Kitabı oku: «The Littlest Witness», sayfa 3
Shaken by her daughter’s reaction, Thea pushed past the detective and gathered Nikki into her arms. Nikki whimpered, burying her face in Thea’s shoulder as she clutched Piper tightly. “She can’t answer your questions, Detective,” Thea said coldly. “Why don’t you just go away and leave us alone?”
He rose slowly. “I didn’t come here to frighten your little girl. I’m sorry she’s scared. But this is a police investigation. A woman is dead, and it’s my job to find out what happened to her. If your daughter knows something—”
“She doesn’t know anything. Please, she can’t help you.” Thea’s arms tightened protectively around Nikki as she gazed up at Detective Gallagher, trying to appeal to the softness she’d glimpsed in him earlier, fervently hoping the compassion had been genuine. “I don’t know how her doll got on that roof, but I do know Nikki wasn’t up there last night. She couldn’t have been. She didn’t see anything.”
“Why won’t you let her tell me that?”
Thea drew a long trembling breath and said, almost in a whisper, “Because she can’t. She can’t tell you anything. My daughter can’t speak, Detective.”
JOHN STOOD at the window in Thea Lockhart’s living room while he waited for her to come out of her daughter’s bedroom. She’d reluctantly told him to help himself to the coffee, and he’d complied, the aroma too tempting to pass up this early in the morning. The rich steamy brew was a far cry from the lukewarm sludge at the station, and he savored the taste as he stared out the window.
The building across the street blocked the view of the lake, forcing his gaze downward. The yellow crime-scene tape had torn loose in the wind, and sometime during the night the rain had changed to snow; now a light layer of it hid the bloodstains. Passersby on the street barely gave the spot a second glance. They didn’t know or didn’t care that a woman had died there last night, had sucked in her last breath while plunging five stories to the ground. Had the name of her killer been on her lips when she died?
Scowling, John turned away from the window. He couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that Thea Lockhart and her daughter knew more about Gail Waters’s death than they were telling. Why else was Mrs. Lockhart so nervous around him?
Mrs. Lockhart. John glanced around the apartment, taking in the shabby furniture, the basket of laundry shoved in one corner, the coloring book and crayons scattered over the dining-room table. Gold hoop earrings had been dropped into a glass bowl on the cocktail table, and a pair of white walking shoes rested near the front door.
There wasn’t a trace of masculinity anywhere, including the laundry. A pink uniform lay folded on top of the basket, while the leg of a child’s pajama bottom hung over one side and a lacy white bra spilled over the other.
He stared at the bra for a moment as something familiar, and unwanted, stirred in him. Meredith had been gone for some time. He was over her, and he’d long since come to terms with his failed marriage. But a woman’s underthings were a reminder of the intimacy and closeness he’d once had, and he couldn’t deny a certain hollowness in his life now. A loneliness he didn’t often admit to.
He glanced up and caught Thea Lockhart watching him from the hallway. She knew what he’d been staring at, and a faint blush tinged her cheeks. She lifted her chin as she came into the room.
She’d changed from the chenille robe into a pair of worn jeans and navy blue sweater. Her short dark hair was combed behind her ears, but a riot of curls spilled across her forehead. She shoved it back impatiently.
“How’s your daughter?” John asked, his gaze inadvertently traveling over her. She was very thin, her skin smooth and soft-looking, but she had a toughness about her, a wariness in her dark eyes that made him think she was no innocent. She’d been around. Somehow he liked that about her.
“She’s playing with her doll for now, but she’ll want breakfast in a few minutes.”
John took the hint. He’d need to leave before then. “Why did you lie to me about the doll, Mrs. Lockhart?”
She looked surprised for a moment, as if his question had been unexpected. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t lie. I wasn’t sure it was Nikki’s. And I still can’t imagine how it got on the roof last night.”
He lifted a brow as he watched her move to the tiny kitchen and pour herself another cup of coffee. She held up the pot. “Can I freshen yours?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks, I’m fine. This is good, by the way.” He toasted her with his mug, and she inclined her head slightly. She didn’t move back into the living room, but remained in the kitchen with the bar between them.
John left his post by the window and crossed to her. She looked vaguely startled again as he looked down at her, and she averted her gaze as she sipped her coffee.
“You still don’t think your daughter left the doll on the roof?”
