by Lisa Gardner
“I can do things,” she murmured. “Things you’ve only watched in cheap pornographic movies. Tell me the truth, Officer Dodge: Aren’t you tired of the same old, same old? Haven’t you always wondered what it would be like to meet a woman with whom you no longer had to pretend?
“Want to rip open my sweater and pinch my nipples? Do it. Want to bite my neck, pull my hair? I don’t mind. You don’t even have to call me later or make fake proclamations of love. You can take me right here and now, we’ll do it doggy style on the floor, or I can bend over on the couch, or maybe you don’t want to fuck at all. Maybe you’re more oral. That’s fine by me. Or maybe”—her throaty voice changed, grew more calculating—“you’d prefer a fantasy.”
Her hand tightened suddenly on his crotch, squeezing his balls. He flinched like an uninitiated schoolboy, then, in the next instant, surged against her touch. She laughed huskily, her left hand stroking him hard while her right hand feathered back his hair.
“Would you like the sweet Catholic girl? I’ll wear the plaid skirt and knee-high socks. You can have the ruler. Or do you like wild and wicked? Black leather, stiletto boots, cowhide whips. Ever done a sixty-nine? Ever gone round the world? Tell me, Officer Dodge, what do you secretly dream about?”
He said, “Stop.”
She merely laughed and worked him harder. “Oooh, it must be something very special. Bestiality maybe? I can put on a horse tail, utter a few good neighs while you mount. Or is it worse than that? Homoerotic? Or maybe … Some men like it when I reenact for them. Would you like that, Officer Dodge? I can act out for you every single thing he ever made me do. I’ll be the little girl and you can be the pedophile.”
He didn’t get it at first. He was too lost in the moment, the darkness in her finding an unexpected match in the darkness in him. He did want to rip off her clothes. He wanted to throw her down. He wanted to possess her in a way that was violent and raw. He felt as if he’d been pretending his entire life, and only now, in this moment, did he finally feel an emotion that was real.
But then, the full meaning of her words penetrated. A shudder moved through him, cold as ice. He grabbed her right hand, grabbed her left, and twisted them behind her back.
“Don’t,” he said harshly.
“Ooh, you do like it rough.”
“Catherine, what happened to you … it wasn’t your fault.”
Her eyes widened. In the shadowed room he could see her pupils grow large. She jerked savagely out of his grip. Then she slapped him.
“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about!”
Bobby didn’t say anything. He was breathing hard. So was she. She spun away from him, walking haughtily across the space. Her gray sweater fell off her shoulder, exposing the black lace of her lingerie. She tugged at the fabric impatiently, still not meeting his eye.
There was something he should say right now, but he couldn’t get the words out. He was too rattled, seeing not the woman in front of him, but the little girl who’d been trapped down in the dark.
The desire was long gone now. He felt drained, almost detached. Harris had been right. The little girl who had been cast down into that pit was not the same girl who had finally crawled her way to the top.
“Fine,” Catherine announced crisply from across the room. “You don’t want to play nice, I won’t play nice. Call the police. By all means, tell them to come here. Let them see you in my home. I’ll confess that we’re lovers. Have been for months. The whole shooting, in fact, was your idea. Jimmy didn’t even have a gun. I had it. I fired the warning shots for the neighbors to hear. Then you showed up, claimed he had a gun, and blew him away. It’ll be your word against mine, Officer Dodge. How do you feel about doing twenty-five to life?”
“By tomorrow at five p.m.,” Bobby said steadily, “if I don’t tell the world that you were threatening your husband on Thursday night, Judge Gagnon has promised to put me in jail.”
Catherine chewed on her bottom lip furiously. “I’ll tell them Prudence was sleeping with you, that’s why she hanged herself!” She stabbed her finger at him. “You! You’re the one she alludes to in the note. You’re the one she knows killed Jimmy, and it broke her heart because you’re the love of her life.”
“That story would work better if Prudence had hanged herself.”
“What?”
