Part 27 (2/2)
”About five forty-five.”
”Your appointment was for that time?”
”No. It was at six. I waited....” She stared at him again. ”Maybe if I... hadn't...”
”The paramedics said she had been dead for more than an hour,” he said. ”It wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't waited.”
But her expression didn't ease.
”How did your mother know her?” he tried again.
”They went to school together.”
”Which school?”
She named New Orleans's most expensive and exclusive private school. He looked around the modest home, remembered the appearance of the woman on the floor. A lined face. A plain, practical haircut. The dark hair touched with gray that had probably never been tinted.
”And you haven't seen her before?”
”No. Apparently they lost touch when ...”
”When what?”
”After graduation.”
He knew she was withholding information now. He had gotten to know her well last night. It had been only a few hours, but it might as well have been much more. He knew by her carefully phrased words that she knew more than she was saying.
”When did you make the appointment?” he asked.
”Yesterday. When I reached her, she told me she was a teacher.”
”Anything else? Did she sound worried or upset?”
”No. She didn't know about my mother's illness and she expressed sympathy about that. But that's all.”
”Why did you want to see her?”
”I told you--”
”No, you didn't. Most people don't go to so much trouble to seek out old friends of their parents.”
”My mother is dying. I wanted her friends to know.”
It was more than that. Much more, dammit. It had to have something to do with what had happened to her this past week.
He knew Wagner was listening intently. He saw from the corner of his eye that his partner was taking notes.
The front door opened again, and a man and a woman from the crime scene unit entered.
”Wag, will you show them the crime scene and tell them what we have so far?”
Wagner had seniority at the moment. Still, he shrugged and went to the door, ushering in the newcomers and taking them into the kitchen.
”Now tell me why you were really here,” Gage told her. ”And don't tell me it's privileged.”
She gave him a hostile stare that slowly faded. She looked lost for a moment.
”There are too many violent incidents around you for them to be coincidences,” he pressed. ”And now someone has died,” he added brutally. He had to shake her loose from whatever she was withholding. ”What was your connection with Mrs. Starnes? It's more than you've told us. h.e.l.l, you've been a prosecutor. You know better than this.”
”My mother,” she whispered. ”She told me a few days ago that I have a half sister. She had a daughter that was taken from her. She asked me to find her. There wasn't anything to go on. I thought I would start with her friends at that time.”
Her face was strained, her eyes pleading. ”I didn't want it public,” she said. ”I didn't think it was anyone's business but ours.”
”The attack on you happened after that?”
”Yes.”
He had been sitting across from her. Now he stood. Tried to think. d.a.m.n, he wished she had told him last night. But then they had both been occupied with each other, with the obvious hunger they'd had for each other.
But it showed an obvious distrust of him, and he felt a stab of disappointment, even hurt.
He knew it was unreasonable. He hadn't shared any of his past with her. Why should she have poured out her guts to him, especially with something so personal and private?
”Have you talked to anyone else about your mother?” Gage asked.
”Mrs. Robert Laxton. She gave me Mrs. Starnes's name. I wish to G.o.d she hadn't.”
”We'll send someone over there to talk to her,” he said.
”She didn't really have any information, other than some names of my mother's friends. She said Mrs. Starnes was close to her, but I never heard my mother mention Mrs. Starnes's name.”
She was in control again. Her face was still pale, her eyes sad, but she was in complete control. Still, her back was stiff with tension, and he wondered exactly how much emotion she was holding in.
The dog whined and she leaned over and hugged it, sharing some of that emotion, and sorrow over a death, with the dog.
”I want to take him until someone claims him,” she said. ”I don't want him to go to animal control or wherever you usually take them.”
”I don't see a problem there,” he said. ”We will notify the next of kin and tell them where he is.”
She looked stricken again. ”I wonder who the next of kin would be.” She looked around again. He did as well. No pictures of children. Yet Mrs. Starnes must have loved children if she was a teacher.
He hated what would come next. Finding someone to contact. Then the message itself. It was the part of the job he despised.
”Who else knows about your mother's daughter?” he asked.
”My father. My staff. No one else.”
<script>