She frowned. “Of course I don’t. You saw how shy she is, how…easily frightened. There’s no way she would have gone up to that roof alone, and I know Mrs. Lewellyn would never have taken her up there.”
“Maybe that’s something we need to ask Mrs. Lewellyn.”
“I intend to,” Thea snapped. Then, as if having second thoughts about her angry tone, she set down her coffee and gazed at him in earnest. “Look, even if Nikki was up there—which I know she wasn’t—what is it you think she can do for you? She can’t tell you anything, Detective.”
John put down his own cup and leaned his arms on the bar, trying to appear relaxed and unthreatening. “Has she always been like this?”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. That same fierce protectiveness he’d witnessed earlier came over her features, and she frowned. “No. Just since her father died.”
“I see.” A widow. That might explain a lot, John thought, and not just the lack of male paraphernalia in the apartment. It might also explain the glimmer of desperation he’d seen in Thea Lockhart’s dark eyes, and the fear. And the fact that she seemed to have a hard time looking him in the eye, acknowledging the unmistakable physical attraction that clung to their glances, their voices, the air around them. She might feel guilty about that, he decided, although there was no reason to. He didn’t intend to act on his impulses and he was certain she didn’t, either.
“How did her father die?” he asked carefully.
“An accident. A…tragic accident. Nikki hasn’t gotten over it yet, and I…don’t like to talk about it.”
“I understand. But if there’s even a slim chance that Nikki was on the roof last night, Mrs. Lockhart—”
“Thea,” she said quickly. Their gazes met for a moment, and then hers darted away. She poured the rest of her coffee down the sink and rinsed out the cup. “You can call me Thea.”
“That’s a very pretty name.”
“It’s for my grandmother,” she said, and then looked as if she wished she could take it back.
He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Does your grandmother live here in Chicago?”
She almost smiled, too, as if recognizing his tactic. “My grandmother’s been dead for years, Detective.”
“John.” When she gave him a reluctant glance, he said, “I’m named for my father, Sean.”
“You’re Irish?”
“Very.”
“An Irish cop. That’s almost a cliché, isn’t it?”
“In that case, my whole family is a cliché.”
John had never seen a person’s demeanor change so rapidly. She’d been wary before, even a little frightened, but now her expression took on a frozen look, as if she’d donned a mask to hide her true identity, her real feelings. He’d wanted to put her at ease, but instead, her armor had grown thicker. She said stiffly, “You come from a family of cops.” It wasn’t a question, but a flat emotionless statement.
John shrugged. “Guilty.”
“I imagine you look out for each other. Take care of each other.”
John frowned at her tone. “Occasionally,” he said, thinking about his brothers. Actually he would be the last person Nick would come to for help, and Tony…well, Tony was another story.
Thea said quietly, “I’d like you to go now, Detective. There’s really nothing my daughter and I can do to help you.”
She was good, John realized suddenly. Too damn good. She’d distracted him from the questions he’d been intent on asking about her daughter, and all the while, convinced him he was the one in control.
He stared down at her, forcing her gaze to meet his. Her dark eyes were deep and unfathomable, a mysterious blend of fear, guile and cunning. A very dangerous mix.
“Just one more thing, Mrs. Lockhart.”
One brow rose slightly, and he could see that the fingers clinging to the tiny gold chain around her throat trembled. His gaze dipped, in spite of himself, to the curves beneath her sweater, and an image of that lacy white bra leaped to his mind. He could almost see her in it, her breasts straining against the fabric, his thumb stroking her through the silk—
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said hoarsely.
His gaze shot to hers. I doubt that, he wanted to tell her. Then again, maybe she did know. Maybe that was why the blush on her cheeks had deepened, standing out starkly against the ivory of her complexion. Her brown eyes flashed with sudden fire, and John thought absurdly that if he hadn’t met her under these circum-stances…if she wasn’t a recent widow…if his marriage hadn’t made him more than a little careful…
“You’re thinking that if Nikki was on that roof, you might have an eyewitness to Gail Waters’s death. It would be cut and dried. You could close your case. But you’re wrong, Detective. My daughter wasn’t on that roof. She couldn’t have been.”
“But what if she was?” John challenged, ignoring the flicker of fear in her eyes. “What if Gail Waters didn’t commit suicide?”
