Текст книги "Judas Kiss"

Автор книги: J. T. Ellison

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Baldwin had worked himself into a state. Taylor hadn’t answered her cell phone for hours, Aiden was still on the loose somewhere local, and the television spewed rumor and innuendo about his lover on every channel. If faced with an opponent at this moment, he Judas Kiss

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felt fairly sure he’d be able to wring his neck with little trouble.

It was near midnight when his cell phone finally rang. Thank God, it was her. He answered the phone, short and sharp.

“Jesus, Taylor, where have you been? You scared the hell out of me.”

He heard the thickness in her voice, like she’d been crying recently. It broke his heart. Not a characteristic that was common to his woman. Weakness wasn’t her style.

She spoke softly. “Don’t yell at me, okay? I’m fine. I’m heading home. I need sleep. I need to figure out what I’m going to do. I’m tired. Are you there?”

“I am.” He softened his tone. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” came the flat reply. “I could use a cigarette, though.”

He gave a half laugh. “Okay. I can probably arrange that, you have a pack stashed around here somewhere. Just drive safe, all right? I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Bye,” she said, and she was gone. All the breath left him in a hurry. He hadn’t realized just how worried he was for her until he knew she was okay.

Damn. How could things have gone so far south so quickly? It was barely twenty-four hours since she’d called and told him of the sex tapes. Now they were all over the news, in addition to the one showing Taylor shooting David Martin. He felt certain he could discredit that video easily, he had people working on it already. It seemed an audio track had been added that made it sound like Martin was begging for his life. Easily proven. But the damage of Taylor being forced to hand in her badge would take longer to undo. 278

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He saw lights angle into the front window. He snapped off the television midreport, went to the garage and opened the door. He smiled when she came into the warmly lit room. Her hair stood on end, her nose was slightly red. Her gray eyes were stormy, a furious tempest raging in their depths.

“Who’s the porcupine now,” he asked, taking her into his arms. She sighed, not rising to the tease. Her back was ramrod-straight, her muscles clenched. He ached for her, wondered if he should try to talk or take her straight to bed. Instead, her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Let me make you something,” he said.

“No, really. I’m okay.” Her heart wasn’t in it, she sounded decidedly absent. He released her. Ignoring her protestations, he went ahead and opened a can of soup, warmed the oven for bread. She stood woodenly at the sink, staring out into the backyard. The soup heated quickly. He poured a cup, set it and half of a sliced baguette on the table, then prodded her to the seat. He was struck by a memory of his mother, easing him into a chair after appendix surgery in junior high. Her cosseting had upset him, so he took the lesson to heart and stepped away, allowing Taylor to reach for the spoon without condemnation. A few more moments passed. He let the silence linger, then poured a cup of soup for himself and sat across from Taylor at the table.

She finally spoke. “I keep trying to build a future, and the past won’t let me. Martin, L’Uomo, my idiot parents. Every time I take a step forward, something happens to slam me back. I don’t get it.”

Her tone had changed to quiet resignation. Arguing Judas Kiss

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her success was fruitless now, he knew that. He decided to try a different tack.

“Do you want to hear what’s going on, or would you rather not?”

She looked at him, a fine spark of curiosity crossing her features. That’s my girl, he thought. She sighed deeply, then dipped her bread in the soup and began eating. “Oh, it’s hot.” She dropped the bread back on the plate, laid the spoon down. “You might as well tell me. It’s not likely to go away just because I’m avoiding it.”

“No, it’s not. But I think I can help.”

“I don’t know about that, babe. I might’ve just fucked things up for good.” That uncharacteristic note of fragility was back, and Baldwin longed to comfort her.

“Hardly. I have a friend working on the tape of David Martin’s shooting. She’s already found several dubbing marks, so we should be able to discredit that accusation by morning. As for the others, I spent some time with Lincoln after you left. He wants you to call him, by the way.” He gestured toward his cell phone, but she shook her head.

“Later,” she said.

“Okay. He gave me all of his data and I fed it to another friend, the one I told you was working on a similar case. He’s already tracked down the owners of the Web site and had it pulled from the Net. No new tapes will show up.”

