Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [95]
“Danielle survived her father’s massacre. If she’s reenacting a past trauma, shouldn’t the scene involve a lone survivor?”
D.D. shrugged. “Hell, I’m a lowly sergeant, not a criminologist. Maybe she resents being the survivor. Maybe she’s determined to get the deed done right. Maybe Danielle’s actually a very strong man, which would explain her ability to take out Denise Harrington and Jacob Harrington, each with a single killing blow.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Alex agreed.
“One way or another, all roads lead back to the acute-care facility,” D.D. pressed. “And inside the acute-care facility, all fingers point at Danielle Burton.”
“Bears consideration,” Alex granted.
They were almost in the North End now. He slowed the car and D.D. felt her earlier fatigue. Another lonely return to her one-bedroom wonderland. Another sleepless night, followed by another single-espresso morning. It really had been an atrociously long time since she’d had anything other than an Italian coffee machine to make her smile.
“You know who would be extremely good at taking out an entire family?” Alex was saying now. “The kind of player who has height, strength, and fitness on his side?”
D.D. regarded him blankly. “Who?”
“Couple of the MCs on the unit. Particularly, Gym Coach Greg.”
Alex double-parked outside her condo building. D.D. looked at the tall brick unit, tucked shoulder to shoulder with dozens of other two-hundred-year-old brick units. Then she looked back at Alex.
“Wanna come up?” she heard herself ask.
He hesitated. “Yeah,” he answered. “I do want to come up. But I think I’m going to pass. I think, if we’re going to do this …”
“When we’re going to do this?” she tried.
“Okay, when we’re going to do this … I want to do it right. I’m thinking red sauce and homemade pasta and really terrific Chianti. I’m thinking eating and talking and laughing and then … then all of that, all over again. It’s the advantage of being older and wiser. We know good things are worth the wait.”
“I’ve waited a long time,” D.D. said. “You have no idea.”
He smiled. “I’ve waited a long time, too.”
D.D. sighed, gazed back up at her building. “What if I said no hanky-panky?”
“No hanky-panky?”
“Just two consenting adults, remaining fully dressed.”
“Different,” he said.
She blew out a puff of air. “I don’t want to be alone. Okay? Maybe you don’t want to be alone either. So we go upstairs and we work on not being alone together. I’ll leave my shirt on, you leave your shirt on, and we’ll both go to bed.”
“Will there be spooning?” he asked.
“I hope so.”
“All right. I’m in.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Alex said, and pulled away from the curb in search of a parking place.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
VICTORIA
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Interrupting cat.”
“Interrupting cat—”
“MEOW!”
I dutifully laugh as Evan cuts me off. Interrupting cat is his favorite knock knock joke. He’s been telling it for three years now, and it never grows old for him. I don’t mind. I’d expected a long night with Evan, one where he worked out his agitation and frustration from being overmedicated the day before. Instead, he slept all the way till six this morning, one of his longest stretches ever.
He woke up surprisingly happy. We went for a bike ride around the neighborhood, then broke out the sidewalk chalk and drew an elaborate race car shooting flames on the driveway.
After a midmorning snack of raspberry fruit smoothies, we’re now relaxing in the shade of the backyard, birds chirping, squirrels scampering, and a neighborhood cat stalking both.
This is charming Evan, silly Evan, let’s-goof-off-and-hang-out Evan. This is the son I can’t let go.
“Your turn,” he says now.
I think about it for a second. “Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Iguana.”
“Iguana who?”
“Iguana give you a hug.” I lean across the grass and capture Evan in a giant bear hug. He bursts into a fit of giggles, squirming his way out my arms.
“Mommy germs!” he shrieks.
“Iguana kiss you, too!” I growl, crawling after him. The backyard is more dirt than grass these days,