Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [152]
It gave me time to heal and go back-to-school shopping with my daughter.
Last week, Chelsea visited Evan and me twice, Michael acting as chaperone. Evan became overexcited, slamming his fingers in the front door, then tripping over his own feet and knocking his sister into the TV. But Chelsea hung in there, I hung in there, Michael hung in there. The calmer we remained, the calmer Evan became. By the end of the second evening, we even managed a family game of charades. Chelsea won. When I gave her a congratulatory hug, she clung to me and cried. So I cried with her.
Sometimes, that’s just what you need to do.
The wedding has been postponed. More pressing matters to tend to, Michael told me, and I thought I saw some of the old familiar heat in his gaze. I know I felt it in mine.
I’m thinking of returning to interior decorating. I’m thinking of prizing every single second I have with my children. I’m thinking of being me again, independent, beautiful, and strong.
And I think if I do that, Michael doesn’t stand a chance.
D.D.
D.D. loved it when a case came together. Andrew Ficke, aka Andrew Lightfoot, died at the scene, bleeding out after severing his femoral artery. Evidence, however, had a life of its own, and they found plenty of it.
A military-grade Taser was found on the front seat of Lightfoot’s car. Tests determined it met the voltage requirements of the Taser used to attack Patrick Harrington, Hermes Laraquette, Danielle Burton, and Victoria Oliver. The Taser also contained custom cartridges, apparently available on the black market, that powered the device’s twin wires without leaving behind any traceable confetti.
A search of Andrew’s Rockport home also revealed a package of zip ties, same size, color, and durability as the ties used to subdue Danielle Burton and the Oliver family. Then there was the duffel bag in his car trunk, which lit up like the Fourth of July when tested for bodily fluids. The bag revealed three different blood types, most likely cross-contamination from once containing clothing stained with the blood of multiple murder victims.
Andrew Lightfoot was a known associate of all the victims. The police found no alibis for him on the nights of the murders, and security cameras showed him entering the hospital the evening Lucy was hanged. Fire investigators recovered fifteen smoke bombs in the ventilation system; latent prints recovered Andrew’s prints from several of the devices, tying him explicitly to the emergency evacuation.
As far as D.D. was concerned, that was a wrap. Andrew had taken his world of spiritual interplanes a bit too seriously, convincing himself that the fate of his father’s soul was more important than the continued corporal existence of various individuals. He had murdered A, believing he was saving B. Or more likely, he had just wanted to terrorize Danielle Burton after she rejected him.
Naturally, Alex argued with her. “He was a spiritual healer. Man did good work, according to his clients—”
“Converts.”
“Clients. You don’t go from being a respected shaman to a mass murderer overnight.”
“He was obsessed with Danielle. She wanted nothing to do with him. How much rejection can one man take?”
“According to her testimony, he wanted her to save his father’s soul. How does killing two entire families accomplish that?”
“It didn’t accomplish that,” D.D. pointed out with a shrug. “Poor problem-solving skills. Definition of a murderer right there. Some guy wants a divorce, but doesn’t want to lose half of his assets, so he kills his wife instead. Did he have to kill her? Were there other options that might have ended his marriage while preserving his bank account? Of course. But murderers don’t see other options. That’s why they’re murderers.”
They were sitting in D.D.’s office. The other taskforce members had left. Case was closed, not to mention they’d heard this same conversation a couple of times before. That