Pretty Dead (13 page)

He and Lamont didn’t break their gaze. It was like high noon and each was waiting for the other to draw. And while they waited, time spread across the floor. Not only spread, but moved backward. David recalled when he and Lamont had worked cases together
while Lamont was sleeping with Beth
. If David followed the thread all the way to the beginning, Lamont could actually be indirectly blamed for the death of David’s son.

Lamont told Beth he wanted her, but he didn’t want a kid. So Beth took care of that little problem.

A hesitant voice broke the silence. “Martha.”

That came from the guy with three names.

“What?” David asked.

“The last living passenger pigeon was Martha.”

The tension broke, and David pulled his gaze away from Lamont to focus on Jay Thomas Paul. “Martha?”

“She died of old age in 1914 in the Cincinnati Zoo. Some people said she was twenty-nine.”

David plucked his pen from behind his ear and bowed his head to scrutinize the paper in his hands. He filled in the squares. “I didn’t know she had a name.”

“Oh yeah,” Jay Thomas said, eager to share his knowledge. “She’s famous.”

Somehow talk of the last passenger pigeon, along with the presence of Lamont, someone from David’s old life, someone David had talked and joked with before Christian’s death, someone who’d played a role in that awful thing, no matter how unwittingly—all of those things took the time that was now spread across the floor and folded it back on David.

A beautiful son with golden hair that smelled of soap and childhood filled David’s head, and his arms felt the weight of his child as he’d carried him to his bed at night and tucked him in, leaving the night-light on because Christian was afraid of the dark.

I’m scared, Daddy.

David would always reassure him that there were no monsters in their house.
No monsters.

In truth, the monster was down the hall, asleep in her bed.

“I was asking what you think about the case, not about today’s crossword puzzle,” Coretta said. And man, was she mad.

“Believe me, you don’t really want to know what I think.”

“Yes, I do. We all do.”

“Okay.” He adjusted his ankle on his knee. “I think the profile is bullshit. That’s what I think.”

A few gasps. Mouths dropped open. A fresh wave of irritation flashed across Coretta’s face. “Okay, this meeting is over unless anybody other than Detective Gould has something to add.”

People got to their feet, clutching and folding the profile that had been supplied to them. David was almost out the door when Coretta put a hand to his arm, stopping him. “My office,” she said.

Yeah, they should probably break up.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with you.” Coretta grabbed a package of crackers from her desk. “But I can guess. You’re jealous of Lamont.”

“Jealous?” David blew air out his nose.

“He’s an FBI agent. A profiler. You used to be an FBI agent and a profiler.”

“Oh, right.”

“So just shut it off.” She couldn’t get the package open. She gave up and tossed it down on her desk, then said with anger, “You can be so childish.”

“I try.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He swept up the crackers, tore open one end of the package, and handed them to her.

Her anger evaporated so quickly, he wondered if she’d really been mad in the first place or merely doing her job. “Will you stop by tonight?” she asked, smiling as she accepted the open crackers.

His phone announced a text message. He checked the screen:
Elise
.

“I’ll make a low-country boil,” Coretta said. “You bring wine.”

“You just said I was childish.” Had his voice sounded a bit petulant there?

She abandoned the crackers, circled the desk, and pressed herself against him. “I like immature men who act like boys.” She unzipped his pants and stuck her hand inside, grabbing him.

He let out a gasp. “Isn’t that a bit like pedophilia?” he asked, holding his breath while he spoke.

She laughed. “You’re darling.” Her laughter faded, and her expression became serious. David was pretty sure she wanted sex. Right now, right here.

He held up his phone with the text message. “Gotta go. Detective Sandburg wants to discuss Lamont’s profile with me.”

She backed off, and he quickly zipped his pants before she got any more ideas.

“That’s adult of you.” She sounded disappointed.

