Lisa Gardner - Alone

Reluctantly, Nathan shook his head.

Catherine released her pent-up breath. She said lightly, "All the people need to know, honey, is that Daddy had a gun. And that we were terribly scared. They understand the rest."

"Daddy's dead," Nathan said.

"Yes."

"Daddy doesn't come home."

"No, he won't come home again."

"Will you?"

Catherine stroked his cheek again.

"I will try to always come home to you, Nathan."

"And Prudence?"

"She will come home, too." Nathan nodded gravely.

"Daddy had a gun," he repeated.

"I was scared."

"Thank you, Nathan."

Nathan went back to watching the other kids. After a moment, he crawled onto her lap. After another moment, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek against the top of his ruffling hair. When bobby returned home, not one but three people waited outside his front door. And his day, he thought, just kept getting better and better.

"Shouldn't you be in church?" He asked ADA Rick Copley as he unlocked the door. Then he held up a hand.

"Wait, I know: you already sold your soul to the devil."

Copley scowled at Bobby's attempt at humor, then followed Bobby inside his first-floor unit. Behind Copley came D.D. Warren, careful not to look Bobby in the eye, and behind her came an investigator from the DA's office whom Bobby vaguely remembered from the initial shooting interrogation on Friday morning. He couldn't recall the man's name.

Investigator Casella was the magic answer, provided by Copley thirty seconds later as the ADA made introductions in the middle of Bobby's family room. The space was small, the furniture well broken in and currently cluttered with an assortment of empty take-out food boxes and piles of napkins. All three looked around, no one sure where to sit.

Bobby opted not to help them out. As far as he was concerned, these were not people he wanted getting too comfortable in his home.

He went into the kitchen, grabbed himself a Coke, and came back into the family room without bothering to ask if anyone else wanted something to drink. He pulled out a wooden kitchen chair and had a seat. After a moment, D.D. shot him a dry glance, then set about moving pizza boxes until the trio could plunk down on his ancient sofa. They promptly sank down four inches. Bobby used the Coke to cover his smile.

"So," Copley said, trying to sound very authoritative for a man who now had his chin propped up on his knees.

"We need to follow up on some questions from Thursday night."

"By all means." Bobby waited for Copley to start from the very beginning, making Bobby retell his story yet again and seeing what kind of details they could ferret out to trip Bobby up. Copley's first question, then, surprised him.

"Did you know that Catherine and Jimmy Gagnon were big supporters of the Boston Symphony?"

Bobby tensed. His mind was already racing ahead, and what he saw, he didn't like.

"No," he said carefully.

"They attended a lot of the concerts."

"Is that right?"

"Fund-raisers, cocktail parties. The Gagnons were real active in those circles."

"Good for them."

"Good for your girlfriend," Copley corrected.

Bobby didn't say anything.

"Susan Abrahms. That's her name, correct? Plays the cello with the orchestra."

"We've dated."

"We had a nice conversation with Susan this afternoon." Bobby decided to take a long sip of his Coke now. He wished it were a beer.

"You went to a lot of functions with her," Copley said.

"We dated two years."

"Seems strange to think that in all that time, at all those functions, you never met Catherine or Jimmy Gagnon."

Bobby shrugged.

"If I did, it never made an impression." "Really?" Copley said.

"Because Susan remembered both of them just fine. Said they met on a number of occasions. Sounds like the Gagnons were regular groupies when it came to fine music."

Bobby couldn't resist anymore. He glanced in D.D."s direction. She not only refused to meet his gaze, but she was practically staring a hole through the carpet.

"Detective Warren," Copley spoke up crisply, "why don't you tell Officer Dodge what else we learned from Susan Abrahms?"

D.D. took a deep breath. Bobby figured at this.point, he already knew what was coming next. And now he remembered something else-why he and D.D. had broken up in the end. Because for both of them, the job always came first.

"Miss Abrahms recalls you meeting the Gagnons at a function eight or nine months ago. Catherine, in particular, asked you a lot of questions about your work with the "SWAT' team."

"Everyone asks me about my work," Bobby said evenly.

"People don't meet a lot of police snipers. Particularly in those kinds of social circles."

"According to Miss Abrahms, you made a comment later that you didn't like the way Jimmy was looking at her."

"Miss Abrahms," Bobby said with emphasis, "is a very beautiful and talented woman. I didn't care for how a lot of guys looked at her."

"Jealous?" Investigator Casella spoke up. Bobby didn't take the bait. Instead, he finished up his Coke, set it on the table, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Did Miss Abrahms mention how long this alleged encounter lasted?"

"Several minutes," D.D. said.

"I see. So, let's think about this. In my day job, I probably meet fifteen new people a shift, so with twenty shifts a month, that's what? Three hundred new people a month? Which in the course of nine months, means twenty-seven hundred different names and faces crossing my path? Is it really so strange then, that I don't remember meeting two people I spoke with for a matter of minutes at some high-society function where frankly everyone in the room is unfamiliar to me?"

"Hard to keep all the rich pricks straight?" Investigator Casella deadpanned.

Bobby sighed. He was starting to get annoyed now. Not a good thing.

"Never had a bad day at the office?" he asked Casella irritably.

"Never said anything you later came to regret?"

"Susan Abrahms had some concerns about your relationship," D.D. said quietly.

Bobby forced his gaze from Casella.

"Yeah?"

"She said you'd seemed distant lately. Preoccupied."

"This job will do that to you."

"She wondered if you were having an affair."

"Then I wish she would've said something to me."

"Catherine Gagnon is a beautiful woman."

"Catherine Gagnon has nothing on Susan," Bobby said, and he meant it. At least he thought he did.

"Is that why you were bothered by Jimmy paying attention to her?" Copley spoke up.

"Jimmy had money, looks. Let's face it-he was much more her type."

"Come on, Copley. Did I kill Jimmy Gagnon because I was jealous of his attention toward my girlfriend, or did I kill Jimmy Gagnon because I was fucking his wife? Three days of questioning later, you can do better than this."

"Maybe it's both," Copley said crisply.

"Or maybe I honestly don't remember ever meeting either of the Gagnons. Maybe I went to those functions simply to support my girlfriend. And maybe I have better things to do with my time than remember every random stranger I've ever met."

"The Gagnons make an impression," Casella said.

Bobby was already waving him off.

"Find me one person who ever saw me and Catherine Gagnon alone. Find one person who ever saw me and Jimmy exchanging words. You can't. Because it never happened. Because I really don't remember either one of them, and when I killed Jimmy Gagnon Thursday night, it was purely because he had a gun pointed at his wife. Take a life to save a life. Didn't any of you ever read the sniper's manual?"

He broke off in disgust. He got up, not caring anymore how agitated he appeared, and started to pace.

"Understand you've been drinking," Copley persisted.