He finally took pity on her. “There’s no bruising around her throat. No burn marks from the rope, no broken fingernails from frantic clawing at the knot. Hanging’s messy business. Prudence is too clean.”
“I don’t …”
“Someone killed her. Most likely snapped her neck. Then brought her to your bedroom and set the stage.”
Catherine paled. She swayed slightly on her feet. “Boo,” she murmured. “Boo.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“The point is, Catherine, I saw that right away. The BPD detectives will, too.”
“What if they think I killed her?”
“Prudence had thirty pounds on you. There’s no way you single-handedly strung her from the rafters.”
“What about the note?”
“If the hanging’s not a suicide, then the note’s not a suicide note. By definition, all of its contents are in doubt.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“Prudence was murdered, Catherine. It’s time to call the cops.”
He headed out of the parlor toward the family room, where he’d seen a phone. Catherine stopped him halfway through the doorway.
“Bobby …”
He turned. For the first time since he’d met her, she appeared genuinely uncertain, genuinely fragile.
He regarded her levelly, as curious as anyone what she would do next. She was cold and calculating, no doubt about it. If he hadn’t told her the truth about the nanny’s death, she would’ve sold him out. Maybe, in time, she still would. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. He kept seeing that little girl again, which was maybe her biggest trick. She could play the victim, even while staging her next plan of attack.
“You understand …” She gave up on the apology, waving her hand instead. “I can’t lose Nathan. I can’t.”
“Why’d you fire the housekeeper for feeding him?”
She didn’t seem surprised he’d heard the story. “Tony Rocco had ordered a strict diet—no wheat, no dairy. Dairy by-products are in everything from cereal to tuna fish. It was simpler to order people not to give him snacks. Unfortunately, not everyone saw it that way.”
“And the poopy diapers in the fridge?”
“Fecal matter collections to rule out cystic fibrosis. Jimmy kept throwing them out, however, so we had to do it many times.”
“People say the boy is sicker when you’re around.”
She said tiredly, “Nathan is sick all the time, Bobby. Maybe people just notice it more when they have someone around to blame.”
“So he really is sick?”
“Yes.”
“But Jimmy didn’t believe you.”
“No. Jimmy’s parents told him I was the root of all evil, and as time passed, Jimmy loved me less and believed them more.”
Bobby still had to think about it. “All right,” he said quietly, and went to find a phone.
Chapter
26
D.D. wasn’t happy to see him again. He’d called her direct and she was on-scene in twenty minutes, wearing a leather jacket, stiletto boots, and a scowl. The crime-scene techs followed close on her heels.
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” she growled as she stormed through the door. “One suicidal fuckin’ idiot.”
“Careful. Kid.” Bobby jerked his head toward the front parlor, where Catherine now had Nathan fast asleep in his nest of pillows. Bobby didn’t know how the kid could sleep through all the chaos, but then, he didn’t know anything about kids.
D.D. grimaced. She disappeared upstairs to view the scene for herself. He waited patiently in the foyer, leaning against
the wall. More uniforms were coming in now. One fresh-faced kid set himself up discreetly in the entranceway, where he could watch Bobby standing in the foyer and Catherine sitting silently in the parlor. Periodically, Bobby would look over at the rookie and yawn mightily. It was fun to watch the rookie struggle not to yawn back.
Fifteen minutes later, D.D. returned, jerking her head toward a quiet corner. He obediently followed her over for the sidebar. They both understood they had to talk sooner versus later—it was only a matter of time before Copley stalked onto the scene, drawn by the fresh scent of blood.
“What the hell are you doing, Bobby?” D.D. demanded without preamble.
“She called, said there was an intruder in her house and asked me to come over. What was I supposed to do?”
“Call BPD.”
“You think they would’ve taken her seriously? Thanks to Copley, most of the department seems to have her pegged as a murderer.”
“Not your concern, Bobby. Your career is your concern, and just to enlighten you, these little stunts don’t help you out.”
