Lethal Confessions (45 page)

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Mr. Harrison?” she asked, studying his bleary eyes and drawn face. Maybe she should wait another day to question him. He probably wouldn’t have anything to tell her that would help track down Gardner any faster.

“Come in,” he said dully, not answering her question.

He led her into a sparsely-furnished kitchen/great room and pointed to an easy chair next to a gas fireplace. The giant TV was tuned to ESPN, but had been muted. She didn’t sit.

“You’ll want this.” Harrison picked something up off the granite kitchen counter and walked slowly toward her, his hand extended. “It came in the mail this morning. Megan must have had it in her handbag.”

Bingo.
A very small snapshot with maybe forty per cent of the photo cut away.

She glanced at Harrison. His flat eyes and slightly slurred speech had to be the product of tranquilizers or booze, or both. She sighed, reaching deep for the patience she needed to question him.

“Mr. Harrison, please put it back on the counter. I’ll bag it later after I put on gloves.”

“Fine,” Harrison said. His eyes darkened, finally showing some sign of life. “I just wish I could get my hands on the fucker who sent this.”

“I understand, sir.”

He pretty much sneered at her. “Do you, Detective?”

Amy wished she could scream it out.
Yes, I know exactly what it’s like to have the bottom fall out of your life. And I know it won’t go away, no matter what.
But she would never say that, no matter how much she wanted to. “May I ask you just a few questions, sir?”

“I guess.” He eased his big frame into a chair. “Go for it.”

Amy took the opposite chair and pulled her notebook out. “Please understand that these questions are routine in a murder investigation. I realize they may be unpleasant.”

Harrison made a circular motion with his hand, signaling
whatever
.

“How long had you and your wife been married?”

“About three years.”

Might as well get right down to it. “Would you say your marriage was a happy one?”

Harrison gave a little sigh. “That would be a stretch. We had our ups and downs. More downs than ups, I guess. But it was a little better lately.”

“How lately?”

“The last month or so, I guess. We were seeing a marriage counselor. The cops told us we had no choice if we wanted to avoid a domestic disturbance charge.”

Amy scrawled a note to have someone follow up to see how many occasions the police had been called to their home. “You fought a lot before going to counseling?”

He shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Violently?”

“Well, Megan liked to throw things.”

And maybe you liked to throw punches
.

But at least the man was cooperating. “Was it known around the team that you and your wife had that kind of a relationship?”

A deep frown creased Harrison’s gaunt face. “Why are you asking me these kinds of questions?”

Normally, she wouldn’t respond to that kind of question, but he had a right to be curious, and a little truth might help elicit more information. “We’re exploring every angle, sir. Any and every detail that could possibly link the murders of Megan and these other young women.”

He peered at her, then understanding opened his eyes wide. “All right, I get it. Actually, I think pretty much everybody knew we had problems. Megan freaked out at a party at the start of the season. She stormed out after telling everyone in shouting distance that she was done with me.”

Amy made a note, then held out a copy of the composite of Jason Gardner. “Do you recognize this man?”

Harrison held the composite at arm’s length. “He looks kind of familiar.”

“Take your time,” Amy said.

He grimaced, but then shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t place him.”

“We have reason to believe this man is connected to a Florida State League team, though not yours. Could he perhaps have been at the party you just mentioned?”

Harrison frowned again, his black eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. “I don’t know. There were a lot of people at that party.”

“Who threw it?”

“Bernie Abraham. You know. The car dealer. He’s a huge fan and team supporter. Every season he throws a kickoff party at his estate.”

She nodded. Now for the tough part. “Did you or your wife have any affairs outside your marriage, sir?”

Harrison gaped at her. “That’s some question to ask a man whose wife was just murdered.”

“Yes, but I assure you, I only ask questions that are intended to help apprehend the murderer.”

“Well, fuck, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” He gave her a nod. “Yeah, that’s mostly what we fought about. Guys get tempted, you know, especially when we’re on the road. Those girls, man, they’re just relentless.”

