Freak (11 page)

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“Morris, please.” Sheila reached over and put a hand on his arm, her go-to technique for calming him down. Thankfully, it worked. His breathing slowed slightly. “Just listen for a minute.”

“Talk.”

Sheila chose her words carefully. “If there’s a chance I can help solve these new murders, then I need to try, okay? I know more about Ethan and Abby’s relationship than anybody else. I can get her to talk to me, I know I can.” She took a deep breath. “You know what I went through with Ethan. You know he blamed all the murders back then on her.”

“And you said you believed him.”

“Because I did at the time. I’d been in his basement for three weeks, thinking I was going to die. Believing what he said about Abby gave me hope, because it meant that if she was the murderer, then
Ethan wasn’t
. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, I’d survive.”

She didn’t want to think about it now, but it was impossible to keep the images out of her head. A lot had happened in Ethan’s basement. Awful things, terrible things, things she hadn’t told anybody about, not the cops, not her therapist, not even Morris.
Especially
not Morris. And she never would.

“But let’s be honest here.” Sheila’s voice quivered. “Ethan was a sociopath. Looking back now, he lied about absolutely everything. Why wouldn’t he lie about Abby, too?”

Morris didn’t speak. Sheila could tell by his face—brows furrowed in concentration, jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead—that he was processing what she was saying.

“The bodies were all found in Ethan’s basement,” she said quietly. “He had a kill room. He had all the tools to . . . dispose of them. And considering what he did to me . . .” She swallowed
and took a second to gather her thoughts. “I don’t know what Abby’s involvement was in those murders last year, but I no longer believe anything Ethan said to me. I’m not saying she didn’t do them, but I can no longer say for certain that she did. It’s up to the prosecuting attorney to figure that out. What I do know is that women are being murdered
now
. And if there’s any way I can help . . .” She allowed her voice to trail off.

She had explained her reasons as best she could. Morris was either on board, or he wasn’t. There was nothing left she could say.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Then finally, he said, “And there’s no one else?”

A wave of relief passed over her. “No,” Sheila said, letting out a breath. “Nobody who could get to her like I could.”

Morris continued to pace, something he did when he was working out a complicated problem. His executive assistant liked to complain that he had wear patterns on the carpet in his office. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but this whole thing is a big fat steaming pile of cow dung. And you’re stepping right in it. She’s using Jerry. She’s going to use you, too.”

“Maybe so, but I can handle it. So can Jerry. You have to trust us. You have to trust me.”

Morris’s jaw worked.

“What’s really bothering you about this?” Sheila asked softly. “Talk to me.”

He stopped pacing and sat down beside her on the bed. “Okay, here’s the thing. Whenever I’m doing a deal, the one thing I’ve learned is to always be one hundred percent aware of what’s in it for the other guy. It’s easy to focus on what
we
want—hell, you’re a psychologist, you know this is what people do. We see the world through our own filters. We focus on our own needs.”

“Yes, that’s human nature.”

“But it’s dangerous to see the world this way. It’s dangerous to focus on what we want, and not give any thought to what other people want. If I’m doing a deal and I’m not completely aware of what the other guy wants, I’m gonna get screwed. Happens every time.” Morris’s brow furrowed. “The important question here is not what Abby knows. The important question is, what does Abby
want
?”

And just like that, Morris had nailed it. That was the exact right question to ask, and Sheila had to smile. “Her freedom,” she said. “Most of all, she wants her freedom.”

“Exactly. And she has nothing to lose. And that’s what’s scaring me.” Morris leaned toward her, his blue eyes fixed on her face. “In my experience, darlin’, people with absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain are the most dangerous people around.”

Sheila nodded. She couldn’t disagree. Abby Maddox’s freedom was hanging in the balance, and of course the woman would do anything possible to save herself. Abby would grasp at anything she had to, would use anyone she had to. She was a survivor.

Sheila knew all about survival. Maybe more than most people.

“Okay,” she said, meeting Morris’s gaze firmly. “I hear you. I will keep my eyes wide open, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“But you’re still going.”

