When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(55)

“The girl, the mayor’s mute niece, gave you a picture of a monster?”

“She dropped it on the floor when he wasn’t looking. She can’t talk, but she’s trying to tell us something.”

“The boogeyman did it?”

“Or his friend, the devil.”

Kimberly considered the matter. She didn’t understand the drawing and, given the girl’s young age and reported brain injury, wasn’t even sure if she qualified as a credible witness. On the other hand, it’s not like they had any better leads. “All right, let’s talk to her.”

Kimberly turned toward the door. D.D. grabbed her arm. “Wait. She’s underaged. We have to have the mayor’s permission for an interview.”

“We’ll ask for it. Denying us access will look suspicious. You know how it is; put on the spot, plenty of guilty parties consent to things they shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to call attention to her. I don’t think we know everything that’s going on here.”

“No kidding.”

“The picture projects fear. We may not understand it, but we have to respect it.”

God, Kimberly was tired. She rubbed her temples, wished she was once more on the phone, talking to her husband, catching up with her girls. Deep breath. This was her job and she loved it. Most of the time. “All right. So our best approach . . . We’ll question her without singling her out.”

“Game plan?”

“We’ll inform Mayor Howard that we need to interview everyone who was in the building last night. Guests, staff, everyone. I’ll ask Sheriff Smithers to handle the guests, while you and I take the staff.”

D.D. nodded. “I don’t know that Mayor Howard will consent to us talking to his niece separately. My guess is he’ll say she can’t speak so he needs to be present to communicate on her behalf.”

“We’ll gather the staff and talk to them as a group. That will appear less threatening and make it harder for Mayor Howard to refuse without calling undue attention. His niece isn’t alone and the rest of the staff must be able to communicate with her in some fashion—otherwise, how else could they have worked together all these years? I’ll ask questions. You watch her fingers for your special coding system and we’ll see what we get.”

“I like it.”

“Of course. I’m brilliant. Which is why we get along so well.”

“And how we’re going to nail the son of a bitch who’s leaving a trail of dead women all over this town,” D.D. agreed.

Mayor Howard wasn’t thrilled with their assertion they needed to interview everyone present in the inn last night. He tried to argue his guests’ right for privacy, his and his staff’s need to mourn. The sheriff, however, stood firmly with them—and, denied local support, the mayor had no choice.

Sheriff Smithers sent an officer to rouse the four couples who’d stayed the night. Kimberly announced she and D.D. would handle questioning the staff, who were apparently huddled in the kitchen, awaiting news. In the meantime, she needed the mayor to identify which computer or personal tablet his wife might have used to write her suicide note.

The request sent another long shudder rippling through the mayor’s bent frame. He bowed his head, appeared once again to fight for breath. The man seemed genuinely distraught. As if this were the worst night of his life. As if he still couldn’t believe his wife was dead.

“She’s gone,” he said abruptly. “Martha, my wife, my partner, my best friend. Thirty years . . . There’s no hope for me now.” His tone was so hollow, it sent a shiver down Kimberly’s spine.

She kneeled beside him at the table. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I loved her.”

“I understand.”

“I did what she wanted.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted her to be healthy. Then she was. And God help me, I didn’t ask any questions. I never considered the cost. If not from me, then how did she get the kidney in the end?”

“Mayor Howard, I need you to go with Sheriff Smithers now. He’s going to help you find your wife’s computer. It’s important. Helping him will enable us to wrap up our investigation. I know this is hard. Just another hour or two, and we’ll be on our way. Who is in charge of your staff?”

“My wife—” The mayor caught himself. “Cook. She’s in the kitchen now. Prepping breakfast, I’m sure.”

Kimberly rose to standing. “Sheriff,” she prodded, indicating it was time for him to lead the mayor away.

Smithers got it. He put his hand on the mayor’s shoulder, both men looking equally grim. Kimberly understood. Sheriff Smithers was a county sheriff, not the town sheriff, but these were still his people. He had obviously known the mayor and Martha Counsel personally. These kinds of cases, where the trouble struck close to home, were never easy.

Mayor Howard climbed shakily to his feet, then followed the sheriff out of the front breakfast room.

Beside Kimberly, D.D. nodded slightly, acknowledging a job well done.

And yet, how to explain the unease rippling through Kimberly’s gut? They had an admission of guilt—a woman who’d killed herself because she was sorry for the kidney she had most likely stolen from one of their victims in the woods. They had the presence of medical supplies found in the mass grave—the IV port—which further supported this theory.