Лиза Гарднер - Never Tell - A Novel (A D.D. Warren and Flora Dane Novel)

Evie looked up, spotted D.D. waiting for them. Something flitted across the woman’s face. Guilt? Whomever she was talking to, Evie ended the call abruptly, stuck her phone in the folds of her coat.

“Mr. Delaney,” D.D. called out, summoning them both over. She peered into the crowd as she waited for their approach. Again, nothing. But Rocket had to be around. She knew it.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” D.D. said as Delaney and Evie halted before her.

“Was anyone hurt?” Delaney asked immediately.

“No,” Di Lucca did the honors of answering. “A neighbor spotted smoke almost immediately; BFD was on-site in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, it appears the damage to the structure is substantial.”

Delaney shrugged unhappily. “Smoke damage. Water damage. Forget the fire. I doubt anything is salvageable.”

D.D. didn’t say anything, just watched the criminal attorney.

He was staring at his home, but it was impossible to read his expression. Sad? Angry? Surprised? All three?

“May I ask where you were this morning?” She spoke up.

“Tending to my client.” He gestured to Evie, who was gazing at the smoking building with open regret.

“And what were you up to this morning?” D.D. asked Evie. The silence dragged on for so long, D.D. didn’t think the woman was going to answer. Then:

“Is it the same as my house? Arson?”

“We have reason to believe so,” Di Lucca answered

Evie gazed at the woman. “Did you investigate my house? The Carter residence?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it’s the same person?”

“I can’t comment on an active investigation.”

“In other words, yes.” Evie shook her head. “But why? Why burn down my house? Why burn down my lawyer’s house? Why, why, why?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” D.D. this time, regarding both Delaney and Evie frankly.

“I have no idea,” Evie said, and she sounded so distressed, D.D. nearly believed her.

“Did you take anything from your house after the shooting?” D.D. asked her now.

“Of course not. The police arrested me. I didn’t even grab my purse or cell phone.”

“Eight minutes,” D.D. said softly. “Eight minutes between the first round of shots and the second. Plenty of time to grab something and tuck it away.”

“But I wasn’t there during the first round of shots. I already told you; that wasn’t me. I was just there for the end, to destroy the computer and try to save my future child more grief.”

“Anything she would’ve taken”—Delaney spoke up abruptly—“would’ve been seized during intake at the county jail.” He eyed Evie. “You were searched, I presume?”

She blushed, looked down. “Yes.”

“Then she couldn’t have had anything,” Delaney informed D.D.

“What about you?” D.D. turned on him. “Did you meet her at intake?”

“No, we only spoke by phone. Our first contact was the next morning at the courthouse.”

“Someone must think you have something. Come on. First her house is burned to the ground”—D.D. pointed at Evie—“then yours. That’s not a coincidence.”

Delaney’s tone remained clipped. “I’m sure it’s not. But the connection … Honestly, Sergeant, I have no idea.”

“Where were you this morning?” she tried again, this time going after Evie, who seemed the more cooperative of the two. Di Lucca was watching the show with obvious interest, but then her cell rang. With clear regret, she stepped away to take the call.

“We met with an old friend of my father’s,” Evie told D.D.

“Why?”

“I’ve been thinking. I know I didn’t kill my father. Based on what you said, I also now realize he didn’t kill himself. Which begs the question …”

“Good God, you’re investigating your father’s murder? What is it with everyone these days? Doesn’t anyone understand that policing is real work?”

Evie stared at her slightly wide-eyed.

“Your husband was conducting an investigation, too. Did you know that?” D.D. pressed.

Evie shook her head.

“His parents’ accident wasn’t an accident. They were run off the road. Possibly in connection with one of the two cases Conrad’s father, a Jacksonville detective, was working at the time.”

“He never said … He never told me—”

“He lived under an assumed name. He was hiding, Evie. Your husband was hiding. Do you know from whom?”

Now the woman was positively pale. “No.”

“Did you ever talk to him about your father? Say you didn’t shoot him?”

“No! Remember, I thought my father killed himself. So, no, I never brought it up.”

“But Conrad was tense. You said you thought something bad was going to happen. You just assumed it had something to do with your marriage.”

“He was tense.”

“Did you ever notice anyone watching the house?”

“No.”

“Strange phone calls, strings of hang-ups?”

“No, but Conrad was in sales. He was always on his cell phone.”

“He was digging into something, Evie. He was onto something. I need you to think.”

“I don’t know! Just the computer. The images of those girls. Oh God, I thought he was a predator. I was so sure. But instead … His father was a cop?”

“Did you know anything about this?” D.D. whirled on Delaney abruptly.

“Absolutely not,” he said stiffly. But her tactic had worked. She caught a flicker in his gaze before he had time to cover it up. Then, she got it:

“You ran a background. When Evie first met Conrad. The daughter of your deceased best friend meets a new man … Of course you did. And in doing so, you figured out Conrad wasn’t his real name.”

Now Evie was staring at Delaney.

The lawyer opened his mouth, looked like he was going to deny it all. Then, abruptly: “Yes. I ran his name. Evie’s safety and well-being are my responsibility. I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“What did you do?” Evie breathed.

Delaney sighed heavily. The jig was up and he knew it. “I confronted Conrad. I told him I knew his identity was a lie. At which point, he told me about his parents, his father’s work. And we reached the mutual conclusion that it was in your best interest”—Delaney regarded Evie—“that Conrad continue to live under an alias.”

“Who was he investigating?” D.D. demanded to know.

“He had two lines of inquiry. The first into some missing girls. But he wasn’t as concerned about that as he was the status of one Jules LaPage. According to Conrad, if LaPage ever got out of prison, he’d come for him. Hence the assumed name.”

“Why would LaPage come for Conrad?”

“Because Conrad’s father helped LaPage’s ex-wife escape. He knew her location, and going through his father’s papers, Conrad discovered her new identity as well. LaPage wasn’t stupid. If he got out, the most direct line to his ex-wife would be through Conrad.”

“He never said anything,” Evie murmured. She was shaking her head slightly. “Never. Not once.”

“It was his burden to bear. He didn’t want you to worry. As the years went by and he never said anything more, I honestly thought the situation had worked itself out. LaPage was still incarcerated, so no news was good news. Perhaps Conrad was just being paranoid. It happens.” Delaney turned to D.D. “When I heard the news about Conrad, the first thing I did was check on LaPage’s status. He’s still in prison, I assure you.”

“But something had changed,” D.D. said. “Evie already told us that. Conrad had become tense. Something was worrying him.”

“I got pregnant.” Evie shrugged. “If one of these guys he was investigating found him … there would be greater consequences.”