The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [75]
“Fair enough. But bear in mind that my ex-wife also believed her security system would keep her safe, she had taken night classes in self-defense, and she was most certainly nobody’s fool.”
“She didn’t know to expect trouble. I do. Don’t underestimate me.”
“I won’t underestimate you, if you promise not to underestimate him.” Quincy offered her a half smile. Instead of lightening the mood, however, the twist of his lips made him look sad. He was worried, she realized for the first time. Worried and truly hurting. She wondered if even he knew how badly.
“Where are you going?” she asked more gently.
“Out of town. My daughter is wrapping up her affairs now. Rainie is attending to a last few details. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll depart. He knows too much about us here. Our homes, our family, our friends. In a fresh location, I hope to negate that advantage.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Well, I am an expert. Just ask Bethie. Or Mandy.”
“Quincy—”
“I need to get going.”
“What should we tell the Philadelphia P.D.?”
“Tell them I’m tending to my daughter, but that I’ll be in touch.”
“The crime scene,” she tried again. “You know there are issues.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Quincy, it’s staged. You know it’s staged, I know it’s staged, but the homicide detectives . . . They’re going to interpret that fact as yet another indication that you did it. After all, who better to stage a crime scene than a federal agent?”
“I know.”
“And that note . . . Left in the victim’s abdominal cavity. That’s cold, Quincy. It’s also very personal, and that won’t help you.”
“You have word on the note?” he asked sharply.
She shook her head. “No, it’s too soon. I mean simply that I don’t think it convinces them that you’re a target. At least it doesn’t convince them enough. You are the ex-husband, after all; it’s easier to make you their primary suspect.”
“I didn’t kill Elizabeth.”
“Of course not!”
“I mean that, Glenda. You’re a good agent. And I didn’t murder my wife.”
She faltered. She would have to be dense not to catch the undercurrents in his voice and she had not advanced so far in the Bureau by being dumb. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“This person”—Quincy’s voice sounded almost far away—“he’s very, very good.”
“He may be good, but we’ve gone up against good before. We’ll find him.”
“Really? Because I’ve been going through my old cases and I haven’t seen a hint of him yet. Glenda, for the last time, don’t stay here alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m removing my daughter from the playing field. With her out of reach, it’s anybody’s guess where he’ll strike next.”
20
New York University, New York City
“I can’t believe she’s dead.”
Kimberly sat in Professor Andrews’s office as the last rays of daylight gave way to a slinky gray dusk. Day One, Kimberly called this Thursday. Day One without her mother. She gripped the edge of the old maple seat harder, as if that would keep this day from ending. Day One would only be followed by Days Two, Three, and Four, then Months One, Two, and Three, then Years . . . Tears slid down her cheeks.
She had come here with the intention of being professional. She had to leave town. She would provide a rough sketch of the last few days for her professor. She would end by calmly stating that circumstances now warranted the resignation of her coveted internship position. Dignified. Firm. In control. Those were her goals. She was nearly a master’s student, for heaven’s sake. She had buried her sister and had now lost her mother. If she had been a young woman once, she wasn’t anymore.
She had stepped into the warm, crowded office with its hodgepodge mix of precariously stacked papers and dying plants and her composure had instantly dropped like a rock. Her eyes