“Funny how many people suddenly care about my career,” he murmured.
“Bobby—”
“I didn’t think there was an intruder,” he said.
D.D. finally quieted. Now that he was getting serious, her temper calmed. “What’d you think?”
He shrugged. “That it was a ploy. That she wanted to talk to me alone. That she was probably going to lobby me for one thing or another.”
“About the shooting?”
“Yeah.”
D.D. grunted. “Better reason for you not to have come.”
“Of course. Officer should have no contact with the victim’s family postincident. Think I haven’t read the manual? I’ve read the manual.”
“So why did you come?”
“Because I shot this woman’s husband, and what the manual doesn’t tell you is that leaves you feeling all torn up inside, and yeah, desperate for answers, or maybe even just for someone to say, ‘Officer, you did the right thing. Officer, I forgive you. Officer, you can go on with your life now, it’s gonna be okay.’ ”
D.D. expelled a breath. “Ah Jesus, Bobby—”
Bobby cut her off. He didn’t want to hear it anymore. “I received a call from Mrs. Gagnon shortly after ten-thirty,” he said crisply. “Upon arriving in Back Bay, I parked my car and walked the rest of the way here. Halfway down the block, I saw the silhouette of a body hanging in the fourth-story window. You can say I moved a little quicker.
“Upon entering the lobby of the townhouse, I encountered Mrs. Gagnon and her son curled up on the floor in front of the elevator, obviously fearful. After instructing Mrs. Gagnon and her son to stay put, I took the stairs up to the front entrance of her residence. I entered armed with a fully loaded nine-millimeter, which I am licensed to carry. I conducted a full sweep of the residence, level by level, finishing in the master bedroom, where I walked through the open door to find the body of Prudence Walker swinging from the rafters.
“After reading the note resting upon the mattress, I exited the room, careful not to disturb anything and closing the door behind me with the cuff of my shirt. I then came downstairs and notified Mrs. Gagnon that it was time to call the police.”
D.D. mimicked his stilted professional tone back to him. “And how did Mrs. Gagnon react to the news?”
“She appeared startled that Prudence would hang herself.”
“What did she say?”
“That since Prudence was a lesbian, it was highly unlikely that she was Jimmy Gagnon’s lover.”
“Really?” That caught D.D.’s attention. She made a note. “Do you have confirmation?”
“Well, we could ask Prudence,” Bobby said dryly, “but she’s dead.”
D.D. rolled her eyes. “What else did you and Mrs. Gagnon discuss?”
“She was concerned about what the police would think of the note. In particular, she and her in-laws are engaged in a custody battle over her son and she feared the police might use the note as an excuse to remove Nathan from her custody.”
“Reasonable fear.”
“I told her the police were smart enough to realize that the suicide was staged.”
“You fucking did not!”
“I fucking did.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Bobby, why the hell didn’t you hand her evidence to destroy as well?”
“If I hadn’t told her that, she wouldn’t be here right now, D.D. She’d have grabbed the kid and fled.”
“And you would’ve stopped her.”
“How? By pointing my gun at her and her four-year-old son? Somehow, I don’t think she would’ve taken me seriously.”
“You had no right to give away details of a scene. You deliberately hampered the progress of this investigation—”
“I called you in. Without me, you had nothing.”
“With you, we have nothing.”
“No, you have a name.”
“What name?”
“James Gagnon.”
D.D. stopped, blinked her eyes several times, then peered at him in genuine confusion. “Judge Gagnon? You think he killed Prudence Walker?”
“Catherine thinks he did. Or hired someone to.”
“Why?”
“To implicate her in the death of her husband. Ask around, D.D. It’s no secret that Judge Gagnon is real distraught over the death of his son. And it’s no secret he blames Catherine.”
“For God’s sake, Bobby, he’s a superior court judge—”
“Who just yesterday invited me up to his hotel suite, where he offered to drop all criminal charges against me in return for my promise to testify that on the night of the shooting, I heard Catherine deliberately provoke Jimmy into pointing the gun.”
