he was also working last night, when Lucy …” The nurse’s voice trailed off.

D.D. digested that. So Danielle had an alibi for the Harrington and Laraquette-Solis murders, but not Greg. Good to know. She adopted her conversational tone again. “So who do you think’ll be next?”

“Excuse me?”

D.D. shrugged. “The Harringtons were murdered Thursday night. The Laraquette-Solis family was murdered Friday night. Lucy was hanged Saturday night.” D.D. glanced at her watch. “It’s now nearly five o’clock. I figure we got, what, one hour, two, three, then it’s time for Sunday-night action. Another child here? Another family out there? Clock’s ticking. Place your bets.”

Karen stared at her, wide-eyed.

“You think I’m messing around?” D.D. asked. “You think I have nothing better to do than terrorize a bunch of hardworking professionals on a pediatric psych ward? Families are dying. Children are being murdered. Now, start telling me what the f*ck is going on, so my squad can shut it down. Five o’clock, Karen. Don’t ask me who’ll be dead by six.”

Then, almost as if someone had heard her words, the first scream sounded from outside the Admin area. It was followed by a second, a third. High-pitched, frantic wails that swiftly disintegrated into a whole chorus of terrified shrieks.

“Common area,” Karen said immediately. She was already out of her chair, grabbing the keys around her neck, running for the door.

D.D. was right on her heels. She could just make out words now. “Devil!” the children were screaming. “Diablo. Está aquí. Está aquí. The Devil is here.”





| CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT





VICTORIA


I dream of distant beaches. Of silky white sand that sinks beneath my feet. Of turquoise waves rocking against the shoreline. Of a deep-orange sun warming my upturned face.

I dream of walking with my husband, hand in hand.

Our children are running ahead, laughing together happily. Evan’s golden curls stand out in the bright sunlight, Chelsea’s darker-topped head bent near his. They dig a hole with a stick, just out of reach of the lapping ocean.

Then Evan reaches over and casually pushes his sister into the hole. The sand collapses, swallowing her in one greedy gulp. Laughing, Evan runs back toward us. Now I realize he doesn’t hold a stick, but a long pointed blade. He aims it at his father, and picks up speed, the phantom dancing in his eyes as he races across the opalescent beach.

“You’re mine,” he says to me as he runs his father through. “You will always be mine.”

Then he advances with the bloody sword….



I wake up to a strange beeping sound. The high-pitched tone hurts my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut as if that will dull the sound. It doesn’t, so I open them again, becoming aware of many things at once.

I’m in a hospital room. My side aches with a nearly impossible pain. Monitors surround me, with wires and lines sprouting from my left hand. I’m hot. I’m confused. I have no idea what has happened to me.

Then I discover belatedly that Michael’s asleep in a chair next to my bed.

While I stare at him in bewilderment, he slowly rouses, glancing at me, then performing a double-take when he realizes I’m awake.