Lisa Gardner - Hide

I tucked back inside the foyer, ear pressed against the cracked outer door.

"You're involved with her," D.D. accused.

"Who?"

D.D. whacked his arm. I heard the smack.

"Ow! What the hell? Is it beat up on Bobby day?"

"Don't play cute. We've known each other too long."

Pause. Then, when Bobby still didn't say anything: "Jesus, Bobby, what is it with you? First Catherine, now Annabelle. What do you have, a Messiah complex? Can only fall for the damsel in distress? You're a detective. You're supposed to know better."

"I've done nothing wrong." Bobby, steelier this time.

"I saw the way you looked at her."

"Oh, for Christ's sake-"

"So it's true, isn't it? Come on, if it isn't, look me in the eye."

The silence grew long again. I could tell Bobby wasn't looking D.D. in the eye.

"Goddammit!" D.D. said.

"I've done nothing wrong," he repeated stiffly.

"What, that makes you noble? Bobby… You know, I was doing my best to overlook the Catherine thing. So you got involved with her. So you lost all common sense. God knows she has that kind of effect on men. But then to have you turn around and do it again… Is this why we broke up, Bobby? Because for you to fall in love, the woman's got to be some kind of a victim?"

Oooh, that really pissed me off. It seemed to get Bobby's goat, too.

"You wanna call the shots, hey, I like a challenge as well as the next guy, D.D. Except we never challenged each other, you and I. We're duplicates, D.D. We live our job, eat our job, breathe our job. And when we dated, we brought our jobs along for the ride. Hell, we've known each other ten years, and I just found out six hours ago that you have an uncle. And like Rottweilers. It never came up, because we never stopped talking shop . Even when we were in bed, we were cops."

"Hey, there is more to me than this job!" D.D. shot back, and for a horrible moment, I thought she was going to cry

"Ah Jesus," Bobby said tiredly.

"Stop it." Another thwack . I was guessing he'd tried to touch her. "Don't you dare pity me."

"Look, D.D. You wanna get personal? Then call a spade a spade. You were never with me for the long haul. I was a curiosity, an elite sniper who sounded pretty cool when he talked about his gun. We both know you've got much bigger game in your sights."

"Now, that's low."

"Well, we're not exactly standing around exchanging compliments."

A long, hard pause.

"She's trouble, Bobby"

"I'm a big boy"

"You haven't done this kind of major case. You can't get personally involved."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now, do you have something specific you need to tell me, sergeant to detective? Because if not, I'm going back inside."

There was the sound of rustling clothes, then a sudden stop. I think D.D. grabbed his arm. "I went to my house, Bobby I can't find any sign of an intruder. My doors are locked, my windows intact. But Sinkus was right; the underwear is mine. Someone broke in, stole the underwear out of my hamper, and was very, very clever about it."

"The crime-scene techs-"

"There'll be no evidence, Bobby. Just like they've found nothing here. I think that gives us a pretty clear lay of the land."

"Ah nuts. As soon as we're done here, I'll head over with you, look around."

She must have appeared dubious, because he declared with some exasperation, "Former tac team, D.D. I know a thing or two about breaking and entering."

"Please, you guys ram the door with a giant metal 'key.' Your style and our subject's style… very far removed."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bobby muttered, but he sounded troubled. "That's what's bugging me-the stalking MO fits but… Twenty-five years ago, when the subject first operated, his target was young females. Seven-year-old Annabelle Granger, her best friend, Dori Petracelli. Now, suddenly, he's into grown women? You, Annabelle… I'm not a profiler, but I didn't think that sort of thing happened."

"Maybe our ages aren't relevant to him. Annabelle is the one who got away. Having found her again, he's determined that she doesn't escape. And as for me… I'm lead investigator. He wants to yank my chain. But I'm also less personal to him, which is why he didn't mind sending dogs instead of doing the deed himself. She's his life's work. I'm a hobby."

"Encouraging thought."

"Especially for me. Who wants to be killed as an afterthought? Also, Bobby look at Eola. Most people believe he killed a nurse at Boston State Mental. So if Eola is our man, you're talking about someone with a history of targeting females regardless of age. Wasn't Bundy like that? We think of him as attacking college coeds, but some of his victims were quite young. These guys… who the hell knows what really makes 'em tick?"

Bobby didn't say anything right away Then he said, "You still consider Russell Granger a suspect?"

"I will until you prove otherwise."

"Came back from the dead?" Bobby murmured wryly

D.D. surprised us both. "Spoke with the ME last night, Bobby. Given the current demands on your time, I figured I'd do you a favor and follow up on the circumstances surrounding Annabelle's father's death. According to the file, police contacted Annabelle- Tanya-she made the ID, and that was good enough for the ME. Think about it, Bobby. The face was a mess. The ME's office never ran prints or documented any identifying marks-it was just a hit-and-run, and the guy's daughter identified the body. Meaning that corpse could've been anyone carrying Michael W. Nelson's driver's license. A stranger, a vagrant. Some poor slob he pushed into oncoming traffic…"

D.D.'s words seemed to have struck Bobby dumb. Which was good, because I didn't think I could hear above the torrent of blood rushing in my ears. D.D. thought my father was still alive? Theorized he might have killed someone else to fake his own death? Honestly believed he was the evil mastermind behind this homicidal crime spree?

But that was absurd. My father wasn't a killer! Not of little girls, not of Dori Petracelli, not of grown men. He never would've done such a thing.

He wouldn't have left me.

My legs gave out. My shoulder hit the front door, pushing it open. D.D. and Bobby didn't notice. They were too busy analyzing their case, ripping apart my father, turning one of the few truths I knew into a giant lie.

We hadn't left Arlington because my father needed to cover his tracks. We had moved to protect me. We had moved because…

"Roger, please don't go. Roger, I'm begging you, please don't do this…"

" Whoever it is," Bobby was saying now, still sounding clearly skeptical, "the UNSUB wants attention. And for all his 'cleverness' he's making no attempt at being subtle. He left a note on your car, a gift at Annabelle's front door. Why? If he's that brilliant, why not kill both of you and be done with it? He wants the chase. He wants the opportunity to show off. Which is exactly how we're going to catch him. He's going to reach out again, and when he does, we'll nail his ass."

"Hope you're right," D.D. murmured. "Because I'm pretty sure, a guy like this has something scary planned next."

They turned, headed toward the front steps. Belatedly, I stumbled to my feet, bolting up the stairs. Detectives Sinkus and McGahagin looked at me curiously as I swept into my apartment. I went straight into the bedroom. Closed the door.

Seconds passed. Eventually, I heard a tentative knock.

I didn't say anything. Whoever knocked went away

I sat on my narrow bed, clutching the vial of ashes around my neck and wondering if even it contained a lie.

IN THE END, it was my fault. My phone started ringing. I didn't feel like leaving my room to answer it. So naturally, the answering machine picked up. And naturally Mr. Petracelli left his message with half of the Boston PD listening in.