“As many times as it takes.” Sheila squeezed his arm again. “I have to do this, Morris. Please try and understand that. I can’t
not
help. Please don’t ask me to step away when there might be something I can do. You didn’t see those pictures. You didn’t see how young they were.” A lump caught in her throat.

Morris sighed and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. The sigh told Sheila the argument was over, and she finally let go of the pillow she’d been squeezing.

“I’d like it on the record that I am adamantly opposed to this.” His voice was gruff.

“Consider it recorded. Adamantly.”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Jerry’s visiting her in the morning with her new deal.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Absolutely not.” Sheila smiled, but her tone left no room for further argument.

He finally lay down on the bed. Crisis averted. Sheila snuggled up beside him, resting her head on his burly chest, and breathed in his scent. She loved the way he smelled. Clean and citrusy and warm. Always warm.

“Speaking of Jerry, how is our friend?” Morris nuzzled the top of her head.

“He’s not great.” She snuggled closer. “I’m worried. He’s so skinny.”

“He’s always been skinny.”

“Not like this. I have to wonder if he’s even eating. With Marianne out of the house . . .” She looked up at her fiancé. “Do me a favor and call him? Take him out, stuff him with food, get him talking. I don’t think he has anybody to confide in. He tried talking to me, but I can’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair to Marianne.”

“Hon, I’ve tried. He doesn’t return my calls.”

“Try again. Please. He needs support through all this. He’s just afraid to ask for it.”

Morris frowned. “I’ll call him, but I don’t think he’ll talk to me about his love life. We’re guys, darlin’. We talk about
sports. The stock market. The size of Kim Kardashian’s ass. We don’t talk about personal stuff.”

“He’s our friend.” Sheila’s voice was soft but firm. “He was there for you when you needed him. So you be there for him, too. Even if you have to force him to let you help.”

“All right.” Morris kissed her forehead. “I’ll call him tomorrow, see if he wants to go to that Chinese monkey place.”

Despite her concern, Sheila laughed. “The Golden Monkey, right! That’s his favorite restaurant. I thought you hated dim sum. You said that place was gross.”

“It’s growing on me. But don’t you dare tell him I said that. I need something to bust his balls over.”

“I won’t breathe a word. It’ll be our ancient Chinese secret.”

Morris groaned. “Honey, that’s terrible.”

“So is the Golden Monkey.”

JERRY WAS EXHAUSTED
. Arriving at a women’s prison at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning was not his idea of a good time, especially since he was just here the day before.

He and Danny were met by a long lineup inside the lobby of Rosedale Penitentiary. The prison had seemed quiet yesterday afternoon, but Jerry and Sheila had come after visiting hours. Mornings were obviously when most families arrived.

Yes, families. The lobby was filled with husbands, grandmothers, and young children who all seemed to know the drill. They were probably here every week. How many of the inmates were mothers? The thought was disturbing.

Jerry was surprised to see Mike Torrance waiting inside the lobby. Torrance seemed equally surprised to see Danny.

“What are you doing here?” Jerry asked as he shook hands with the detective.

Torrance nodded to Jerry’s assistant and held up a thin manila envelope. “I have Maddox’s deal here. Signed by the prosecuting attorney first thing this morning. Bob Borden’s been notified and he’s probably already here.” He smiled, a sharklike grin. “He’s not expecting me, though.”

“Thanks for running it down. So you’ll leave it with me?”

“Nope,” Torrance said. “I’m giving it to her personally.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mike—”

But his former partner had already turned away, heading straight for the corrections officer manning the reception desk and bypassing the long lineup. Jerry and Danny followed, ignoring the hostile stares of the other visitors who were annoyed they’d cut in line.

“Lineup starts at the back, sir,” the corrections officer said to Torrance. Jerry recognized her from the day before, the one with the permanent scowl. Her tone matched her face. “We’ll get you processed as fast as we can.”

Torrance flashed his badge and stared her down. “I’m here on official police business, Sergeant . . . Briscoe,” he said, peering at the name on her uniform. “And it’s very time-sensitive. Abigail Maddox is expecting us.”

The CO glanced at his badge and punched something into her computer. “Detective Torrance, yes, of course. Right this way please.” She noticed Danny and Jerry standing behind him. “Detective Isaac. Oh, and hey, Danny. Didn’t see you on the visitor’s list. You three are together?”

