swinging on her shoulder.
Angie stepped aside as Siobhan reached the dark stairwell and began climbing it.
I waited until she reached the landing midway up.
“How’s your green card status, Siobhan?”
She stopped, froze there with her back to us.
“Did you somehow manage an extended work visa? Because I hear INS is really cracking down on the Irish. Particularly in this city. Kinda sucks, too, because who’s going to paint the houses once they ship them back home?”
She cleared her throat, back still to us. “You wouldn’t.”
“We would,” Angie said.
“You can’t.”
“We can,” I said. “Help us out here, Siobhan.”
She half turned, looked down the staircase at me. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll call a friend of mine in INS, Siobhan, and you’ll celebrate Labor Day in fucking Belfast.”
31
“He keeps files on everyone,” Siobhan said. “He has a file on me, one on you, Mr. Kenzie, and one on you as well, Miss Gennaro.”
“What are in the files?” Angie asked.
“Your daily routines. Your weaknesses. Oh,” she waved her hand at the smoke from her cigarette, “there’s plenty else. Whatever biographical information he can find.” She pointed the cigarette at Angie. “He was so happy when he found out about the death of your husband. He thought he had you.”
“Had me?”
“The means to break you, Miss Gennaro. The means to break you. Everyone has something they can’t face, don’t they. Then he discovered you have some powerful relatives, yeah?”
Angie nodded.
“That was not a day you’d have wanted to be around Scott Pearse, you can be certain.”
“My heart bleeds for him,” I said. “Let me ask you-why’d you speak to me that first time I came to the Dawes’ house?”
“To throw you off the scent, Mr. Kenzie.”
“You sent me after Cody Falk.”
She nodded
“What, did Pearse think I’d kill him and be done with the case?”
“It seemed a reasonable possibility, don’t you think?” She looked down at her coffee cup.
“Is Diane Bourne his only source for psych files?” I asked.
Siobhan shook her head. “He’s got a man in the records department at McLean Hospital in Belmont. Can you guess how many patients McLean services in a year, Mr. Kenzie?”
McLean was one of the largest psychiatric hospitals in the state. It handled both voluntary and involuntary committals, had locked and unlocked wards, treated everything from narcotics and alcohol dependency to chronic fatigue syndrome to paranoid disassociative schizophrenia with violent tendencies. McLean had over three hundred beds and an average of three thousand admissions a year.
Siobhan leaned back in the booth and ran a weary hand through her close-cropped hair. We’d left the commuter station in Weston and driven straight into rush hour, pulled out of it in Waltham and stopped at an IHOP on Main Street. At five-thirty in the evening, the IHOP sported only a few patrons, and after we ordered a pot of regular coffee and a pot of decaf, the surly waitress was happy to ignore us and leave us to our privacy.
“How does Pearse enlist people?” Angie asked.
Siobhan gave us an acrid smile. “He’s very magnetic, isn’t he?”
Angie shrugged. “Never met the man up close.”
“Take it on faith, then,” Siobhan said. “The man looks straight through to your soul.”
I tried not to roll my eyes.
“He befriends you,” Siobhan said. “Then he beds you. He learns your weaknesses-whatever those things are you can’t face. Then he owns you. And you do what he asks, or he destroys you.”
“Why Karen?” I said. “I mean, I know he was trying to teach the Dawes a lesson, but even for Pearse that strikes me as severe.”
Siobhan lifted her coffee cup, but didn’t drink from it. “You don’t see it yet?”
We shook our heads.
“I’m beginning to lose respect for the both of you, I am.”
“Gee,” I said. “That hurts.”
“Access, Mr. Kenzie. It’s all about access.”
“We know, Siobhan. How do you think we came around to you?”
She shook her head. “I’m limited-a snatch of conversation here, a glimpse of a bank statement there. Scott despises limits.”
“So,” Angie said and lit a cigarette, “Scott’s after half the Dawes’ fortune…” She saw something in Siobhan’s face that halted her in midsentence. “No. That wouldn’t be good enough, would it, Siobhan? He wants it all.”
Siobhan’s nod was barely perceptible.
“So he destroys Karen because she’s the heir.”
Another tiny nod.
Angie took a drag off her cigarette, considered it. “But, wait, impersonating Wesley Dawe would only get him so far. Even if the Dawes die and the circumstances don’t seem suspicious, they’re not leaving their fortune to a son they haven’t seen in ten years. And even if-even
Siobhan watched her carefully.
“But,” Angie said, going really slowly now, “if he destroys Christopher Dawe, he’ll still gain nothing.”
Siobhan used Angie’s matches to light her own cigarette.
“Unless,” Angie said, “he’s gained access to…Carrie Dawe.”
The name fell from her mouth and seemed to drop on the table between us as heavily as a plate.
“That’s it,” Angie said. “Isn’t it? He and Carrie are in on it together.”
Siobhan flicked her ash into the ashtray. “No. You were so close there for a moment, Miss Gennaro.”
“Then…?”
“She knows him as Timothy McGoldrick,” Siobhan said. “They’ve been lovers for eighteen months. She has no idea he’s the same man who destroyed Karen and wants to destroy her husband.”
“Shit,” I said. “We had the picture of him and she wasn’t home.”
Angie kicked the floorboard of the booth with her heel. “We should have gone to the damn country club with it.”
Siobhan’s tiny eyes had grown large. “You have a picture of him?”
I nodded. “Several.”
“Oh, he won’t like that. He won’t like that at all.”
I shivered and wagged my fingers at her. “Oooh.”
She frowned. “You have no idea what his rage is like, Mr. Kenzie.”
I leaned into the table. “Let me tell you something, Siobhan. I don’t give a shit about his rage. I don’t give a shit how magnetic he is. I don’t give a shit if he can look into your soul and my soul and has God’s phone number on speed dial. He’s a psycho? Yes. He’s a Special Forces bad-ass who can do spin kicks that can rip your head off your neck? Good for him. He destroyed a woman who never wanted more out of life than to be happy and drive a fucking Camry. He turned a guy into a vegetable just for fun. He cut off another guy’s hands and tongue. And he poisoned a dog who I happened to have liked. A lot. You want to see rage?”
Siobhan had pressed her shoulders and head as far back as possible into the red imitation leather behind her.
