Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [128]
Still, he was anxious to get this interview over. He didn’t want Eli staying alone in the hospital any longer than absolutely necessary. He already had some abandonment issues because of Leanna; Trace wasn’t about to compound them by not showing up when he’d promised.
Alvarez returned with half-filled paper cups and set them on the table. As she sat down, she pulled a slim manila file from a briefcase positioned near her chair and slid it onto the beat-up table. Trace ignored the steaming coffee but was grateful that its aroma blocked out the stench of sweat and cleaning solvent, as if this room had been scrubbed recently, but it couldn’t quite mask the scent of fear, desperation, and guilt.
With no holds barred, he told them the story of his brief marriage, losing touch with Leanna, and raising Eli alone. “The marriage was over before it began,” he admitted. “I’m still not even sure she was pregnant. I never saw the test kit results or went to the one appointment with the doctor she’d sworn she’d visited. No bill for the exam ever came through, so maybe I was played.”
“Why?” Alvarez asked.
“I suspect she was tired of the responsibility of a kid.” Trace’s insides curdled with the admission, but it was his version of the truth. “Leanna wasn’t the kind of woman cut out to be a mother.”
“What kind was she?” the taller detective, Pescoli, asked.
“Beautiful and self-centered. Friendly smile. Cold, though.”
“Huh,” Pescoli observed before picking up a paper cup and taking a long swallow of the coffee. “You’re her ex.”
“You asked,” he reminded the detective. “I’m just saying what I think.”
Alvarez asked, “So about Eli. He’s not your biological son, but she just left him with you? What about the real father?”
Feeling warm in his coat, Trace unbuttoned it. “It’s my understanding that he was never in the picture. He might not even know about Eli. But the adoption’s legal. He’s my son.”
Pescoli asked, “What about your ex-wife’s family?”
“I didn’t meet any of them. We were together less than six months. So, why all the questions about Leanna?”
But he knew. And it came as no surprise when Pescoli opened the file on the small desk and showed him pictures of Jocelyn Wallis and one of Leanna O’Halleran, the picture she’d had taken for her Montana driver’s license.
“Since you were the last person Jocelyn Wallis was involved with, and she with you,” Pescoli said, “we just would like to know more about her, as well as your missing wife.”
He didn’t bother correcting her this time, understood that she was baiting him a bit, trying to get a rise. If she kept wanting to call Leanna his wife, fine. “Fire away,” he told them, and as both detectives tossed questions at him, he answered clearly and concisely. When they got to a question about Elle Alexander, he said truthfully, “I’ve never met her. Look, can I sign a statement or something? I’ve been here over an hour. I’ve got things to do, and I’m picking my son up from the hospital.” There was a hesitation, and a look passed between them. “Are you charging me with something? Do I need a lawyer? I’ve told you everything I know.”
Pescoli looked at her watch again, and Alvarez regarded him soberly, as if she were trying to see into his soul.
Even though it wasn’t really his call, Trace added, “Actually, there’s something more you need to know. I’ve been ... seeing Acacia Lambert, the doctor who works at the clinic downtown. You met her at the hospital. She said she called you and told you about the hidden microphones.”
Alvarez reacted, and Pescoli’s interest sharpened as well. “That’s correct,” Alvarez said.
“You might notice that she looks like these women.” He pointed at the small table, where the pictures