Part 9 (2/2)

Lala didn't answer. Behind Cab's shoulder, someone gestured to her, and she climbed out of the chair and chatted with a uniformed officer in the doorway of the investigation division. When she returned, she was all business again. There wasn't time for anything personal between them, and he wondered if she was relieved by the interruption.

'You've got a visitor in the interview room,' Lala told him.

'Delia Fischer?' Cab asked, checking his watch. 'She's right on time.'

Lala shook her head. 'It's not her. It's Mark Bradley. And his attorney. They want to talk.'

Chapter Eleven.

Hilary Bradley emerged out of the Naples Police headquarters building into the bright suns.h.i.+ne. She slipped sungla.s.ses on to her face. She stopped on the circular brick walkway and hesitated, unsure where to go. Mark was upstairs, and she a.s.sumed the police would interview him for an hour or more. At least he wasn't alone in facing their questions. She liked the attorney they'd hired; he was a bulldog, according to her father. It was the smart thing to do to get help, but she knew Mark was right about perceptions. The police would see him with a lawyer, and one word would jump into their heads.

Guilty.

She'd heard it in her father's voice, too. Her parents had stood behind Mark last year, because Hilary had convinced them he was innocent. Now she'd gone back to the well, and this time, there was an unspoken doubt in their reactions. They didn't know what to believe anymore. They probably wondered what she she believed and whether she was being honest about her suspicions. But they had stayed silent. believed and whether she was being honest about her suspicions. But they had stayed silent.

Hilary stood in front of the pink stone building and saw a police cruiser glide up to the curb twenty feet away. The front pa.s.senger door opened, and she stiffened with dismay as she recognized the woman climbing out.

It was Delia Fischer. Glory and Tresa's mother.

Delia's head swiveled as she looked up at the two-story building, and her eyes were vacant, as if she was lost and overwhelmed. Her stare pa.s.sed over Hilary without recognition, and then, slowly, horribly, it came back and landed on her and froze there. They confronted each other across the sidewalk. Hilary took off her sungla.s.ses and nodded at Delia. There was no point in pretending.

Glory's mother approached without saying a word. She was several inches shorter than Hilary. She looked beaten and exhausted, with deep worry lines furrowed in her brow and around her mouth. Her cheaply colored blond hair was tied in a ponytail. She was rail-thin, a woman in her mid-forties who looked ten years older than she was. She wore spiral earrings made from aluminum cans; that was one of the eBay businesses she used to earn extra money in the off season. If you weren't rich in Door County, you always had something going on the side to make ends meet. Hilary had bought some of Delia's jewelry as a gesture of friends.h.i.+p the previous year, before everything erupted over Tresa.

Despite their history with her, Hilary had never been able to hate Delia. She understood the emotions that drove her. Delia was a single mother struggling with two teenage girls, fiercely proud and protective. Hilary could easily imagine the stunned fury Delia had felt in reading Tresa's diary, believing that her child had been exploited and abused by a man she trusted. All of that anger had landed on Mark's head, regardless of Tresa's denials. If Hilary had been in her shoes, she probably would have done exactly what Delia did - launch a crusade to destroy the man who had stolen her daughter's innocence.

Hilary didn't think that Delia had ever suffered a pang of doubt. She was convinced she was right and would never believe otherwise. In her eyes, Mark was a child molester who deserved the ostracism he'd received. Now, like a bad dream, he was back in her life, violating her family again in an even more terrible way than before.

'Mrs Fischer, I'm so sorry,' Hilary began. 'Mark and I-'

'Don't you dare.'' Delia cut her off in a voice hoa.r.s.e with bitterness. 'Don't you dare defend him. Don't you dare speak his name in front of me.' Delia cut her off in a voice hoa.r.s.e with bitterness. 'Don't you dare defend him. Don't you dare speak his name in front of me.'

'Mrs Fischer, please. I understand your grief.'

Delia's cheeks flushed. 'You don't know the first thing about my grief, so don't pretend that you do. Everyone says how smart and attractive you are, and all I see is a woman who's a fool. You're married to a monster, and you won't admit it to yourself. Maybe if you'd opened your eyes last year, my daughter would still be alive.'

