Lisa Gardner - Alone

"Mrs. Gagnon-" "Catherine! I am not my mother-in-law."

"Look, the judge has already started legal action against you. I think we both can agree that given his money and connections, it's only a matter of time before he wins. Why would he even bother to take a chance with murder?"

"So he can have Nathan tonight."

"Mrs. Gagnon-" "Catherine! You don't know what he's like. James wants total, utter control. Of the money, of Nathan, of me. Who do you think told Jimmy I was abusing Nathan? Who did you think probably first suggested divorce? The judge has never liked me. Maryanne has never liked me. And now they're going to take Nathan, and they're going to get all the money, and I'll have nothing. I'll be all alone."

Catherine's gaze took on an unhealthy light. He had only a second's warning, then she was across the room, striding toward him. Her touch was light, yet the minute her thumb came to rest in the open V of his shirt, his body went hard and the air froze in his lungs.

She reached down and very deliberately raked her nails across his thigh. "I can do things," she murmured.

"Things you've only watched in cheap pornographic movies. Tell me the truth, Officer Dodge: Aren't you tired of the same old, same old? Haven't you always wondered what it would be like to meet a woman with whom you no longer had to pretend?

"Want to rip open my sweater and pinch my nipples? Do it. Want to bite my neck, pull my hair? I don't mind. You don't even have to call me later or make fake proclamations of love. You can take me right here and now, we'll do it doggy style on the floor, or I can bend over on the couch, or maybe you don't want to fuck at all. Maybe you're more oral. That's fine by me. Or maybe"-her throaty voice changed, grew more calculating-"you'd prefer a fantasy."

Her hand tightened suddenly on his crotch, squeezing his balls. He flinched like an uninitiated schoolboy, then, in the next instant, surged against her touch. She laughed huskily, her left hand stroking him hard while her right hand feathered back his hair.

"Would you like the sweet Catholic girl? I'll wear the plaid skirt and knee-high socks. You can have the ruler. Or do you like wild and wicked? Black leather, stiletto boots, cowhide whips. Ever done a sixty-nine? Ever gone round the world? Tell me, Officer Dodge, what do you secretly dream about?"

He said, "Stop."

She merely laughed and worked him harder.

"Oooh, it must be something very special. Bestiality maybe? I can put on a horse tail, utter a few good neighs while you mount. Or is it worse than that? Homoerotic? Or maybe… Some men like it when I reenact for them. Would you like that, Officer Dodge? I can act out for you every single thing he ever made me do. I'll be the little girl and you can be the pedophile."

He didn't get it at first. He was too lost in the moment, the darkness in her finding an unexpected match in the darkness in him. He did want to rip off her clothes. He wanted to throw her down. He wanted to possess her in a way that was violent and raw. He felt as if he'd been pretending his entire life, and only now, in this moment, did he finally feel an emotion that was real.

But then, the full meaning of her words penetrated. A shudder moved through him, cold as ice. He grabbed her right hand, grabbed her left, and twisted them behind her back.

"Don't," he said harshly.

"Ooh, you do like it rough."

"Catherine, what happened to you… it wasn't your fault."

Her eyes widened. In the shadowed room he could see her pupils grow large. She jerked savagely out of his grip. Then she slapped him.

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about!"

Bobby didn't say anything. He was breathing hard. So was she. She spun away from him, walking haughtily across the space. Her gray sweater fell off her shoulder, exposing the black lace of her lingerie. She tugged at the fabric impatiently, still not meeting his eye.

There was something he should say right now, but he couldn't get the words out. He was too rattled, seeing not the woman in front of him, but the little girl who'd been trapped down in the dark.

The desire was long gone now. He felt drained, almost detached. Harris had been right. The little girl who had been cast down into that pit was not the same girl who had finally crawled her way to the top.

"Fine," Catherine announced crisply from across the room.

"You don't want to play nice, I won't play nice. Call the police. By all means, tell them to come here. Let them see you in my home. I'll confess that we're lovers. Have been for months. The whole shooting, in fact, was your idea. Jimmy didn't even have a gun. I had it. I fired the warning shots for the neighbors to hear. Then you showed up, claimed he had a gun, and blew him away. It'll be your word against mine, Officer Dodge. How do you feel about doing twenty-five to life?"

"By tomorrow at five p.m.," Bobby said steadily, "if I don't tell the world that you were threatening your husband on Thursday night, Judge Gagnon has promised to put me in jail."

Catherine chewed on her bottom lip furiously.

"I'll tell them Prudence was sleeping with you, that's why she hanged herself!" She stabbed her finger at him.

"You! You're the one she alludes to in the note. You're the one she knows killed Jimmy, and it broke her heart because you're the love of her life.". "That story would work better if Prudence had hanged herself."

"What?" He finally took pity on her.

"There's no bruising around her throat. No burn marks from the rope, no broken fingernails from frantic clawing at the knot. Hanging's messy business. Prudence is too clean."

"I don't…"

"Someone killed her. Most likely snapped her neck. Then brought her to your bedroom and set the stage."

Catherine paled. She swayed slightly on her feet.

"Boo," she murmured.

"Boo."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"The point is, Catherine, I saw that right away. The BPD detectives will, too."

"What if they think I killed her?"

"Prudence had thirty pounds on you. There's no way you single-handedly strung her from the rafters."

"What about the note?"

"If the hanging's not a suicide, then the note's not a suicide note. By definition, all of its contents are in doubt."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"Prudence was murdered, Catherine. It's time to call the cops."

He headed out of the parlor toward the family room, where he'd seen a phone. Catherine stopped him halfway through the doorway.

"Bobby…"

He turned. For the first time since he'd met her, she appeared genuinely uncertain, genuinely fragile.

He regarded her levelly, as curious as anyone what she would do next. She was cold and calculating, no doubt about it. If he hadn't told her the truth about the nanny's death, she would've sold him out. Maybe, in time, she still would. But he couldn't bring himself to hate her. He kept seeing that little girl again, which was maybe her biggest trick. She could play the victim, even while staging her next plan of attack.

"You understand…" She gave up on the apology, waving her hand instead.

"I can't lose Nathan. I can't."

"Why'd you fire the housekeeper for feeding him?"

She didn't seem surprised he'd heard the story.

"Tony Rocco had ordered a strict diet-no wheat, no dairy. Dairy by-products are in everything from cereal to tuna fish. It was simpler to order people not to give him snacks. Unfortunately, not everyone saw it that way."

"And the poopy diapers in the fridge?"

"Fecal matter collections to rule out cystic fibrosis. Jimmy kept throwing them out, however, so we had to do it many times."

"People say the boy is sicker when you're around."

She said tiredly, "Nathan is sick all the time, Bobby. Maybe people just notice it more when they have someone around to blame."