Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [88]
Detective Morales smiled and shook Thomas’s outstretched hand. “Hector Morales, Mr. Matlock. And this is Detective Gordon. We didn’t realize she had any relatives other than her mother.”
“Yes, she does, detectives,” Thomas said. “There’s still some drug in her system, so she’s not really completely back yet, but if you would like to speak to her for a couple of minutes, that probably wouldn’t hurt. But you need to keep it low-key. I don’t want her upset.”
“Look, sir,” Detective Gordon said, pumping herself up, knowing that she should be the one giving the orders here, not this man, this stranger who was with the government. “Ms. Matlock ran away. Everyone was looking for her. She is wanted as a material witness in the shooting of Governor Bledsoe of New York.”
Thomas Matlock merely arched a very patrician brow at her and looked intimidatingly forbearing. “Fancy that,” he said mildly. “I can’t imagine why she would ever want to leave New York what with all the protection you offered her.”
“Now see here, sir,” Detective Gordon said, and tried to shake off Hector Morales’s hand on her arm, but he didn’t let go, and she looked yet again into that man’s face, and she shut up. There were words bubbling inside her, but she wasn’t about to say them. He was a Big Feeb, and she saw the power in his eyes, something that flashed red warning lights to her brain, an ineffable something that shouted power, more power than she could imagine, and so she kept her mouth shut.
“There is a lot we do not understand, Mr. Matlock,” Detective Morales said, his voice stiff, with a slight accent. “May we please speak to your daughter? Ask her a few questions? She does look very ill. We won’t take long.”
The thing of it was, Letitia Gordon thought as she walked to the bed where the young woman lay staring at her with dread, her dyed hair tangled and dirty about her face, she wanted to stand very straight in front of that man, perhaps salute and then do exactly what he told her to do. And here was Hector, acting so deferential, like this guy was the president or, more important, the police commissioner. Whatever he was, this man wore power like a second skin.
“Ms. Matlock, in case you don’t remember, I’m Detective Gordon and this is Detective Morales.”
“I remember both of you very well,” Becca said, and concentrated on clearing the sheen of tears out of her eyes. These people couldn’t hurt her now, Adam and her father wouldn’t let them. And she wouldn’t, either. She’d been through enough now that a couple of hard-boiled cops couldn’t intimidate her.
“Good,” Detective Gordon said, then she caught herself looking over at Mr. Matlock, as if for approval of her approach. She cleared her throat. “Your father said we could ask you a couple of questions.”
“All right.”
“Why did you run, Ms. Matlock?”
“After my mother died and I’d buried her, there was no reason for me to stay. He found me at the hotel where I was hiding, and I knew he would get me. None of you believed me, and so I didn’t think I had a choice. I ran.”
“Look, Ms. Matlock,” Detective Gordon said, coming closer, “we still aren’t certain there was a man after you, calling you, threatening you.”
Adam said mildly, knowing until he and Thomas had discussed it, Krimakov’s probable identity would remain under wraps to the NYPD, “Then who do you think kicked her out of a moving car at One Police Plaza? A ghost?”
“Maybe it was her accomplice,” Detective Gordon said, whirling on Adam, “you know, the guy who shot Governor Bledsoe.”
Becca didn’t say anything. Thomas saw she was pulling away, even though she hadn’t moved a finger, trying to draw into herself. She looked unutterably tired.
“Also,” Detective Gordon added, not looking at Mr. Matlock, “our psychiatrist reported that he believed you have big problems, Ms. Matlock, lots of unresolved issues.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Unresolved issues? I love shrink talk, Detective. Do tell us what that means.”
“He believes that she was obsessed with Governor