last night when your mother was run off the road,” Mendez admitted. “ ‘Home alone’ is one of those alibis that really isn’t.”
“I wasn’t aware at the time I would need an alibi.”
“It seems like you’re home alone a lot for a guy who gets around town,” Mendez said. “Dinners with friends, all those civic and charity functions you go to. You go home alone. That doesn’t make sense to me. You’re rich, charming, good-looking. I wouldn’t think you’d ever have to sleep alone.”
“Maybe I’m not as promiscuous as you would apparently like to be,” Bordain said, flicking ash into the ashtray. Flicking too hard because he was nervous, a good bit of it missed the ashtray and landed on the table. He swore under his breath, stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, and quickly brushed the ashes onto the floor.
“And then there’s this,” Mendez said, slowly tapping his finger on the file folder. He did it over and over and over and over, the sound seeming to fill the otherwise silent room like water dripping from a faucet.
He could almost see Darren Bordain’s nerves fraying.
“Why don’t you just show it to me and get it over with?” Bordain snapped. “Whatever it is, there’s probably a logical explanation for it.”
Mendez pretended to think about it, then shrugged. “Okay.”
He opened the folder and slid it across the table.
“You should pay particular attention to the box marked ‘Father.’ ”
As he looked at the birth certificate the color drained from Darren Bordain’s face, then rose back up again, bright red.
“That’s a lie.”
“That is an official document from the county of Los Angeles.”
Bordain shook his head. “It can’t be. It’s not. I am not Haley’s father.”
“No? We showed her a photograph of you. She called you Daddy.”
“She calls every man Daddy.”
“Yeah, but apparently with you it’s official,” Mendez said, tapping his finger on the birth certificate. “Do you happen to know your blood type, Mr. Bordain?”
“A-negative.”
Mendez raised his brows. “Really? Because we’ve got the sweatshirt you wore the night you killed Marissa. Man, it was soaked in blood.”
“Marissa’s blood, not mine.”
“Marissa’s blood—AB-positive. Lots of it. But also a little A-negative,” he lied. “She must have scratched you, or you cut yourself. Knives get slippery when they’re covered in blood.”
“This is ludicrous!” Bordain shouted up at the ceiling, throwing his arms up. “I didn’t kill Marissa!”
“What’s that cut on your wrist?”
Bordain looked at his left wrist and quickly pulled the cuff of his shirt over it. “I—I—must have done that on the golf course.”
“They golf with knives now?” Mendez asked. “That might make it interesting enough to try.”
Bordain pushed his chair back and got up. “I’m done now. That’s it. I don’t have to talk to you. I’m free to go.”
He went to the door and turned the knob, but it didn’t open.
“It’s like I told you yesterday, Darren,” Mendez said. “Some of our guests are not as free to go as others.”
80
“Dennis. What are you doing here?” Anne asked.
How the hell had he gotten her address? Their phone number was unlisted. She had a P.O. box for an address on her business cards.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“I asked your dad.”
“You went to my father’s house.”
Dennis nodded. “Uh-huh. He’s really old.”
“And he gave you my address?”
“Uh-huh.”
Anne’s gaze skated past Dennis to the sheriff’s radio car sitting parked at the sidewalk. The deputy was eating a sandwich, paying no attention. Why would he pay attention to a little boy in a baseball cap? His assignment here was to keep Anne and Haley safe from a murderer.
“I set the hospital on fire,” Dennis announced.
“I know. I heard about that,” Anne said calmly.
“It was really cool,” he said, his eyes lighting up in that glassy, unnatural way they did when he talked about killers and crimes. “This one guy came running out of his room and his arms were on fire! And he was screaming and shit. It was so cool! And then this oxygen tank exploded and
Anne’s blood ran cold at his obvious delight—not just in his attempt to shock her but in the actual details of what he had done. The burned man and the dead woman meant absolutely nothing to him except in terms of his own amusement.
“Why did you do that, Dennis?”
He shrugged, his hands tucked into the big pouch on the front of his too-big hooded sweatshirt. “’Cause I wanted to. ’Cause I was mad. You said you were gonna come yesterday, and you didn’t. You said you would bring me something cool, and you didn’t.”
“I called to say I couldn’t make it, Dennis.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, getting angry. “You never called. You don’t care about me. You’re such a liar!”
“Dennis—”
“Shut up!” he shouted, his temper about to erupt. “You’re just a lying, fucking cunt and I hate you!”
Before Anne could react Dennis had pulled his hands out of his pockets and came at her swinging and screaming. She wasn’t aware of what he had clenched in his fists until she felt something sharp and pointed stick her in the breast. By the time it registered he had struck her twice more.
There was nothing she could grab to hit him with. She didn’t want to run backward into the house. If Dennis saw Wendy or Haley she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt either one of them.
She tried to grab at his arms as he swung at her, and his weapons cut her hands and forearms. She shouted at him, “Dennis! Stop it! Stop it!”
Wendy had heard the commotion and came running from the kitchen. As soon as she saw Dennis, she started screaming at the top of her lungs. And right on her heels came Haley.
“Wendy, run!” Anne shouted as Dennis struck her again. “Take Haley and run!”
Haley stood at the end of the hall, shrieking.
Dennis was in a frenzy. He was big for his age, and strong, and with strength of purpose he kept coming at her, shouting and swinging and pushing her backward into the house. They were now out of sight of the deputy parked at the curb.
“I fucking hate you!” Dennis yelled, bulldozing into her.
Anne’s feet tangled with his and then she was falling backward. The back of her head struck the floor so hard it bounced. Blackness rushed in from the outer edges of her vision.
Dennis Farman came down on top of her, one arm raised high, ready to plunge a blade into her chest.
