Turning, Sin walked back inside the hospital; the doors closing behind her.
Ash was on his knees rocking back and forth, his hands cupping his ears. A silent scream exploding in his head.
“That bitch!” the voice wailed. “How dare she quote those misguided words? I’ll show her.”
Ash shook his head and whispered, “no, no, no,” over and over again, praying she wouldn’t say it.
But it was inevitable.
“We have found our final canvas!”
36
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Frank yelled. “You just called out a psychopath. You dared a cold-blooded killer on national television. One, by the way, whose identity we are no closer to figuring out than we were when this case first began.”
Standing at Evelyn’s desk, Sin listened to the tirade and jerked the phone away from her ear. “That’s right. And I hope my words might have changed all that,” she screamed back into the receiver.
“Damn it, Sin. There are ways to catch criminals without putting yourself directly in the line of fire. There are rules and regulations that need to be adhered to.”
Just outside the glass, she watched Ashley and George walk by along with Jack, Gonzales, and another man.
Jack motioned that they were headed to the conference room.
“Hold that thought, Frank. I’ll call you back later.”
“Sin, don’t you dare hang—”
Sin placed the receiver on the cradle and walked to where the small group had congregated in the hall.
The man unknown to Sin was wearing an expensive suit and a cheap hairpiece. He pulled out a card. “If you intend to question my clients, you better have a subpoena.”
Sin read the card and dropped it on the floor as if it was no more important than a gum wrapper.
McGuire reached into his suit jacket and handed a court document to the attorney. “We only wish to question the Stoklers. I am also pretty sure we have enough information to hold your clients on the grounds of withholding information in a murder investigation. It would be in your clients’ best interest to answer our questions before we have ‘accessory by omission’ charges brought against them, as well.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m going home.”
“Shut up, Ashley,” the attorney said. He viewed the papers that had been filed and a look of defeat immediately crossed his face; the egotistical tone disintegrated from his voice.
“Excuse me, Anthony. Do you forget who has who on retainer here?”
“No, I didn’t forget, but this is serious. I suggest you and George answer all of the agents’ questions and put this behind you as soon as possible.”
Ashley huffed and George nodded as they were ushered into the conference room.
“Does the name Vincent Ash mean anything to either of you?”
Sin noticed George’s nonverbal cues immediately. He became rigid, sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his pupils dilated. Ashley’s reaction was less severe.
“It means nothing,” Ashley said. “Can we leave now?” She went to stand, but Sin’s intentions were different.
“Sit down, Ashley, before I make you sit.”
Ashley glared at her attorney. “She threatened me. That’s police brutality.”
“He said, she said,” Sin responded. “Isn’t that right, Counsel?”
Anthony Freitas hung his head and rubbed his brow. Vexation seemed to build each time he kneaded his forehead. “For once, Ashley,” he bellowed, lifting his eyes to meet hers, “just do what you’re asked. Answer the questions, so we can all go home.”
Ashley looked like she was about to start arguing with her attorney when George spoke up. “I think Vincent Ash was a serial killer back in the seventies. But what does he have to do with us?”
Sin pulled up a chair and sat in front of him, softening her voice just a tad. “What else do you know about him?”
“Not much. I’m not even sure why I know anything about him.” George’s expression was wrought with confusion. “What does he have to do with us?”
“Why is his name familiar? You and Ashley were born here in Florida, Ash was from the Midwest.”
His look of bewilderment increased. “I’m not sure.”
Sin could see that he was being truthful, so she turned her attention to the ice queen. “What about you, Ashley? Anything you’d like to add?”
Ashley’s attitude seemed to have changed. “When we were young…I was six,” her voice broke like glass along with her attitude, “George found a box of newspaper clippings in our mother’s stuff.” Her hand rummaged through her purse.
“Here,” Sin said, holding up a pack of cigarettes.
Ashley took one and placed it between her lips. Her hands were shaking so much that she was unable to light it. Sin pulled her Zippo from her pocket and lit it for her.
An expression of thanks seemed to bloom in Ashley’s eyes as she sat back and inhaled. “That was when our loving mother changed. After we found the clippings, the beatings started.”
“She beat you because you found some old newspaper articles?” Sin said. “I don’t understand.”
“Nothing Miranda did made much sense. Later, I remember seeing the name ‘Vincent Ash’ on the clippings.”
“How come I don’t remember any of that?” George said.
“You were only three,” Ashley remarked, “but I remember. When Mom found us looking through the box, she went crazy.”
“Why?” Sin asked.
Ashley shook her head. “Who knows?”
“Tell me about the clippings,” Sin said. “Any information might help. Where did you find them?”
“In her art room,” Ashley said. “She used the top floor of the main building at the school as her art studio. We weren’t allowed up there, but you know kids.”
Sin nodded.
“And we were just kids,” Ashley said. “We did what a normal six and three-year-old did when told not to do something—”
“You did it anyway,” Sin said.
It was Ashley’s turn to nod. She stubbed out the cigarette and continued, “While we were up there, George found a box of old newspapers and a pair of scissors.”
“And
