“You’re sayinghe’s actually insane?”
Dr. Tyra paused.“I’m saying something broke. The weight of the world was put on his shoulders,and he couldn’t carry it. And a lot of people got hurt because of it.”
Adele swallowed,shaking her head. The whole business left a bad taste in her mouth. A fewmoments passed with her standing in the viewing room, staring into the bleak,gray interrogation room.
The young manhadn’t seemed like a killer, and Adele had sat across from killers before. Hehad seemed like a worried boy, concerned for his father. Desperate. But he hadalso killed three people; he had almost killed Adele. It was like he didn’teven remember. Like he didn’t even think he had done anything wrong.
Adele mutteredto herself, collapsing against the wall and passing a weary hand over her face.She had no doubt they would be able to find his name soon enough. But what wasin a name? Did she even want to know it?
It would help themdiscover if there were more victims. There was some modicum of peace for thefamilies to know their daughters’ murderer had been brought to justice. But itwasn’t much. The dead stayed dead, and grief only worsened.
“You okay?” asoft voice murmured from behind her.
Adele glancedback and saw John standing closer, leaning against the glass to the viewingroom. As she regarded the tall, scar-faced agent, she felt her shoulders beginto tremble.
Strange, whywas—
She realized shewas crying. Dr. Tyra seemed mesmerized by the spectacle from within the room.But Adele still felt a flash of shame; John, though, didn’t seem concerned byan audience.
“Oh, Adele, it’s-it’sfine,” John began to speak, but then thought better of it, and instead gatheredher in an embrace. Adele felt herself pressed against his warmth. She stoodthere, trembling, crying into his shoulder. Like a child.
She wasn’t surewhat brought it on.
She thought ofthe boy losing his father. She’d not been much older when she lost her mother.
There had been alot of pressure then as well. She wondered what she would’ve done if shethought she could have saved her mother. If there had been a moment when shehad warning of what was coming, and to what ends she might go to prevent thehorrible inevitability. And if she tried and failed, would the guilt have beenmanageable, or would it have swallowed her whole?
Adele continuedto cry, and John just held her, murmuring softly in her ear and pressing hishands around her shoulders. She felt small in his arms, and yet, somehow itstill felt protective, and safe.
She stood likethat in the corridor of the DGSI headquarters, listening to the quiet drone ofmuffled voices through the interrogation room.
Eventually,though, John began to guide her away, pressing his hand against her shouldersand leading her out of the room, down the hall, out the front of the office,into the parking structure. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. Hertears kept coming, hot, streaking down her cheeks.
They distancedthemselves in body from the case, from the interrogation, from whatever wasgoing to come next. Adele guessed Agent Paige would find the killer’s name soonenough. Adele would have to sign some paperwork, would have to make a report toMs. Jayne. But that could wait. They’d found the answers they’d been lookingfor. Bleak, dark answers.
And yet noteverything about the world was so cold, or so dark.
She leaned evencloser to John, feeling his warmth and allowing him to lead her in a circlearound the small gray stone steps in the center of the parking structure,passing beneath the glint and glimmer of the windows from the bare-faced facadeof the DGSI headquarters.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Adele sat in ared leather chair, facing the fire. She could hear Robert in the kitchen,whistling and preparing something. He’d promised he’d found the perfect tea,and while Adele wasn’t the biggest fan of tea, she’d never been able to say noto one of Robert’s adventuresome concoctions. She detected the faint fragranceof berries and some sort of spice wafting in from the kitchen.
As she sat inthe leather chair, staring at the crackling fire, she heard a buzzing noise.
Adele jerkedupright, startled. But then she relaxed, realizing it was just her phone. Wasit John? They’d made plans to meet up in a couple of days, just to chat.Nothing weird. Purely professional. At least, that’s what they were tellingthemselves. She reached down and pulled out her phone, peering at the screen.
No, not John.Her father.
The blue andgreen screen buzzed, displaying white letters spelling Dad across thefront. Adele clicked the phone, holding it up. Her father’s face displayedacross the screen, his nose jutting forward.
Adele sighed. “Dad,you’re too close. Hold it back a bit.”
Her father movedthe camera, and now she found she was staring at his hands in his lap.
“Dad, just a bithigher—can’t see your face.” It took a bit, but finally they were able toadjust, and Adele found herself looking into her father’s gaze across digitalspace. “How are you doing?” she asked.
Her dad didn’trespond at first. His face was red, his nose shining. He seemed to be breathingheavier than normal, and for a moment Adele felt a bolt of worry.
“Dad, iseverything—”
But then, as thecamera shifted again, she spotted the two empty shot glasses and the tallbottle sitting on the kitchen table.
She sighed. “Dad,maybe you should go to bed.”
But her fatherwas muttering to himself and shaking his head. His red nose glinted in thelight of the camera from his phone. At last, he coughed slightly and said, “Dear,dear Becks.” He slurred the words a bit, and stared lopsided through the phone.
Adele smiledslightly. “I think you need some rest.”
Her fathersnorted and began to giggle, shaking his head. It was a rare thing to see herfather amused. But this worried her more than anything.
“You’re so muchlike her, you know,” her dad said.
Adele’suncertain smile faded as quickly as it had come. She cleared her throat,shifting in her leather chair. “Look, I don’t think we should talk when you’relike this. How about—”
“You think I don’tcare,” he said, tapping his finger