She gasped slightly, her face going paler.
“What if she was murdered and your daughter saw it all? What if she is the only one who can identify the killer? Have you thought about that, Mrs. Lockhart?”
Chapter Three
After John left Thea that morning, he drove to the county morgue, housed in the huge Chicago Technology Park off Harrison. He’d called earlier and was expected.
“What’s so important about this case that I had to come in here to do the autopsy on a Sunday morning?” the assistant medical examiner demanded as she shoved a file in an already bulging drawer and slammed it shut.
John shrugged. “I figured you didn’t have anything better to do. Vince is out of town, isn’t he?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”
“Heard it through the grapevine.” John wasn’t about to admit to his ex-wife that he occasionally kept tabs on her new husband. Nor was he going to confide in her the possible significance of the Gail Waters case. Meredith hadn’t been very supportive when his father had disappeared seven years ago. She’d suggested Sean might have been involved in something shady or even a cover-up to protect his youngest son, Tony, from suspicion in his girlfriend’s brutal murder.
John had not taken kindly to Meredith’s insinuations, although, if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit the occasional doubt about his father’s disappearance had crossed his own mind. Sean Gallagher wouldn’t have been the first cop to go off the deep end, nor the first man to walk out on his family. He and John’s mother, Maggie, had not exactly had a marriage made in heaven. And what with Tony’s troubles back then…
John forced his thoughts back to the present, letting his gaze rove critically over his ex-wife. He hated to admit it, but she looked good. “So how’s the baby?” he asked with only a tinge of…what? Envy? Jealousy? Self-pity?
Meredith laughed softly. She shoved back her unruly hair as she sat down at her desk. The action reminded him of Thea. They were both small women, both had dark hair, but the resemblance ended there. Meredith’s skin was olive, Thea’s like porcelain. Meredith could be a real bitch at times; Thea was…still a mystery.
“What can I say?” Her green eyes sparkled. “He’s tiny and beautiful and absolutely wonderful. A perfect male specimen, if I do say so myself.” Her gaze met John’s, and for just a split second, something that might have been regret flickered in her eyes. Then she said bluntly, “You look like hell, John. What have you been doing—living at the station?”
“Lot of active cases,” he muttered.
“What else is new?” She stood and pulled on a white lab coat that had been draped over the back of her chair. Her expression became sober and professional. “So what are we looking for here? Anything specific?”
“The usual. The victim took a dive off a five-story building, so I’ll want to know about brain contusions.” Not many lay people, including some murderers now serving prison time, knew that the bruising of the brain from a fall was different from that of a blunt-force injury. If Gail Waters had been bashed in the head before she hit the pavement, an autopsy would reveal it.
“Let’s do it then,” Meredith said wearily. “I’ve got a baby to get back to and a husband who promised to be home by dinner.”
Her meaning wasn’t lost on John. He’d missed more meals in the six years they’d been married than he cared to remember, and they both knew it had nothing to do with Meredith being a lousy cook. Even though she’d had her own impossible hours to deal with finishing her residency, John had been the one, more often than not, to phone with the apologies and excuses. After a while he hadn’t even bothered with those.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when she’d announced one night that she was leaving him, nor when she’d admitted to—flung it in his face—a two-year affair with the man she was now married to. A man who had once been John’s friend.
“Why should you feel so betrayed?” she’d screamed at him that night. “I’m the one who’s had to put up with your mistress all these years.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never cheated on you.”
“I’m talking about that damn job of yours. You’re a cop first and a man second, John. And being a husband isn’t even a lousy third. I pity the next poor woman who falls in love with you.”
“John?” Meredith’s insistent voice brought him back to the present. She gave him a strange look. “You ready?”
“Just waiting for you.” He strode toward the door of her office. “Let’s get this over with. Like you said, you’ve got a husband and a baby to get home to.”
“And you?” Her gaze was more than a little curious.
He shrugged. “I’ve got a case to solve. That’s what I’m good at, remember?”
“I remember you were good at a few other things, too,” she said softly, her tone almost tender. “It just wasn’t enough.”
AFTER BREAKFAST Thea left Nikki coloring at the dining table while she went down the hall to Mrs. Lewellyn’s apartment. The building, with its stained carpeting and peeling paint, was old and badly in need of refurbishing, but that was why Thea could afford the rent.
