When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(71)

They were beneath the earth, so there were no windows. Just more of the old brass lights, which she flicked on with a switch. In the back of the room loomed a huge oak table, large enough to seat twelve if not sixteen. Before it sat a long dark leather sofa with half a dozen wingback chairs arranged around it in a semi-circle.

A gathering space. But for what? Kimberly couldn’t see any evidence of a TV, or electronics of any kind. What would make a dozen people want to sit in this room in the bowels of the earth?

The girl stood in front of the sofa. She pointed at the floor. Stomped her foot.

D.D. had moved closer to her. Now the detective reached down, inspected the stone floor. “I don’t see anything.”

Another foot stomp, the girl clearly frustrated.

Kimberly spoke up, “You gave Sergeant Warren a drawing. Of a demon. Was that from you?”

Frantic nod.

“That demon, was he here?”

Very fast nodding now.

“He’s a man,” D.D. said.

Yes yes yes yes yes yes.

“Is he here now?” Kimberly asked.

Shrug. Fear plain on her face.

“What about last night?”

Yes!

“With Martha and Mayor Howard?”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes.

“Bonita,” D.D. said slowly, “is he the one who hurt Mrs. Counsel?”

Yes!

Kimberly drifted closer. She peered at the floor, then around the room. She couldn’t make out any obvious signs of blood or violence. Then again, the only way to fake a hanging was to actually strangle the victim. A relatively clean death. She would have to bring in an evidence team. There were chemicals that could be sprayed that would reveal traces of blood. Of course, the older the residence, the harder it was to prove that blood was a recent event. It seemed most buildings had stories of violence to tell.

She walked the space, sniffed the hearth, held out her hands for warmth. It had definitely been used recently—though again, that didn’t prove anything. And their interrogation of Bonita wouldn’t be enough. By definition, they had to ask her yes-or-no questions. Technically, that was leading a witness—and given she also was a minor, it wouldn’t hold up in court.

They would have to call in some kind of forensic interview specialist, because this was clearly outside Kimberly and D.D.’s wheelhouse. They were simply doing what good investigators did—making it up as they went along.

Kimberly glanced at the doors. The very large, very heavy, very solid oak doors, kept locked at all times, with a key hidden in a safe. What was it about this room that demanded such security?

Mostly, she thought it was cold and drafty, and even with the furnishings, too dungeony for most tourists’ tastes. Dinner theater? But then, why lock up the set?

Bonita was tugging on D.D.’s arm, clearly agitated again.

“Are you looking for the demon man?” D.D. asked.

Quick no, eyes wide with fear.

“But you’re looking for someone?”

Yes.

“A guest?”

No.

Pause. D.D. clearly trying to figure out how to most efficiently ask the next question. “Is it someone I’ve met?”

Yes.

“Mayor Howard is still upstairs with Sheriff Smithers,” Kimberly provided. “The cook is in the kitchen. Smithers’s deputies are rounding up the guests. Someone broke into Martha Counsel’s office. I’m wondering if there isn’t a fox in our midst. Or maybe,” she considered, looking at the girl, “a demon.”

The girl sighed. Tugged D.D.’s arm again.

“Hélène!” D.D. declared suddenly. “The other maid.”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes!

“Are you worried about her?”

Yes!

“Do you think something bad might have happened?”

Furious head nod.

“The demon?”

More nodding.

Kimberly and D.D. exchanged a glance. “Hélène’s personnel file was missing from Martha Counsel’s office,” Kimberly murmured.

“Top-to-bottom search. Entire place. Between a suspicious death and now a missing woman, we have cause. Let’s tear this place apart.”

“The mayor is going to have a fit,” Kimberly said.

D.D.’s smile was feral. “Let him.”

She took Bonita’s hand. “You stay with me, all right? We’re a team. Where I go, you go. You don’t leave my side; I don’t leave your side.”

The girl looked up at her. In the shadows, her expression was hard to read. Something between longing and fatalism, Kimberly thought. And being a mother herself, that expression on a child’s face broke her heart.

“You’re not staying here anymore,” Kimberly spoke up.

The girl startled. Clearly she hadn’t expected this.

“As of now, you are a witness. We’re taking you away and keeping you safe.”

That look again: wanting to believe but fearing to hope.

“Bonita,” D.D. said softly. “We got you. I swear it. We got you.”

The girl took a breath. She nodded slowly. But as she followed D.D. out the door, still holding the detective’s hand, Kimberly could see nothing but fear in the slump of the girl’s shoulders.

They climbed the basement stairs back to the main lobby.