“You don’t have audio.”
“I mentioned that. The judge said not to worry about it. He’d take care of it.”
“He’d take care of it?”
Bobby shrugged. “All he needs is one other guy who was at the scene to say he heard what I heard. The judge has long arms and deep pockets. I’m guessing I’m not the only one receiving his outreach.”
“Shit,” D.D. said heavily.
“I have a deadline—five o’clock tomorrow,” Bobby said quietly. “I can lie about Catherine and watch my legal troubles go away. Or I can tell the truth, in which case, the judge will seek to bury me.”
D.D. squeezed her eyes shut. “Politics and murder. Great, great, great.” She opened her eyes. “Okay, so what are you going to do?”
He was honestly offended. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“The hell you didn’t.”
“Bobby—”
“We were friends once. I still remember it, D.D. Do you?”
She didn’t answer right away. Which was answer enough. Bobby pushed away from the wall. “Investigate how you need to investigate, D.D. But if you want my two cents, Tony Rocco and Prudence Walker are both dead for the same reason.”
“Because they knew Catherine Gagnon.”
“Because they were allies of Catherine Gagnon. I spoke to Dr. Rocco the day he died—he fervently believed Catherine wasn’t harming Nathan. Catherine trusted him as Nathan’s doctor, just as she trusted Prudence to help with Nathan. Now she has no one.”
“She has a father,” D.D. pointed out.
“Really? I’d send a few patrol cars in his direction. Maybe he’s next.”
“To be attacked by a knife-wielding butcher or to mysteriously hang himself? Come on, Bobby, the MO’s don’t even match!”
“He’s isolating her.”
“He’s a well-respected judge who doesn’t need to resort to murder. By your own admission, he’s got money, influence, and an intimate knowledge of the legal system. Face it, Bobby: if Judge Gagnon wants custody of his grandson, he’s going to end up with custody of his grandson. He sure as hell doesn’t need to resort to murder.”
“Five
o’clock deadline,” Bobby said. “The judge wants me testifying tomorrow and he obviously prefers possession of his grandkid tonight. The judge is in a hurry.” He grimaced. “I wonder what’s up.”
D.D. interviewed Catherine next, sequestered in the front parlor. Bobby wasn’t allowed in the room. He roamed the foyer, trying to catch Catherine’s muffled replies through the closed parlor door, and wondering why Copley still hadn’t shown his ugly mug.
Catherine and Nathan had been out most of the day. Bobby caught that much of Catherine’s report. The security system had been set when she’d left; it was still set when she returned. No, she hadn’t seen Prudence all day; she assumed the girl had left before she’d gotten up that morning. No, she didn’t know much about the girl’s local associates or friends. Prudence had a cell phone; that’s what Catherine used to reach her. No, she had not tried to contact Prudence all day; she hadn’t had a reason.
Catherine didn’t know where the candles had come from. She didn’t know where the rope had come from. A ladder had also been discovered. Maybe from their storage unit in the basement? She didn’t know much about these things; the basement was Jimmy’s domain.
Last time she’d been in the master bedroom had been the night before. She’d been concerned about security, so she and Prudence had moved the dresser in front of the broken slider. She hadn’t known that anyone had moved it away, and she doubted Prudence would’ve done so—the dresser had been too heavy for either of them to move it alone.
At this point D.D. asked dryly if the bedroom security camera was on—or did it still not know how to tell time?
Catherine responded stiffly that she hadn’t touched the security system at all, but she knew for a fact there would be no video footage from the master bedroom—the police had seized all the tapes.
Having achieved conversational stalemate, D.D. switched to more neutral ground.
Prudence had worked for her for six months, Catherine supplied. She’d been referred by an agency in England. Yes, Catherine had based part of her decision to hire her on the fact that Prudence was gay. Just because she’d come to terms with Jimmy’s incessant infidelity didn’t mean she was going to encourage him.
