Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [4]
“Yes,” said Detective McDonnell, a man who looked like he sliced and diced criminal suspects for breakfast. His body was long and thin, his suit rumpled and loose, his voice cold. “We know all about it. We acted on it. I spoke to the police in Albany when we didn’t see anything of him here in New York. We all compared notes, discussed everything thoroughly.”
“What else can I tell you?”
“You said he calls you Rebecca, never shortens your name.”
“Yes, Detective Morales. He always says Rebecca and he always identifies himself as my boyfriend.”
A look went between the two men. Did they think it was a vengeful ex-boyfriend?
“I’ve told you that I don’t recognize his voice. I have never known this man, never. I’m certain of it.”
Detective Letitia Gordon, the only other woman in the room, was tall, wide-mouthed, with hair cut very short, and she carried a big chip on her shoulder. She said in a voice colder than McDonnell’s, “You could try for the truth. I’m tired of all this crap. You’re a liar, Ms. Matlock. Sure, Hector did everything he could. We all tried to believe you, at first, but there wasn’t anyone around you. Not a soul. We wasted three days tagging you, and all for nothing. We spent another two days following up on everything you told us, but again, nothing.
“What is it with you? Are you on coke?” She tapped the side of her head with two long fingers. “You need attention? Daddy didn’t give you enough when you were a little girl? That’s why you have this made-up guy call himself your boyfriend?”
Becca wanted to punch out Detective Gordon. She imagined the woman could pulverize her, so that wouldn’t be smart. She had to be calm, logical. She had to be the sane adult here. She cocked her head at the woman and said, “Why are you angry at me? I haven’t done anything. I’m just trying to get some help. Now he’s killed this old woman. You’ve got to stop him. Don’t you?”
The two male detectives again darted glances back and forth. The woman shook her head in disgust. Then she pushed back her chair and rose. She leaned over and splayed her hands on the wooden tabletop, right next to the clump of dried food. Her face was right in Becca’s. Her breath smelled of fresh oranges. “You made it all up, didn’t you? There wasn’t any guy calling you and telling you to look outside your window. When that bag lady got blown up by some nutcase, you just pulled in your fantasy guy again to be responsible for the bomb. No more. We want you to see our psychiatrist, Ms. Matlock. Right now. You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame, now it’s time to give it up.”
“Of course I won’t see any shrink, that’s—”
“You either see the psychiatrist or we arrest you.”
A nightmare, she thought. Here I am at the police station, telling them everything I know, and they think I’m crazy. She said slowly, staring right at Detective Gordon, “For what?”
“You’re a public nuisance. You’re filing false complaints, telling lies that waste manpower. I don’t like you, Ms. Matlock. I’d like to throw you in jail for all the grief you’ve dished out, but I won’t if you go see our shrink. Maybe he can straighten you out, someone needs to.”
Becca rose slowly to her feet. She looked at each of them in turn. “I have told you the truth. There is a madman out there and I don’t know who he is. I’ve told you everything I can think of. He has threatened the governor. He murdered that poor old woman in front of the museum. I’m not making anything up. I’m not nuts and I’m not on drugs.”
It did no good. They didn’t believe her.
The three men lined up along the wall of the interrogation room didn’t say a word. One of them simply nodded to Detective Gordon as Becca walked out of the room.
THIRTY minutes later, Becca Matlock was seated in a very comfortable chair in a small office that had only two narrow