The newer lakefront high-rises on Lake Shore Drive were way out of her price range, as were the redbrick town houses cropping up near the parks. Thea had chosen the university neighborhood because of its relatively low crime rate, and because the diversity made it easier to blend in. She’d thought of everything when she and Nikki had moved in here—except the possibility of a woman being murdered in their building.
Standing in the dimly lit corridor, Thea kept an eye on her own apartment door while she waited for the elderly woman to answer hers.
When Mrs. Lewellyn finally opened the door, her eyes widened with pleasure. “Why, Thea, I didn’t expect to see you this early. You got home rather late last night, didn’t you, dear?” She had the barest trace of an English accent, which suited perfectly her prim-and-proper demeanor. In spite of her stooped shoulders, she was several inches taller than Thea.
“It was just after midnight,” Thea said. “I want to thank you again for coming over on such short notice to stay with Nikki.”
Mrs. Lewellyn brushed aside her gratitude. She was dressed for church, Thea noticed, in a dark blue suit and matching pumps. Her gray hair, as always, was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. “It was my pleasure. You know I adore Nikki. She’s never any trouble at all.” She glanced past Thea into the hallway. “Where is she?”
“She’s in the apartment, coloring.” Thea cast another glance at her door. “I have to get back to her, but I wanted to talk to you in private for a moment.”
Mrs. Lewellyn’s brows rose. “About Nikki?”
Thea nodded. “I need to ask you something, Mrs. Lewellyn. Did you and Nikki leave the apartment last night?”
“Leave the apartment? No, dear. Why do you ask?” A worried light dawned in her eyes, and she put a hand to her heart. “You heard about that poor woman who jumped off the roof last night. That’s what has you so upset this morning, isn’t it?”
Thea shivered. “How did you hear about it?”
“It was on the news earlier. And I saw Mr. Dalrimple in the laundry room. Evidently the police have enlisted his help. He’s strutting around like a rooster in a hen coop.”
So that was where Detective Gallagher had gotten his tenant list and how he’d known Thea had a daughter. That was also why he’d been at her door first thing this morning.
Thea told herself it was foolish to blame the building manager for her current predicament, but truth be told, she’d been uneasy about Morris Dalrimple ever since she’d moved into the building. His gaze was just a little too admiring, his tone a little too interested, and once, when she and Nikki returned from grocery shopping, Thea was almost positive she’d caught him coming out of her apartment.
He’d told her he had been knocking on her door, claiming a clause in her lease needed her initials, but Thea wasn’t convinced. He’d looked guilty as she signed the paper, his face all flushed and his beady little eyes not quite able to meet hers. Thea knew he had a master key to all the apartments. What was to prevent him from coming and going as he pleased while tenants like her were at work or at school?
Shuddering, she said, “Nikki’s doll was found on the roof last night.”
“On the roof!” Mrs. Lewellyn looked genuinely shocked and more than a little concerned. “How on earth did it get up there?”
“I don’t know.” Thea paused. “I was thinking that if you and Nikki had left the apartment last night, maybe to come over here for a few minutes, she might have dropped the doll in the hallway. Someone else could have picked it up and taken it to the roof.” She knew she was grasping at straws, but there had to be a logical explanation. And Nikki being on the roof in the dead of night simply wasn’t logical.
“I think I may know what happened,” Mrs. Lewellyn said slowly. She wrapped a strand of pearls around her finger as she gazed pensively down the hallway. “I’ll bet you that girl took her up there.”
“Bliss?”
Scorn flashed in Mrs. Lewellyn’s eyes, and just a hint of triumph. She didn’t like Nikki’s regular baby-sitter and had not been shy in voicing her opinion. The girl’s too flighty, she’d said more than once, And not at all reliable. You should see the kind of people who hang out in her apartment. You don’t want her influence on Nikki, Thea dear. I’m more than happy to watch the child while you work.
But as much as she appreciated Mrs. Lewellyn’s help, Thea knew how trying a four-year-old could be, especially one with Nikki’s problems. And Bliss was wonderful with her, so patient and loving.
“You think Bliss took the doll up to the roof?” Thea asked doubtfully.
