“She’s a kid,” I said. “Of course she’s going to say what her father wants her to say.”
“All we have at the moment is your word against his,” Jennings said.
I was about to say something in protest, but Marjorie cut me off. “You own a gun, Mr. Blake?”
“A gun? No. I don’t own a gun.”
“I’m not talking about a licensed gun. Any gun.”
“I don’t own a gun,” I said. “I never have.”
“Never even went hunting with your dad as a kid?”
“No.”
Marjorie looked unconvinced.
“I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what this is all about,” I said. “I don’t understand the point of all this.”
“There never really was a Yolanda Mills, was there?” Marjorie said.
“No,” I said. “I thought we’d pretty much established that. She’s an invention. She was made up by these people, the ones working with that guy who wanted to kill me, who probably shot up my car. They wanted me out of town so they could plant that cocaine in my house. They tore the place apart so it would look like someone had been searching the place for it, but missed it. Their whole plan was for the cops to find it, and arrest me. Then I’d be out of the way.”
“And just who is it who wants you out of the way?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Detective Marjorie grinned and shook his head.
“My daughter’s missing and you think the whole thing is a fucking joke,” I said.
“Do I?” Marjorie said. “I think it’s a joke? You give me a story that’s straight out of The Twilight Zone and I’m the one making a joke? Okay, let me ask you something very serious, then, Mr. Blake. Did you make up Yolanda Mills?”
It was like getting hit in the side of the head with a two-by-four.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“You heard me.”
I looked at Detective Jennings. “Is he fucking kidding?”
Jennings held my gaze. “Answer his question, Mr. Blake.”
I said to her, leaning closer to her, “From him, I can accept this kind of horseshit. But you? From the beginning, I’ve always thought you were in my corner.”
“This will all go a lot better, and be over a lot quicker, if you just answer the questions,” she said.
“No,” I said, sitting upright. “I did not make up Yolanda Mills.”
Marjorie said, “You sure? You sure you didn’t make her up, and use Kate Wood to back up your story? Use her as a witness?”
“What the hell did she tell you?” I asked. “There’s something you need to know about Kate Wood. No, two things. First, she’s got it in for me because I didn’t want to see her anymore. And second, she’s a nutcase.”
“Isn’t it possible,” Marjorie said, “that you waited until she came over to discover that first email, then later when you took the laptop downstairs, you sent yourself an email from a bogus Hotmail account in Yolanda Mills’s name, which Ms. Wood discovered upstairs? And then you placed your call to her, but you didn’t really place a call to anyone? That you faked it, all for Ms. Wood’s benefit?”
Now it was my turn to smile. Not with amusement, but astonishment. I said to him, “And you thought my story was inventive. You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Jennings remained stone-faced, but Marjorie’s cheeks flushed red with anger. “That’s not exactly answering the question, Mr. Blake,” Jennings said.
“You have to understand something about Kate Wood. She sees conspiracies all over the place. She thinks everyone’s got it in for her, like everyone gets up in the morning and has a meeting to figure out how they’re going to stick it to Kate Wood today. That’s why I felt I had to call her. Because I know how her mind works.”
“So that’s your defense,” Detective Marjorie said. “She’s a nut.”
“I’m just saying you need to know how she sees the world. Is this really what she believes, or did you lead her this way? Because I know it wouldn’t take much. Does she honestly think I was manipulating her? That I set this whole thing up so she’d corroborate some crazy story?” I looked directly at Jennings. “You saw my house when I got back from Seattle. You saw what they did to it.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “It is possible, in theory,” she said slowly, “that you could have done that before you left for Seattle.”
“Is that what you believe?” I asked her point-blank.
“You have to admit it’s possible,” she said.
“That’s not exactly answering the question, either,” I said. “Is that what you believe?”
She grimaced, as though she didn’t want to have to answer. Was that because she didn’t want Marjorie to know she thought I was innocent, or because she didn’t want me to know she’d given up on me?
“Why would I do something like that? Set up a call from someone who didn’t exist? Tear up my house and make it look like someone else did it? Plant cocaine so you could find it? Where would I get cocaine? And if I could get my hands on some, why would I do that? What possible reason could I have for doing something like that?”
Neither of them said anything. I guess they wanted me to figure it out on my own.
“Mr. Blake,” Jennings said, “what started out as an investigation into your daughter’s disappearance has fanned out in a number of directions. For example, there’s this man named Eric who supposedly was trying to kill-”
“Supposedly?” I said, pointing to my nose. “Does that look like a
Jennings continued, “And now a second missing girl. Who’s a very close friend of your daughter’s. You know what the common thread in all these incidents is?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sydney.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Detective Marjorie said. “The way I see it, what’s most common is you. You know what I think?”
I waited.
“I think you’re a pretty smart guy, but not smart enough. I think it’s even possible there are some people hunting for you. Maybe you’ve jerked some people around and they’re looking for payback. That part I haven’t worked out yet. But I do think it’s possible you’ve staged some of these things to make it look like your daughter was mixed up in something. Divert the attention away from yourself.”
“Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“You’re at the center of everything,” Marjorie said. “You’re the last one to see your daughter. The last one to see Patty Swain. We’re not stupid, Mr. Blake.”
“No,” I said. “You are.” I shook my head. “Whatever you’re getting at, this is crazy.”
“Is that why you had to get rid of Patty?” Detective Marjorie asked. “Because she figured out you killed your own daughter?”
I didn’t even think about what I did next. Even if I had, I can’t say that I would have behaved any differently.
I do know it was something instinctual. Someone suggests you killed your own daughter, that you took the life of the person more dear to you than anyone else in the world, what else are you going to do but try to get your hands around his neck and choke the life out of him?
I came out of the chair like it was an ejector seat and went straight for Marjorie, my hands outstretched. I wanted to kill him. And not just for what he was suggesting about me. I was doing it for Syd. These people were supposed to be helping find her, but weren’t getting anywhere because they-maybe not Jennings, but