CHAPTER 18

A
larm set, Elise stepped out the back door. Gripping the handle of her briefcase, insulated coffee mug tucked under her arm, she removed the key from the lock and hurried down the steps in the direction of her car and the small parking spot next to the garage. Audrey was already off to school, and even though the day had hardly begun, Elise was running late.

A movement in the shrubbery caught her eye. And there she went again. All reflex and no thought, she dropped the mug, lid flying, coffee splashing her black slacks as she pulled her weapon.

Another trembling of branches and Jackson Sweet emerged, a backpack draped over one shoulder. “I’ve gone over the case files,” he said in a deadpan voice, as if he’d stepped through an office door instead of emerging from greenery, as if his stalking behavior weren’t in any way unacceptable, “and I’d like to talk to you about a few things.”

She exhaled and returned her gun to her shoulder holster. “What are you doing here?”

“As I’m sure you already know, I’ve been trying to catch up with you.” His voice was thick with his low-country accent. Like hers, but stronger. “At the police department, and last night—knocking on your front door. You don’t seem to be all that willing to talk to me.”

No surprise. At the Savannah PD, she’d ducked into the restroom and also done an about-face to head for the stairs when she spotted him coming her way. Last night when he knocked at the front door, she’d turned off the porch light.

“I’d suggest anything you want to discuss you discuss with David Gould or Major Hoffman,” Elise said.

“You’re the head of homicide.”

Elise was still trying to figure out how Sweet had managed to insinuate himself in her life. “You went to Major Hoffman, didn’t you?” she asked. “You suggested she put you on the case.”

“So what if I did?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing this. You and I—we don’t have a relationship.” She thought about picking up the mug, thought about going back inside and getting more coffee, but gave up on both ideas. She’d get the mug later. She’d get coffee at headquarters. “We will never have a relationship,” she said. “And I want you to leave Audrey alone. I don’t want you hanging around her school, waiting for her to get out. Do you understand?”

“A grandfather taking his granddaughter out for tea—that’s harmless.”

“Nothing about you is harmless.”

“I plan to keep seeing her.”

“Then I’ll get a restraining order.”

He smiled. “You have no grounds.”

“I know people.”

His smile faded. He understood she would do whatever it took to keep him away from her child.

“So you don’t want to hear any of my theories?” he asked.

“Talk to David. Talk to Major Hoffman. Stay away from me. And stay away from my house.”

“I don’t blame you. I really don’t, but this is more important than your hatred of me. Lives are at stake. A killer is out there. Can’t we put our history aside, at least for now?”

“David. Major Hoffman.”

“I admire your unwavering dislike. I’d probably feel the same if I were in your position. You’re tough. Like me.”

“I’m
nothing
like you. Nothing. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if I’d died in that cemetery where I was left as a baby. All because of you. It’s hard to let go of that kind of history.”

“I’m sorry it’s made you so bitter, but believe me when I say your heritage and what happened to you have made you the strong woman you are today.”

Elise let out a snort. “So I should
thank
you?” She looked down at her black slacks and coffee splatter. “I have to go.” She hit the “Unlock” button on her key fob and charged for her car.

He followed.

Opening the door, she tossed her briefcase across the console to the passenger seat.

“Wait, Elise. Please wait.”

She’d planned to hop in the vehicle and not give him another glance as she pulled away, but the desperation in his tone caused her to hesitate.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He planted his hands on the hood of the car and looked into her eyes, seeming to come to a decision. “What I’m about to share can’t go beyond you,” Sweet said. “No one else can know. Not David or Audrey or Strata Luna.”

She almost rolled her eyes. This was where he’d tell her he had another family somewhere in Mexico. Or this was where he’d make up some wild story about being chased by a band of zombies.

He circled the car to stand three feet from her. He checked behind him, then leaned in close. “I was recruited. By a secret government organization.” He paused for her reaction. He didn’t have long to wait, because his “revelation” was more ridiculous than she could have imagined.