“Why, I’m certain that must be what happened. She was very secretive when I got to your apartment last evening. She huddled with Nikki, whispering to her and laughing, and I even heard her say something about a picnic that afternoon. But when I scolded her for taking the child outside, she just fluttered those fake eyelashes at me and said something like, ‘Why, Mrs. Lew, I have no idea what you’re talking about. We haven’t left the building all day, have we, Nikki?’ She can be very disrespectful, that girl.”
“So if the two of them had a picnic on the roof yesterday afternoon, Nikki could have left her doll up there then.” That would explain a lot, and Thea immediately warmed to the idea.
“I’m sure of it,” Mrs. Lewellyn said firmly. “Because Nikki couldn’t find her doll at bedtime last night. You know how she refuses to go to sleep unless Piper is tucked in safe and sound beside her, but when I put Nikki to bed, I couldn’t find the blasted doll anywhere. Nikki was very upset. I finally had to make her some warm milk, just so she’d calm down enough to drift off.”
As upset as Thea was over Bliss’s disobeying her orders, she was also intensely relieved. If Nikki hadn’t been on the roof last night, then she couldn’t have seen what happened to Gail Waters. She wasn’t a witness, as Detective Gallagher had claimed, which meant she wasn’t in any danger.
Unless, of course, the Mancusos found them. And Thea had no intention of letting that happen. “I’ll call and ask Bliss about it when she gets home.”
“She’s gone off to visit her parents,” Mrs. Lewellyn reminded her. “Or so she said. But that boyfriend of hers is still hanging around. I saw him on the stairs this morning. He gives me the willies, I don’t mind telling you. All that long hair. That awful scruffy beard. He looks as if he hasn’t bathed in weeks.” She paused, shuddering delicately. “You know, if I were you, I’d really set my foot down, Thea. Bliss had no right taking Nikki up there. That roof is a dangerous place. Why, the child could have fallen off just like that poor woman—”
“I know,” Thea cut in, not wanting Mrs. Lewellyn to finish her words. The visual in her mind was already too graphic. “I intend to speak to Bliss the moment she gets home.”
“If you need any help with Nikki, all you have to do is ask, dear.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Lewellyn seemed reluctant to let her go, and Thea knew the old woman was probably lonely. She had no family that Thea knew of, nor any friends who came calling. Except for her church work, Mrs. Lewellyn seemed as isolated as Thea and Nikki. For a moment Thea wondered if the older woman had something in her past that she was hiding from, too.
Not likely, Thea decided as she turned down the hall to her apartment. Mrs. Lewellyn was probably just an old woman who had outlived most of her friends and family.
Something that might have been self-pity tugged at Thea’s heart, and she had a vision of herself at that age, alone, bitter and still running. And what about Nikki? What kind of life had Thea sentenced her daughter to?
In a way Nikki was in her own prison. The trauma of that night, seeing her father dead on the floor, seeing the gun in her mother’s hand, had sent the child running to her own dark place. A silent place.
Dr. Nevin, the child psychologist Nikki was seeing, had warned Thea that her daughter’s treatment might take a long time. It could be months, even years, before Nikki trusted enough, felt safe enough, to speak. Until then, all Thea could do was be patient.
But sometimes it was so hard, seeing her daughter struggle. Thea wanted to fight Nikki’s battles for her. She wanted to crawl into that cold quiet place and slay every last one of her daughter’s dragons. After all, she was the one who had caused Nikki’s trauma, and if she could take back that night, if she could change the course of events that had led to Rick’s death, she would.
But her ex-husband would have killed her that night if she hadn’t pulled the trigger on her father’s gun. He might even have hurt Nikki. And that Thea could never allow.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Mrs. Lewellyn had closed her door, but an uneasiness stole over her that she couldn’t seem to shake. Maybe it was the thought of Rick and what she’d done, but it almost seemed as if someone was watching her. Judging her.
You’re losing it, Thea scolded herself as she approached her apartment door. Sensing an invisible watcher was nothing new. Thea had long since become accustomed to glancing over her shoulder.
“You’re safe,” she muttered under her breath. No one was watching her. And now that she had an explanation for how Nikki’s doll had gotten on the roof, she and her daughter were in the clear with the police.
Once she told Detective Gallagher what had happened, there would be no reason for their further involvement in the case. There would be no point in his coming around anymore. He would be out of their lives for good. And her and Nikki’s secret would remain safe.
