tragedy was red-rimmed eyes that suggested a lack of sleep and a lot of mourning. Nancy hit the button next to the receptionist's desk and opened the door.
'I wasn't certain you'd be here,' Lake said. 'I hope you don't mind my showing up without calling.'
'No. Come on in. I'll find us a place to talk.'
Lake followed Nancy down a hall that reminded him of a school corridor.
They walked on worn green linoleum that buckled in places, past unpainted brown wood doors. Chipped flakes of green paint fell from spots on the walls. Nancy opened the door to one of the interrogation rooms. aside for Lake. The room was functional and with white, soundproof tiles.
'Have a seat,' Nancy said, motioning toward one of the plastic chairs that stood on either side of a long wooden table. 'I'll grab us some coffee. How do you take yours?'
'Black,' Lake answered.
When Nancy returned with two Styrofoam cups, Lake was sitting at the table with his hands in his lap.
'How are you feeling?' she asked.
'I'm very tired, and depressed. I tried going to work today, but I couldn't concentrate. I keep thinking about Melody.'
Lake stopped. He took a deep breath. 'Look, I'll get to the point. I can't work, and I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to work for quite a while. I sat down with the papers on a real estate closing this morning and it seemed so… it just didn't mean anything to me.
'I have two associates who can keep my practice going until I'm able to cope, if that ever happens. But now all I want to do is find out who killed Sandy and Melody. it's all I can think about.'
'Mr. Lake, it's — all I can think about too. And I'm not alone. I'm going to tell you some things. This is highly confidential. I'll need your promise to keep it confidential.'
Lake nodded.
'There were four disappearances before your wife and daughter were killed. None of those women has been found. It took us a while to catch on, because there were no bodies. At first, we treated them like missing persons.
But a note with 'Gone, But Not Forgotten' and a black rose was left at each crime scene, so after the second one we knew what we were dealing with. The chief has put together a task force to work on the cases.
'I'm sure you're working very hard,' Lake interrupted. 'I didn't mean to be critical. What I want to do is help. I want to volunteer to be part of the task force.'
That's out of the question, Mr. Lake. You aren't a police officer. It also wouldn't be advisable. You're too emotionally involved to be objective.'
'Lawyers are trained to be objective. And I can add something to the investigation-the unique insight into the criminal mind that I developed as a defense attorney. Defense attorneys learn things about the way criminals think that the police never know, because we have the criminal's confidence. My clients know they can tell me anything, no matter how horrible, and I will respect their privacy. You see criminals when their false face is on. I see them the way they really are.'
'Mr. Lake, police officers get a real good look at the criminal mind-too good. We see these guys on the street, in their homes. You see them cleaned up, in your office, a long way from their victims and after they've had time to rationalize what they've done and cook up a sob story or a defense. But none of that matters, because you simply cannot work on this case. As much as I appreciate the offer, my superiors wouldn't allow it.'
'I know it sounds strange, but I really do think I could contribute. I'm very smart.'
Nancy shook her head. 'There's another good reason you shouldn't get involved in this investigation-it would mean reliving the death of your wife and daughter every day, instead of getting on with your life. We have their autopsy photos lying around, their pictures posted on the wall. Do you want that?'
'I have their pictures all over my house and office, Detective Gordon.
And there isn't a minute I don't think about them.'
Nancy sighed. 'I know,' she said, 'but you have to stop thinking about them that way or it will kill you.'
Lake paused. 'Tell me about your fiance,' he said quietly. 'How… how did you stop thinking about him?'
'I never did. I think about Ed all the time. Especially at night, when I'm alone. I don't want to forget him and you won't want to forget Sandy and Melody.
'Ed was a cop. A drunk shot him. He was trying to put down a domestic dispute. It was two weeks before our wedding date. At first I felt just like you do. I couldn't work. I could barely make it out of bed. I…
I was racked with guilt, which is ridiculous. I kept on thinking there was something I could have done, insisted he stay home that day, I don't know. I wasn't really making much sense.
'But it got better, Mr. Lake. Not — all better, not even mostly better.
You just get to a point where you face the fact that a lot of the pain comes from feeling sorry for yourself, for what you've lost. Then you realize that you have to start living for yourself. You have to go on and keep the memories of the good times. If you don't, then whoever killed your little girl and your wife will have won. They will have killed you too.'
Nancy reached across the table and put her hand on Peter Lake's arm.
'we'll get him, Mr. Lake. You have so much to deal with, you don't want to get involved with this too. Let us handle it. We'll get him, I promise.'
Lake stood up. 'Thank you, Detective Gordon.'
'Nancy. Call me Nancy. And give me a call anytime you want to talk.'
A week later, Hunter's Point Chief of Police John O'Malley entered the task force office. He was usually in shirtsleeves with his tie askew and his top button open.
This morning, O'Malley wore the navy blue suit he saved for Rotary Club speeches and meetings with the city council.
The chief had the broad shoulders and thick chest of a middleweight boxer. His nose had been broken by a fleeing burglar when he worked in New York's South Bronx. His receding red hair revealed an old scar, a memento of one of many gang fights he had been in as a youth in Brooklyn. O'Malley would have stayed in New York City if a heart attack hadn't forced him to pursue police work in a less stressful environment.
Walking behind O'Malley was a huge man dressed in a tan summer-weight suit. Nancy guessed that the suit was custom-tailored, because it fit perfectly, even though the man was oddly oversized, like a serious bodybuilder.
'This is Dr. Mark Klien,' O'Malley said. 'He's a psychiatrist who practices in Manhattan, and an expert on serial killers. Dr. Klien was consulted in the Son of Sam case, the Atlanta child murders, Bundy. He's worked with VICAP. I met him a few years ago when I was with the NYPD and working a serial case. He was very helpful.
Dr. Klien's seen a full set of reports on these disappearances and the deaths of Melody and Sandra Lake.
'Dr. Klien, O'Malley said, pointing to each member of the task force in turn, 'this is Nancy Gordon, Frank Grimsbo, Wayne Turner and Glen Michaels. They've been on this case since it started.'
Dr. Klien was so massive, he filled the entrance to the office. When he stepped into the room to shake hands, someone else followed him in.
O'Malley looked uncomfortable.
Before Dr. Klien gets started, I want to explain why Mr. Lake is here.
Yesterday the mayor and I met. He explained that Mr. Lake was volunteering to assist the task force in finding the killer of his wife and daughter.'
Nancy Gordon and Frank Grimsbo exchanged worried glances. Wayne Turner's mouth opened and he stared at O'Malley. O'Malley flushed angrily, stared back and continued.
'The mayor feels that Mr. Lake brings a unique insight into the criminal mind, developed as a defense attorney, that will give us a fresh perspective on the case.'
'I hope I'll be of use,' Peter Lake said, smiling apologetically. 'I know I'm not a trained policeman, so I'll try to keep out of the way.'
'Dr. Klien has a busy schedule,' O'Malley said, ignoring Lake. 'He has to take a two-fifty shuttle back to the city, so I'm going to let him take over.'
Lake took a seat behind everyone in the back of the room. Frank Grimsbo shook his head slowly. Wayne Turner folded his arms across his chest and stared accusingly at O'Malley. Nancy frowned. Only Glen Michaels, the
