Fair Warning (Jack McEvoy #3)(76)

SAID HE WROTE CODE




“Okay, that fits with what we already know about this man. So, that could be the truth and that could be very helpful, Gwyneth. Did he say where he worked?”


DON’T REMEMBER



“Were you a regular at that bar?”





PRETTY MUCH




“Had you ever seen him in there before?”


NO HE SAID HE WAS NEW IN TOWN

HE WAS LOOKING FOR AN APARTMENT



I admired how Rachel was conducting the interview. Her voice was soothing and she was establishing rapport. I read it in Gwyneth’s eyes. She wanted to please Rachel by giving her information she didn’t have. I felt no need to jump in with a question. I felt confident Rachel would get to all the relevant questions—as long as Gwyneth didn’t tire.

It went on like this for another fifteen minutes, with Rachel drawing out little details of the behavior and character of the man who had hurt Gwyneth so badly. And then Rachel looked back over her shoulder at Gwyneth’s father.

“Mr. Rice, I’m going to ask Gwyneth some personal questions now,” she said. “I think it might be better if you and Jack went out into the hall for a few minutes.”

“What kind of questions?” Rice asked. “I don’t want her upset.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. I just think she will be better able to answer if it’s just between us girls, so to speak.”

Rice looked down at his daughter.

“You okay, honey?” he asked.


I’M FINE DAD YOU CAN GO



And then,





I WANT TO DO THIS




I didn’t like getting the boot myself but saw the logic in it. Rachel would get more doing the questioning one-on-one. I moved toward the door and Rice followed me. In the hallway I asked if there was a cafeteria but he said there was just a coffee vending machine in an alcove down the hall.

We went that way and I treated us each to a terrible cup of coffee. We stood there sipping the liquid levels down in our cups before attempting to walk back down the hall. I decided to do what Rachel was doing: work a subject one-on-one.

“This must be unbelievably hard for you, seeing your daughter like that,” I said.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” Rice said. “It’s a nightmare. But I’m there for her. Whatever she needs and whatever will help catch the bastard who did this to her.”

I nodded.

“Do you have work?” I asked. “Or is this—”

“I was an engineer at Lockheed,” Rice said. “I retired early so I could just be here for her. She’s all that matters to me.”

“Is her mother in the picture?”

“My wife passed six years ago. We adopted Gwynnie from an orphanage in Kentucky. I think her doing that DNA stuff was her attempt to find her birth mother and family. If you’re saying that had something to do with this, then … Jesus Christ.”

“It’s an angle we’re looking at.”

I started walking back down the hallway. We talked no further until we reached the door of 309.

“Are there any treatments out there that might help your daughter’s situation?” I asked.

“I’m on the Internet every morning searching,” Rice said. “I’ve contacted doctors, researchers, the Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, you name it. If it’s out there, we’ll find it. The main thing right now is to get her off the respirator and breathing and talking on her own. And that’s not as far-fetched as you might think. This kid—somehow—stayed alive. He thought she was dead and just dumped her down the stairs. But she was alive and whatever it was that kept her going and kept her breathing, that’s still there.”

I could only nod. I was completely out of my element here.

“I’m an engineer,” Rice said. “I’ve always looked at problems like an engineer. Identify the problem, fix it. But with this, identifying the—”

The door to the room opened and Rachel stepped out. She looked at Rice.

“She’s getting tired and we’re almost finished,” she said. “But I want to show her something that I held to the end because it might upset her.”

“What is it?” Rice asked.

“It’s a composite drawing of the suspect that was put together with the help of people who were in the bar that night and saw your daughter with him. I need her to tell us if it’s accurate to her memory.”

Rice paused for a moment as he thought about his daughter’s possible reaction to the drawing. Then he nodded.

“I’ll be here for her,” he said. “Let’s show it to her.”

I realized that I had not seen the composite myself. As we reentered the room I saw that Gwyneth’s eyes were closed and thought she might be asleep. But as I got nearer I realized that her eyes were closed because she was crying.

“Aww, Gwynnie, it’s okay,” Rice said. “It’s going to be okay.”

He picked up the folded paper towel again and blotted the tears on his daughter’s cheeks. It was such a wrenching moment. I felt as though a scream were building in my chest. At that moment the Shrike changed from the abstract subject of a story to a flesh-and-blood villain I wanted to find. I wanted to break his neck but let him live the way this woman now had to live because of him.