Cry me a river, asshole
. She struggled to keep her distaste from her expression, simply giving him an encouraging nod.

“One time a girl tried to get back at me after I said I didn’t want to see her again. She forwarded Megan a copy of one of the emails I’d sent her. Well, Megan went fucking postal on me. She made life hell for a long time after that.” He sucked in a breath. “And I found out she screwed another guy in retaliation.”

God, no wonder those two had needed therapy. Was there any marriage that wasn’t a total mess these days?

Amy put away her notebook and rose. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I appreciate your time and your candor. I’ll get an evidence bag from my car and come back for the photo.”

She retrieved gloves and a bag from the car and, after carefully sealing away the picture, she again expressed her condolences to Harrison and let herself out. She’d go back to HQ and turn the photo over to forensics, then fill in the squad on her conversation with Harrison. She was sure now that she’d finally found the link. All five victims—she included Rita Ramirez now—had something in common: troubled marriages to baseball players. As crazy as it seemed, her instincts told her that link must have everything to do with the killer’s motivation.

Only one of the couples—Eddie and Rita Ramirez—even knew Gardner. But the killer could have been at Bernie Abraham’s, party and maybe at other team gatherings, where he might have seen one or more of the other couples together. Even if that wasn’t the case, with the way gossip travelled in the small world of the minor leagues it wouldn’t be hard to find out that kind of information.

As she headed onto the interstate, she found herself hoping that Beckett would be long gone from HQ by the time she arrived. The thought of facing him, much less having to explain herself, made her clench her teeth. She still felt gutless, ashamed, and about six inches tall.

It was a distraction she didn’t need. Not with Jason Gardner still on the loose.

Friday, August 6

2:30 p.m.

Luke would be eternally grateful to Pushy for setting him straight about Robitaille. Her evident dismay about his plans to adopt Alicia had thrown him badly, and the lanky detective had immediately sensed something was wrong. As soon as Robitaille bolted from HQ, her partner had grabbed Luke and pulled him into an empty interview room for what he said was a man-to-man.

Pushy’s reaction to Luke’s news about Alicia was instant and genuine. After delivering a congratulatory shot to the shoulder, he actually hugged him. But when Luke described Robitaille’s cold response, Pushy’s grin morphed into a tight line. “Man, you don’t get her, do you?” he said, shaking his head. “Robitaille would rather wrestle a fifteen-foot gator than admit her feelings. But it’s different with you, Luke. I think it’s getting serious.”

“Hell, I doubt that,” Luke retorted. “It’s been like pulling teeth with her from the get-go.”

Pushy’s gaze narrowed in warning. “Give her a break, man. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t think about her dead sister.”

Luke gave him a reluctant nod. He liked that Pushy defended his partner so firmly. “I know exactly how that feels.”

“Sure, and the fact that you’re ready to adopt a sick little girl makes it pretty damn clear that you’re not afraid of facing another loss. But Robitaille’s not there. Not yet, anyway.”

Luke spent the next hour trying to work, but mostly he thought about those words because Pushy probably had it bang-on. As much as Kate’s murder had flipped his world upside down, Luke wasn’t afraid of opening himself up to other people. He’d already grappled with the odds against Alicia living a full life. It scared the crap out of him to even think about it, but what choice did he have? She needed him, and that made it worth whatever might be coming down the road. He would deal with whatever the future held because he’d have to. And because Alicia’s own special brand of courage deserved his loyalty and love.

But he couldn’t really put himself in Robitaille’s shoes. While he’d lost a sister, he hadn’t lost a twin. And he’d been a grown man and a military veteran when Kate was murdered, not a seventeen year-old girl who took all the blame on herself.

By the time Robitaille returned to the Floor, Luke had rehearsed an apology in his head. But she didn’t even look in his direction as she stopped beside Pushy’s desk. Her face was flushed and she looked hot, tired, and down. Her normally glossy hair had given up any semblance of order, and was now a crazy mass curling around her drawn features.