“Oh, crap. The girls!”

“Huh?”

“I was supposed to go over to the cabin, look for any cameras that might be there. I fell asleep last night, and 280

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forgot this morning, with all this…mess.” The bitterness in her voice was unfamiliar.

“They called. They went through everything and found a couple of minicams, right in the vents where you suggested they look. Your crime scene tech, Tim Davis, has already collected them and taken them back for analysis. I’m having them sent to Sherry Alexander, she’s the friend I mentioned who’s working on the tapes. If anyone can find a route back to their owners, it’s her.”

Taylor nodded, her hair swinging forward to cover her face. Impatiently, she started to wind it back into a ponytail, then stopped. Her arms dropped to her side as exhaustion overcame her.

“Still want that cigarette?” he asked.

Taylor shook her head. “Hon, I need to go to bed. Take me?”

“Of course.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. He intended to be tender, to gently raise her to her feet, brush her lips with his, but the proximity of her body coupled with this strange vulnerability was too much for him. He kissed her roughly. She responded, arms wrapped around him like a vise, and for a moment he wondered if they’d even make it upstairs. The kiss deepened and he felt himself harden. She grabbed his hand and led him from the kitchen. He turned off the light as they went.

Friday

Thirty

Taylor woke at 5:00 a.m. The barest hint of light nudged at the blinds, day trying to force its way into their bedroom. She glanced at Baldwin—he was lying on his back, naked, arms flung over his head. She rolled toward him, snuggling in to his bare chest. His arms came round her body automatically, their warmth and safety allowing her to close her eyes again. She was just drifting back to sleep when the phone rang. They both jumped. She glanced at the clock, more time had passed than she thought. It was now sixforty.

“You get it. I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she said. Baldwin groaned, then unhanded her and reached for the phone. She curled up on her side, strangely happy. After everything that happened yesterday, the knowledge that he was here with her made the bad stuff seem less important.

Baldwin rumbled hello into the phone, sounding so hoarse and male that it warmed her insides. A few seconds later he stiffened, then sat up, pulling the sheet 284

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with him. He reached for the television remote, clicking it on and turning the station to MSNBC. He nudged her in the back. She rolled to him, and he pointed at the TV. He turned the sound up, and her heart sank. A blonde wearing a well-cut cream suit and a New York newscaster bob was in a split screen with Michelle Harris. Concern was etched across her artificially smooth forehead.

“Miss Harris, you’re telling us that the Metro Nashville Police have mishandled your sister’s murder investigation? It was our understanding that a suspect has been arrested in the case, your brother-in-law, is that correct?”

“That’s true, they have arrested Todd. But after the situation yesterday, I can’t be sure that he was the right person to arrest. If the police can’t be trusted not to kill their own, how could they possibly arrest the right man?”

“Oh, God,” Taylor said.

The blonde pursed her lips and tapped a pen against them, looking pensive. “Ms. Harris, is there something that you’ve discovered that questions the veracity of the arrest?”

Michelle looked confused for a moment, and Taylor realized she didn’t know the meaning of the word veracity. A moment of pity overcame her and just as quickly fled when Michelle spoke again.

“All I know is that this investigation has been a mess from the word go. And to top it all off, the woman leading the charge has been on the news here because of her sordid private life.”

A malicious smile spread across Michelle’s face. Taylor thought don’t do it. Michelle ignored the silent plea. Judas Kiss

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“It was all over the news last night, those disgusting tapes of her having sex with her partner, then shooting him to death in cold blood. What kind of person does that? And how can the Nashville police leave her on the job?”

“An excellent point, Ms. Harris. Representatives from the Metro Nashville police have confirmed to MSNBC that Lieutenant Taylor Jackson has been relieved of duty pending an investigation into her actions.”

Taylor’s stomach turned. “Oh, Jesus. I think I’m going to throw up.”

Baldwin started to turn the television off. His face, unguarded for a moment, was contorted with anger.

