Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(57)

“Me too. Which brings us back to the wife. Who in addition to shooting her husband, plugged even more bullets into his computer.”

“Anything recoverable?”

“Not yet.”

“The FBI forensic techs are the best in the industry—”

“Bite me.”

“Sergeant Warren, your case intersects with an ongoing FBI investigation. Period. You can invite me to assist gracefully. Or I can commandeer your case forcefully.”

“What ongoing investigation?”

“The disappearance of six women believed to be additional victims of Jacob Ness. With his death, we’ve lacked investigative avenues. However, this new information, that he might have met with other predators, could prove promising.”

“Conrad Carter can’t help you, he’s dead. And so is his computer.”

“Jacob Ness’s computer isn’t.”

For the first time, quiet. A long pause, where Keith and I lean forward. The redheaded detective as well.

“You have Ness’s computer?” D.D. asks.

“In all its mysterious glory.”

“What does that mean?”

“Invite me to play and I’ll be happy to share.”

“And Flora?” D.D. asks abruptly. “Why is she here?”

“She’s also agreed to help.”

“How?”

“A trip down memory lane. We’ve never found the house where Jacob originally held her. We have reason to believe it might be more significant than he let on. And that he took steps to mask its location.”

“You think Jacob Ness still has property out there? A personal cabin, residence?”

“I think finding such a thing could provide a great deal of information regarding six missing women, and, who knows, one recently deceased husband. Do you have all the answers for your case, Sergeant Warren?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. So, shall we?”

Heavy sigh. “You did help me with Charlene Grant.”

“And you did keep her alive.”

A change in tone. “How are the girls?”

“Amazing. Ten and seven. Ready to take over the world. Yours?”

“Jack is five. Has a new dog. They spring around the house going ‘roo, roo, roo.’”

“Never a dull moment.”

“Wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“Me neither.”

“Fine. You want in. Let’s do this. But I’m telling you now, there’s more about this case that doesn’t make sense than does.”

“My favorite kind.”

Just like that, the deal is struck, the hunt is on.

Quincy turns back toward us, motioning through the window for us to enter.

“Holy shit,” Keith whispers under his breath.

I don’t stop. I don’t think. I simply squeeze his hand.

Then we enter the conference room and the real work begins.





CHAPTER 19


    EVIE


“YOU HONESTLY BELIEVED YOUR FATHER killed himself?”

After sitting in silence in the car for so long, the sound of my lawyer’s voice startles me. I’ve been staring out the window, watching perfectly normal people walk down the snowy streets of Boston, continuing on with their perfectly normal lives. I wonder if that’s how I look to others; like I’m normal and functional, too, when in fact, I feel completely emptied out. Stacks of money. Fake IDs. Not exactly a treasure trove of dead wives, and yet, I’d been right: Conrad had been hiding secrets from me.

Which I want to think is only fair, because I hid my secrets from him. Except it doesn’t feel okay at all. It feels awful and unjust, a final act of betrayal by a man I’d genuinely loved. True, I had my own suspicions. But then, maybe that’s what love was for me. An exercise in mistrust.

“Evie?” Mr. Delaney prods again, his voice gentle.

I pull my attention from the window.

“My mom never told you?”

“All I’ve ever known is what she said that afternoon. That your father had been showing you how to handle the shotgun. There was an accidental discharge. She saw the whole thing from the kitchen doorway.”

I nod. That was our story, and for sixteen years we’d been sticking to it.

“Do you think my parents loved each other?” I hear myself ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, tapping his finger on the steering wheel. I always thought of Mr. Delaney as one of my father’s friends. But all these years later, he continues to come around the house. Unmarried. Attentive to my mother’s moods. Now I can’t help but wonder.

“I met both your parents in college,” he says now, surprising me. I’d known that he and my father went way back, but I hadn’t realized it included my mother as well. “From the very beginning, their relationship was … volatile. And yet, the more they collided, blew apart, collapsed back, the more it seemed to work for them. You know your father genuinely loved math?”

I nod.

“Well, over the years, I’ve come to think of his relationship with your mom as his exercise in physics. She challenged him, in a wholly different way, and your father liked a good challenge. As for her … Your mother was never meant to live an ordinary life. Your father, in his overly intellectual, unquestionably brilliant, completely indulgent way, was perfect for her.”