At the CO’s use of the word
detective
, Torrance raised an eyebrow and looked at Jerry, who raised an eyebrow and looked at Danny. His assistant knew the CO?

“They’re with me, yes,” Torrance said.

“Any of you bring weapons?”

“I’m carrying.” Torrance’s face changed once he understood what she was getting at. “Oh, come on, Sergeant. Seriously?”

The corrections officer was unfazed. “Sorry, Detective. Prison regulations. I’ll need to keep your weapon and holster. We’ll lock it up tight for you, don’t worry.” She looked over
at Jerry’s assistant with disapproval. “Maddox is high custody level, Danny. You know you’re supposed to get preapproval from the superintendent first.”

Danny managed to look chastised and hopeful at the same time. “I know, but there was no time, Sergeant. One-time exception? Please?”

The CO sighed. “Fine, but get your name on the list if you want to come back after today.”

“Thank you.” Danny headed toward the lockers, where she stowed her purse.

“You and the CO know each other?” Jerry said when his assistant returned.

“I used to volunteer here, remember?” Danny looked at him and waited. When he didn’t reply, she said, “Last summer, for a few weeks, before I started grad school? I told you about it at the interview.”

Jerry frowned.

“It was on my résumé?” Danny looked irritated.

He honestly didn’t remember.

A few moments later they were being escorted down the same long hallway. The corrections officer unlocked the door to Conference 2.

Jerry stifled a sigh. “Back here again.”

The CO unlocked the door and pushed it open. An older gentleman was already seated at the metal table, briefcase in front of him. Jerry recognized him immediately from Abby Maddox’s assault trial. Slick suit, silver hair, flashy paisley tie. Bob Borden.

Maddox’s attorney almost spit out his coffee when they stepped in. The door closed and locked behind them, and just like that, the room got even smaller.

“Mr. Isaac.” Borden stood, his chair scraping the linoleum
floor, making a screechy nails-on-a-chalkboard sound. “This meeting was only supposed to be with you.”

Jerry took a seat, not bothering to introduce anybody. “What can I say, I’m a popular guy. I don’t travel without my entourage. Looks like we’re going to need an extra chair.”

Torrance stepped forward and stuck his hand out toward the lawyer. “Detective Torrance, Seattle PD.”

Borden’s arms stayed firmly fixed at his sides. “I know who you are, Detective, but you have to leave.”

“Excuse me, I don’t—”

Borden cut him off. “My client made it very clear she’ll only speak with Mr. Isaac.” He gave Danny the once-over, seemed to decide she was insignificant, then turned his attention back to the detective.

Torrance’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I don’t give a shit what your client said, Mr. Borden. Women are being murdered and she knows who’s doing it. I’m lead detective on the fucking case. So you tell your goddamned client—”

He was cut off by a discreet cough, and everybody turned around. Abby Maddox, hands cuffed in front of her and dressed head to toe in the same gray prison issues she was wearing the day before, stood in the doorway watching them. Her face was a mixture of amusement and wariness. In the sudden silence, the sound of Danny’s sharp intake of breath was heard by all.

Maddox scanned the scene, her blue-violet eyes glancing over the red-faced detective, the apprehensive lawyer, the smirking private investigator, and the wide-eyed student. Finally her gaze settled on Mike Torrance. “Tell his goddamned client
what
, Detective?”

Torrance stiffened. “I was just going to say that I don’t see why you’d object to speaking with me.”

Borden pulled out a chair for his client, and Maddox took a seat. She raised her wrists as the corrections officer who escorted her—Officer Cavanaugh, same guy as yesterday—unlocked her handcuffs and then stepped back toward the doorway. The CO didn’t leave.

Maddox rubbed her wrists. “Because I think you’re an asshole, Detective. Do you need me to be any clearer than that?” Her smile was sweet, a complete contradiction to her icy tone. “Bob, kindly tell the detective that if he doesn’t leave, the deal is off and I’m going back to my cell.”

Borden looked at Torrance reproachfully. “Do you really need me to repeat that?”