Split Second - Catherine Coulter [34]
Lucy nodded. “But if she’d had a gun, I do believe she’d have shot the lot of us, her sister first off. Her husband’s going to go ballistic about what this is going to do to his run for Congress.”
He nodded. “No way around it, he’s screwed. When I called Savich before to tell him what happened, he was surprised, a hard thing to manage at the best of times, but the twin story did it. He said, ‘Well, life never ceases to amaze, does it, Coop?’ Then I heard him tell Sean not to feed Astro his apple pie; it was the last piece, and his mama wanted it if he didn’t.”
She gave a smile, a small one, but it still counted. Coop rose, pulled out a small bottle from his jeans pocket. “I brought some melatonin with me—it helps turn my brain off for a while. Want some?”
They washed down the tablets with the rest of the beer.
“Give it twenty minutes.”
When she walked him to the door, he turned and looked at her. “Lucy, what are you up to at your grandmother’s house?”
The smile fell away. For an instant, he would swear she looked panicked before she shook her head and said in a rock-hard voice, “Nothing, Coop. Forget it, okay? Breakfast is coming soon, so let’s hope the melatonin does the trick.”
He wanted to see her smile again. “What do you think of our pre-honeymoon so far?”
“I understand sleep deprivation is a common side effect of a pre-honeymoon. If you don’t leave, we’re going to qualify for that.” She looked him up and down. “You might be an arrogant skirt-chaser, but again, you might not, so I’ll ask it. Tell me, Coop, would you marry me if I had a kid whose father was Ted Bundy?”
“Not in a million years.”
“Me, either.”
“Good night, Lucy. I really do like your palm tree,” he said as she closed the door. “See you in the coffee shop at eight a.m. sharp.”
CHAPTER 18
Richmond District, San Francisco
Saturday morning
“It’s the duplex on the right,” Delion said, pointing, and pulled his Crown Vic into the only free spot on Clinton Street, a good half block away. “We’re only a few blocks from the Golden Gate. If you guys like, I’ll drive you through the park when we’re done here. We can commune with the buffalo.”
Delion had called ahead, and so he wasn’t surprised when the door was opened immediately by a slight man with a receding hairline, stooped shoulders, and bright red sneakers on his feet.
“Mr. Carpenter? Roy Carpenter?”
The man nodded. “Inspector Delion?”
After introductions, Mr. Carpenter showed them into a long, narrow living room, the front window looking out over the cars on the other side of the street. Toys were scattered everywhere on small, colorful rugs. Lucy felt a lick of sadness. She hadn’t known he had a child.
Mr. Carpenter said, “Forgive the mess. My sister and my nephew Kyle are living with me at the moment. She, ah, left her abusive husband last week, finally. She’s staying with me until—well, I don’t know how long. Please sit down. Coffee?”
Since the three of them were floating in Starbucks coffee, they turned it down. When they were all seated side by side on a nubby gold sofa, Mr. Carpenter said, “You’re here about Arnette.” He tried to keep his voice flat, devoid of hope, to prevent disappointment, Coop knew. It was hard, so very hard, since he knew, all of them knew, that even after three-plus years, a victim’s family still held out hope that the missing loved one would once again, somehow, walk through the door and explain it all.
Delion pulled a small recorder from his jacket pocket. “Do you mind if we record this?”
“No, not at all.”
“We believe we know what happened to your wife, Mr. Carpenter.”
He jerked forward on his chair, and the naked hope in his voice was enough to break your heart. “You’ve found her? You know who took Arnette, what they did to her? Is she alive?”
“Mr. Carpenter, I’m sorry, sir, but we believe your wife was murdered. We also believe the person who killed her was named Kirsten Bolger. Do you know anyone