“Oh my God.” Why hadn’t she driven away when she’d had the chance? “Can’t you just tell the truth for once in your life?” she asked. “It’s not like you have anything to lose in this relationship. Why not just tell me you have a wife and family in another part of the country, or whatever it is you’re hiding?”

“I’m
trying
to tell you.”

“I have to go.”

“Please. Two minutes.”

She blinked. “You told me you left to protect me. Now you’re saying that was a lie?”

“Oh, there was that too. Listen, I want to help.”

“Why?”

As he spoke, he placed a splayed hand against the hood of the vehicle. “What kind of question is that?”

“You want to know what I think? I think you’re using this case to hang around me.”

“I like to stop bad men from doing bad things.”

“That’s funny, because as I understand it,
you
are a bad man.”

“It takes a bad man to know a bad man.”

No argument there. “You’ve killed people.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Around.” More of the folklore.

“I
have
killed people.”

His admission surprised her. Not that he’d killed, but that he’d admitted to it.

“People who needed to die. Not innocents.” He looked over both shoulders, then refocused on her. “Before you were born, I already had the reputation of being able to extract confessions from criminals,” he said in a low and confidential voice. “But that didn’t always work. A few times, when I didn’t get the proof I needed to put someone away, I took care of it myself.”

Judge, jury, and executioner. She could read between the lines. “You mean you killed a suspect.”

Tip of the head, eyebrows raised. Affirmative. “These were bad people, Elise. People who couldn’t be allowed to continue inflicting harm.”

“More than one.” A statement. “You killed more than one.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t appear remorseful. She had a psychopath hanging around her daughter.

“You have to understand. These were men who’d done terrible things to children. And women. They needed to die.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide.”

“Why not me? Why not the person who had an unfiltered view of what was going on, and not some chosen jury listening to sifted and diluted evidence that might or might not put someone away? Especially if that someone had money and influence.”

Elise resented his ability to upset her. He didn’t deserve that kind of power.

“There was one particular man,” he said. “A case you won’t find anywhere because all records have been destroyed. He was almost the end of me. I have to admit, by that time I was getting careless and cocky and sloppy. And yes, I started thinking I was above the law. After I killed him, an investigation was launched, and it wasn’t long before they were getting close, and I knew I’d probably end up with the death sentence.”

“So you ran.”

“I thought about it, and I probably would have. Just hop a train and live on the rails and in the street. But I was approached by an undercover branch of the FBI. In return for my cooperation, I was given full immunity, and the case was not only closed, all records were destroyed. They helped me fake my own death. They helped me disappear.”

Now she did roll her eyes. “And what was this fabricated position? Why did the FBI want you so desperately, enough to destroy evidence to a homicide?”

“I broke people.”

“Tortured them?”

“That usually wasn’t necessary, but . . .”

“I’ll ask David about this secret group, this secret FBI club.”

“Go ahead, but he won’t have heard of it. I worked for them for ten years. Then I left. Or I should say, they let me leave. But I was still dead to the rest of the world.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

He ratcheted things up. “I’m dying. For real this time.”

If anybody else had spoken those words, Elise’s heart would have broken a little. But she wasn’t an idiot. He was playing her. When she didn’t swallow his FBI story, he pulled out something else. Only a naive child would fall for his act, so she steeled herself against any shred of sympathy she might feel. “We’re all dying.”

“Believe it, don’t believe it. It’s your choice. But I wanted to see you, and I wanted to see Audrey and Strata Luna.”

“Before you died?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have to get involved in this case to see us.”

“You needed help. I get the truth out of people. And I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you’ve killed people.” She could feel it in him.

“And you haven’t?”

“No. Never.”

“What about Marie Luna?”

Elise inhaled.

“My daughter,” he reminded her. “Strata Luna’s daughter.” He was watching her closely now. “Your half sister.”

“I did not kill Marie Luna.” That honor went to Detective Avery, but she’d been there.