But as she inserted the key into the lock, a chill crawled up her backbone, and she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder once more. The hallway behind her was empty, and Mrs. Lewellyn’s door was still closed. No one was about.
But Thea couldn’t shake the chill. She stepped quickly into her apartment and closed the door, but not all the way. She listened through a tiny crack, and almost instantly, she heard the telltale click as a door somewhere in the hall was closed.
FIRST THING Monday morning John went around to his uncle’s office at the station and knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me?”
Liam Gallagher glanced up from the report he’d been reading and motioned John into his office. Pushing sixty, Liam was still a handsome man with a shock of snow-white hair and bright blue eyes, which reflected his humor almost as often as his quick temper.
He was a seasoned detective who’d started out as a beat cop on Chicago’s south side nearly forty years ago, just as his father had before him and his younger brother, Sean, had after him. Liam’s son, Miles, worked in Narcotics. They were, as John had told Thea Lockhart, a family of cops.
Liam waited until John was seated, then said, “I asked Lieutenant McIntyre to send you down here because I wanted to talk to you about the report you and your partner filed yesterday morning.”
“You mean the Gail Waters case?”
Liam stuck a pair of bifocals on his broad Irish nose and glanced down at the paperwork on his desk. “McIntyre said you’d requested a follow-up investigation.”
“Is that a problem?”
His uncle glared at him over the rims of his glasses. “You know it is. We’re short over two hundred detectives in this division, and only half the homicides in this city get solved. I don’t have the time or the manpower to waste on a case that should be cleared.”
“I know, I know.” John sighed, all too familiar with the shortage of detectives and the stack of uncleared murder files waiting on his desk. He’d pulled a double watch for so long now he couldn’t remember what it was like to get home at a decent time or have more than four or five hours of uninterrupted sleep at night. He plowed an impatient hand through his hair. “I’m not convinced Gail Waters killed herself.”
“The evidence says otherwise.” Liam opened the folder containing John and Roy Cox’s reports and the preliminary autopsy findings. “No defense wounds, no hair, tissue or blood beneath her nails. No trace evidence or fingerprints at the scene. Toxicology tests clean. Contrecoup contusions to the brain, which means she was killed by the fall.” He closed the folder with an unmistakable finality.
If it walks like a suicide, quacks like a suicide…
John shifted in his chair. “Look, we spent most of the day yesterday canvassing the building and interviewing the tenants. We haven’t even had a chance yet to talk to her co-workers and family, let alone go through all her files. She has a database with hundreds, maybe thousands, of names from missing persons and fugitive reports she collected from every major police department in the country. One of those names could be a lead, but it’ll take days to go through that list.”
“And if you don’t find anything?”
John shrugged. “Then I don’t. All I’m asking is for a little more time. We haven’t been able to find out much about this woman except that she was a newspaper reporter. We still don’t know why she was at that building on Saturday night or who she went to see.”
As John spoke, an image of Nikki Lockhart came to his mind. The little girl’s dark eyes and solemn face haunted him, and he couldn’t shake the notion that she might have seen something that night. Might know something she couldn’t tell him.
And what about the kid’s mother? What was she hiding? John didn’t like to admit it, but Thea Lockhart haunted him, too. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind all day yesterday after he’d left her, and all night last night when he’d tried to catch a few hours’ sleep.
It wasn’t so much that he was drawn to her, he told himself, but that he was intrigued by her. She was extraordinarily feminine with her soulful eyes and dark curly hair, but John had the distinct impression her appearance was deceiving. There was something about the way she carried herself, the fierce way she guarded her little girl that made him think she would be a formidable adversary if crossed.
“There’s something else you need to know,” John said hesitantly. “Something I didn’t put in the report.”
His uncle frowned. “What?”
John got up and closed the office door. The squad room was crowded and noisy as always, but he didn’t want to take the chance his conversation might be overheard. “Gail Waters called me a few days ago and wanted to interview me for a piece she was doing on Dad’s disappearance. She’d done her homework, Liam. She knew all about Ashley’s murder, the frat party, Tony and Miles. She’d even been up to the prison to talk to Daniel O’Roarke on death row.”
In less than a minute Liam Gallagher aged ten years. The vitality drained out of his still-muscular body, leaving him stooped, haggard and old. He slumped in his chair. “What did you tell her?”
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