He gave her thirty seconds before he moved across the room to join them.

Pushy had his back to him, looking at an evidence bag that contained a small, mutilated photo.

“Another one, huh?” Luke said.

“Wallet-sized,” Pushy said. “Not that much left of it after he hacked it up.”

Robitaille continued to look straight at Pushy. “Harrison admitted that his marriage sucked for a long time, though it had been better for the last few weeks. You think every baseball player has a lousy marriage, Poushinsky? It kind of seems like it.” Her voice sounded tart. Edgy.

Luke clamped down on a flare of irritation. She was exhausted and unnerved, so it wasn’t surprising she might lash out.

“Maybe you’d better ask our baseball consultant,” Pushy joked.

Robitaille sighed. “It was a rhetorical question,
calice
. But wouldn’t it be a hell of a coincidence for all five victims to have had marital problems? Problems big enough that apparently most everyone on the team knew about them?”

She had a point. The majority of players Luke knew had been happily married for years. “You’re thinking the reason Gardner picked these women might have something to do with the state of their marriages?”

Robitaille shifted only slightly in his direction. “He may have targeted them because they were a certain kind of woman,” she said to the air between him and Pushy. “The kind of woman Gardner hates, or is afraid of. Or both.”

Pushy nodded. “Makes a lot of sense if you look at his background. Mom shoots Dad, then kills herself. There had to be major shit going down in that marriage, probably for a long time. No wonder the kid was screwed up.”

Robitaille picked up the evidence bag. “Not to sound too much like a shrink, but maybe he’s killing his mother over and over again when he kills these women. We shouldn’t speculate, but it’s a pretty textbook scenario.”

She finished their impromptu meeting by telling Pushy she’d be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Then she tried to escape by circling around Luke.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk?”

She gently brushed his hand away. “I’ve got to get this to forensics.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She gave a tight nod and strode away. Luke lengthened his own stride, catching up as she hit the corridor leading to the lab. “I know you’re upset that I’m trying to adopt Alicia.”

Robitaille didn’t slow, or even glance at him.

Fuck.
He tried again. “I’m sorry I dumped that on you. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She kept going. “You’re doing an admirable thing.”

That sounded better, but he still couldn’t read her expression. “Come on. Something’s changed. Tell me what’s going on,” he said with a slight edge to his voice.

She came to stop and sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Beckett, I’m so sorry that I can’t be more enthusiastic about what you’re doing.”

He gripped her forearm gently, and this time she didn’t shake him off. Her naked skin felt smooth and hot to his touch. “As much as anyone can understand what you’ve gone through, I think I do.”

She briefly looked into his eyes, but then her gaze skated away. “You must think I’m heartless,” she said in a bleak voice.

Luke wanted to fold her in his arms, right there in the station despite the uniformed officers and civilians passing by. “Not a chance, sweetheart. I get you,” he responded in a low, quiet voice.

She blinked, her long eyelashes growing damp. “I’ve got to get out of here, Beckett. I can’t be bawling in the middle of HQ,
calice
.”

He kept his grip on her arm, and she didn’t resist. “Please. I want you meet Alicia. This afternoon. You said you’d do it, and I think you need to. For your own sake, too.”

She had to see that Alicia was real, a flesh and blood child and worth cherishing no matter what the risk.

Robitaille locked her gaze on the evidence bag. “I’ve got to turn this in.” She pulled away from his grip and hurried off.

This time he let her go.

Friday, August 6

3:30 p.m.

The last time Amy walked through the door of the Fort Lauderdale Children’s Hospital, she’d met the man now walking by her side. It had only been about a week, but it felt like forever. As she and Beckett moved through the sliding doors, she glanced at the spot where they’d first talked.

Talk about a game-changing moment
.

They hadn’t spoken much during the forty-minute ride down the coast to the hospital. Beckett had clearly sensed her inner turmoil and let her be. He was probably still in shock that she’d come back from Forensics, marched up to his desk, and agreed to go with him to see Alicia.