Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(97)

I open my mouth to tell her the police have reopened his death investigation, then, at the last moment, change my mind. I’m not an expert in police work, but I know from watching countless cop shows that I shouldn’t give too much away. If this woman did have something to do with my father’s death, the fresh investigation into his murder would put her on guard. No need to go there just yet.

Then again, the real killer knows I didn’t shoot my father. The real killer knows I’ve been lying for sixteen years. Is there something I can do with that?

Suddenly, I have a plan.

“You’ve seen me on the news?” I ask now, keeping my voice deliberately calm.

“You were arrested for shooting your husband.”

“I didn’t do it. Mr. Delaney, my lawyer.” I nod in his direction.

Dr. Ivanova sneers slightly. Definitely no love lost there.

“He will have this cleared up soon enough,” I continue. “In the meantime, I’m pregnant. Homeless.”

She arches a brow.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? My house burned down the other night.”

Slowly, she shakes her head. Her expression remains shuttered. I’m not surprising her, and yet she’s clearly feeling defensive.

“I’m suffering a reversal of financial fortune,” I say, leaving out this morning’s abrupt news about the trust fund. “I would like to remedy that situation.”

She stares at me long and hard. She really is stunning. I could see my father finding her attractive. Her choice of dress alone hinted at an adventurousness no one would ever accuse my mother of. But would he stray? I always thought of my mother and him as being so much in love. Yet, like all couples, they had their differences. Then I have another, stranger thought.

If Conrad had met this woman, would he have strayed? Did he stray? Fake IDs, bricks of cash. How would infidelity even rate after that level of betrayal? But just the thought of it leaves me feeling slightly breathless.

Something must have shown in my eyes, because Dr. Ivanova frowns at me. “I do not know what you are implying.”

“He loved you.” I keep it simple.

I score a hit. There, in her eyes. The words she wanted to hear. What all women want to hear.

“He never would’ve left my mother for you, but he loved you.”

She glances away, but not before I see the sheen of emotion in her eyes. Beside me, Mr. Delaney says nothing. He’s letting me run the show, unspooling secrets no doubt he already knows.

Sure enough: “Did you tell her?” She turns on him abruptly.

“She was a child. Of course not.”

“Then how—”

“I’m not a child anymore. I’m a grown woman. Married. Widowed. I don’t need to be told how the world works.”

“What do you want?” she repeats.

“I know what you did. I covered for you all these years. The least you could do is repay the favor.”

She scowls at me. “I don’t know—”

“The police are reopening the investigation into my father’s death.”

Her eyes grow wide.

“In light of my husband’s death, they have new suspicions they want to pursue.”

“You didn’t shoot your father accidentally.”

“I didn’t shoot him at all. And we both know it.”

“What?” She sits backs from her desk abruptly. She appears genuinely shocked, which gives me pause. So far, I’ve been reenacting my own episode of Law & Order. Except in my script, now was the moment she confessed. Not stared at me in confusion.

“I know what really happened in the kitchen that day,” I double down. “My mother was distraught. The truth would’ve further destroyed her. So I lied to protect her. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t keep some evidence of my own.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“Hair often gets left behind at crime scenes. Especially long dark strands. Embedded in so much blood.”

She pales. Beside me, Mr. Delaney flinches slightly.

“The police can still run them.”

“They won’t believe you. You shot your husband. They know you for who you are.”

“I didn’t shoot my husband. I shot the computer. And the police believe me.”

Now she’s just plain confused. I don’t blame her. I’m trying to keep her off balance. Turns out, I’m pretty good at this.

“Who shot your husband?” she asks bluntly.

“Who burned down my house?” I ask back.

She shakes her head, clearly starting to think I’m losing it. I need to wrap this up before she finds all the holes in the tale I’m haphazardly weaving.

“I know what you did,” I state again. “I have evidence. But I’m also a woman down on her luck. Meaning, for the right price, I can make it all go away.”

Now Mr. Delaney does turn and stare at me. Is he impressed or appalled? I don’t have the courage to glance at him to find out.

“I do not know what you think you know.” Dr. Ivanova scowls at me. “But I did not shoot your father. Yes, I slept with the man. He was handsome and brilliant. But I did not expect him to leave your mother. Nor did I want him to. He was much too old for me, and I have no need for marriage. I much prefer my life this way.”