'Mark didn't do this,' Hilary told her, but she knew her words were useless, and she almost regretted saying them.

Delia flinched, as if she might slap Hilary's face, but then she closed her eyes and breathed heavily. When she opened her eyes again, Hilary felt a wave of violence breaching the small s.p.a.ce between them. The policeman coughed, like a gentle warning to draw their attention, but Delia ignored him.

'I almost feel sorry for you,' Delia said, 'trying to convince yourself that he's not evil. But then I think, you must know, and you just don't care. Because you're not not a fool, are you? You really are as smart as everyone says. So I guess you've just decided you'll protect him regardless of what he's done.' a fool, are you? You really are as smart as everyone says. So I guess you've just decided you'll protect him regardless of what he's done.'

Hilary noticed that other people coming and going from the police building had begun to stop and watch them. She felt a burn of embarra.s.sment. It was familiar; she'd learned to expect stares from strangers. She knew that Delia was las.h.i.+ng out in pain and desperation, and she knew that there was no way for her to bridge the divide between them. If anyone could comfort Delia, it wasn't her. Her presence just made it worse.

'I should go,' Hilary told her. 'You may not believe me, and it doesn't matter, but I'm very sorry about Glory. You're right, I can't understand your grief. I can't imagine losing your daughter. It may mean nothing coming from me, but I'm hurting for you. I really am.'

Delia's face was impa.s.sive. Hilary hadn't expected to reach her. The policeman approached Delia and touched her elbow in order to guide her toward the door of the building. Delia allowed herself to be led, but she pulled away abruptly and jabbed a finger at Hilary's face.

'Do you have any idea what he took from me?' she shouted. 'Glory was my baby! I almost lost her once, and I thought I got a second chance. But now I've lost her all over again because of you and your husband. He took her away from me. It wasn't enough what he did to Tresa. He had to go after my baby, too.'

Hilary said nothing. She stood there and let the woman vent her despair.

'Mrs Fischer,' the policeman murmured. 'Let's go inside.'

'Well, you know what?' Delia continued, screaming at Hilary now.

'He's not going to get away with it! I promise you that. Not again. This time I'm going to make sure he pays for what he did to us!'

Troy Geier sat on a concrete bench in the lobby of the police building. His back was slumped as he leaned forward, and his hands dangled between his thick thighs. Tresa sat next to him, as straight as a board. They both watched the altercation outside between Delia Fischer and Hilary Bradley, and the noise of Delia's screaming cut through the gla.s.s windows, clear and shrill.

Tresa didn't look at Troy. 'You told my mom, didn't you? You told her you thought that Mark did this.'

'What the h.e.l.l was I supposed to say?' he muttered.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Mark would never hurt Glory.'

Troy blew out his breath in a disgusted sigh. 's.h.i.+t, Tresa, listen to yourself. You're more concerned with your teacher boyfriend than you are with your sister. Glory's dead, and you're still protecting him. What do you think? He's going to leave his wife for you?'

'You don't know anything,' Tresa snapped.

'No? Who the h.e.l.l else do you think did this?'

'It wasn't Mark.'

Troy shook his head. 'You're actually jealous, aren't you? Jesus. The f.u.c.king pervert was stalking Glory, and all you can think about is yourself.'

'You have no idea what you're talking about. There was nothing between Mark and Glory.'

'Oh, come on, Bradley obviously had a hard-on for her, the son of a b.i.t.c.h.'

Tresa shoved him, which was like pus.h.i.+ng against the trunk of a tree. 'Shut up, Troy, just shut your mouth. You think Glory was so sweet? Do you have any idea how many boys she slept with?'

'Don't talk like that!'

'What, I'm supposed to pretend she was a princess because she's dead? Sorry, I won't do that. She probably came on to some biker on the beach, or she tried to buy drugs from the wrong person. Wake up, Troy. Glory used you like she used everyone.'

'I loved her,' Troy murmured.

'I loved her too, but she got a free pa.s.s for everything. Mom's probably out there right now wis.h.i.+ng it was me that died.'

'That's crazy.'

'Yeah? For the last six years, I've been invisible. Everything's been about Glory. Ever since the fire.'

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