“Is Phil Palmer on it?” Mitch asked.
“No,” she said. “Sorry. We ran all cars and property under his name, and there’s nothing but his house on Robertson and the SUV found in the garage.”
Mitch followed Richardson and Hans back into the interview room where Collier sweated.
“Time’s up,” Richardson said.
“We want it in writing before my client says anything,” the attorney said.
“You’ll have to be satisfied with it on tape,” Richardson said, handing over a tape to the attorney. “The clock is ticking on a young woman’s life, and I haven’t the time to play any more games.” He slammed the list of names in front of Collier.
“Do you know what this is?”
Collier frowned, read the list. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “I never knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Phil Palmer. That’s not his real name. I never knew he went to Stanford. I swear, all I knew was that Judge Drake had blackmailed someone into killing Taverton. I didn’t know before they were dead, I swear to God, it was after the fact. After they were already dead, Hamilton asked me to sit on Reny Willis and coach him in how to falsify the coroner’s report and testify in court. Hamilton had dirt on Willis-I don’t know what it was, but it was serious enough that Willis was willing to help frame Tom O’Brien.”
“Why did they want Taverton dead?”
Collier licked his lips. He was shaking. “Riordan, Hamilton, and Mancini-they killed Rose Van Alden and the judge forged a will so that she’d sell the land to Waterstone. She was old, she was stubborn.”
“Where does Frank Lowe fit into it?”
“He saw Riordan leaving the old lady’s house. He didn’t know who he was at the time, he was a nobody, but Lowe later figured it out and kept his mouth shut. I guess he wanted to live. Then he was arrested and facing major time, and he talked to Taverton. Taverton brought in Judge Drake, not knowing he had a hand in Van Alden’s death, and Hamilton called this guy from his fraternity. He told me later that they used this guy for murders. He was their own personal assassin. Hamilton thought that was funny.”
“He’s not laughing now,” Mitch said. “His blood is spattered all over 4th Street.”
Finger shaking, Collier tapped a name. “Bruce Langstrom. He changed his name to Philip Palmer, but they are one and the same.” He stared at them, his face white. “I’ve only met him once, but he’s the coldest bastard I’ve ever seen. He’ll kill me. I’m not leaving this room until you have him in custody.”
FORTY-TWO
Phil kept the large-screen television replaying her most private life while he bandaged her leg. Claire was numb inside. Her privacy, which had been so important to her especially since her father’s conviction, had been violated in ways she’d never imagined.
This psychopath-someone she’d thought was a friend-had watched her for years. Getting undressed. Sleeping. Stretching. Doing crunches and push-ups and leg-lifts in her bra and panties. When Claire had thought she was alone.
Bile rose to her throat. Her life wasn’t hers. He’d sullied it, every private moment. Her tears. Her laughter. Her friends. He’d watched her dress and undress. He’d seen her naked. He’d seen her try on new clothes, new bras, looking critically at her body in the mirror.
“How long?” Her voice was hollow.
“Long enough. I couldn’t find a place for the camera in your McKinley Park house, not a well concealed place. And it was a lot harder getting in there undetected.”
But Bill’s house, and her first apartment.
The men she’d dated. Oh God, she’d slept with men in her bed. And Phil watched.
Ian walked into her room on-screen. Ian Clark, her first serious boyfriend.
“You saw everything?” she whispered.
“When you were nineteen you brought that boy home and gave him your virginity.”
He slapped her so hard that her head whipped to the side.
He fast-forwarded the disk, then pressed play when it reached a spot he obviously anticipated. She was naked in bed going through the awkward motions of her first sexual encounter. They had both been seniors. Two days later, Ian had broken up with her for no reason. At least no good reason, nothing she understood at the time.
Ian had hurt her more than anyone. . until Mitch. But what she’d felt for her first boyfriend was nothing compared to the complex emotions she had for Mitch. Mitch had touched a part of her she hadn’t seen or felt before. He’d brought out a better Claire, better all the way around because Mitch was the first person she had truly been herself with.
But he’d lied to her. Just like Ian, just like. .
But her father hadn’t lied. He’d told the truth and she hadn’t believed him. Claire had seen what she wanted to see, the obvious, and blamed him.
She’d looked at the facts with Mitch, at the obvious, and accused him of using and manipulating her. And he had lied. . but had he lied about what was most important? Had he lied about his feelings?
Did he love her like she loved him?
What was going to happen if he found her dead? After what she’d said to him. After he poured his heart out to her. She’d been angry with him, but mostly she’d been hurt. Hurt because she loved him so deeply.
More than anything, Claire wanted to live. She knew what Phil was doing. He was playing a psychological game to strip her of her spirit and will. She hardened her heart, ignored what was on the screen, pushed aside the theft of her privacy.
“Did you have anything to do with Ian breaking up with me?”
“He made his own choice. The right one.”
“But you pushed him?”
“I’ve always protected you.”
“You’re sick.”
He sighed. “I know.”
That was the last answer she expected.
“You pushed Dave to tell me about Mitch.”
“I didn’t know he was a Fed. That was unfortunate. But Dave took care of it. I knew he would.”
“Dave trusted you. I trusted you!”
“Then you only have yourself to blame for what’s about to happen.”
He finished taping her leg. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore. She certainly wouldn’t be able to run from him. He’d taken off her jeans, but he hadn’t touched her anywhere but her leg.
Her only hope was to find a weapon. Disarm him, perhaps, and shoot him. She’d have to shoot him. Could