“We will sue the living shit out of them for that, babe. Don’t worry for a minute. They have no right—”

“Wait, shhh. Stop, stop, don’t turn that off. What’s she saying?”

The blonde had finished her character assassination of Taylor and gone back to the matter at hand. “Now, tell me, Ms. Harris, what did you find last night that convinces you that this investigation is being mishandled?”

Michelle Harris gleamed. She held up a sheaf of papers and shook them. The rustling was amplified, she’d gotten the papers directly next to the mike that was clipped to the top of her blouse. “That detective on the case, the lieutenant, she’s got a history of brutality. I have a friend who told me she has been cited several times in the past for over-the-top violence against suspects. She’s killed more people than anyone on the police force. It’s all right here.”

The anchor was beside herself with glee. “We need 286

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to take a break, please stay with us.” The screen went to commercial and Baldwin hit mute. Taylor already had the phone in her hand.

“Whoa, who are you calling?”

Taylor stopped, then set the phone back in the cradle.

“Work. Fitz. Someone. I don’t know. I can’t believe she’d go on the news and say that. Where is she getting her information?”

“That’s an excellent question. Mischaracterized as it may be, that’s damaging.”

Taylor started to pace. “I figured she was a fame seeker the second she started doing the talk shows. Corinne was the favorite, Michelle was the one in the family who always felt outcast. I’ve assumed this is her way of getting some attention—first going on everywhere to talk about finding the body, the 911 tapes, and now this. Something isn’t quite right with Miss Michelle, I’ll tell you that right now. No way, José.” She grabbed the phone again.

“Taylor,” Baldwin said.

She continued dialing, setting the phone between her shoulder and her ear, looking for a pad she kept on the night table to write some quick notes.

“What?”

“Babe, you can’t do that. You need to let me handle it.”

“Of course I can. What do you—” The realization hit her. She stopped short, nearly fell back in the bed with the weight of it.

She had no badge. She was suspended. Without her shield, she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop this. Anger rose to the surface. That damn bitch Norris. The phone was answered on the other end. Taylor Judas Kiss

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murmured, “Wrong number.” She hung up the handset, looked at Baldwin.

“I can’t just sit by and let this slide, Baldwin. I have to do something. What do they expect, I’ll sit here like a good little girl while they submarine my career?”

“Honey, you’re going to have to do just that. Let me handle this. We’ll be able to prove your innocence in no time, but while that’s happening, you need to keep out of it. Keep your nose clean. Though I admit, I’m not comfortable letting you sit here unguarded. Aiden is still out there. He’s not happy with me.”

Great. An international psycho camped in her backyard, her shield and gun confiscated, a case breaking wide open, and she needed to keep her nose clean. Right.

Baldwin climbed out of the bed. “I’m going to take a shower and head downtown. Let me think about how to keep you protected.”

“I don’t need protecting, Baldwin. For God’s sake, I’m a cop. I have weapons. We have the alarm. Aiden isn’t going to get anywhere near me again.”

He turned to her, sat back down on the edge of the bed. She slid closer, rested her head on his shoulder. She didn’t want someone else protecting her. Between the two of them, they could handle anything.

“Babe,” he started again, softer this time. “You need to understand my position. Aiden is a cunning bastard. He’s been killing with impunity for years, practically sanctioned by my own actions on his behalf. He doesn’t lie down, and he doesn’t give up. He has a real vendetta against me. I had him banned from the States. He had a mother, a wife, if you can imagine that. He tries to get home to…see them, and so far I’ve been able to 288

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head that off. Five years, actually, that I’ve kept him from his family. Now that he’s here, I have to get them protected.”

“See them. You mean kill them.”

“Not exactly. His mother is still alive, but in a mental institution in Rhode Island. His wife, that’s more complicated. His wife was the one who turned him in originally, back in 2006. She caught him up to his elbows, literally, in the stomach of a prostitute in Berlin. Didn’t know what to do, so she ran. Went to the consulate, told them about it. I was called in soon after that—once the information filtered up the chain, my contact was made aware of the situation. Aiden had gone off our grid, was

‘working on his own,’ as they like to say.” He was silent for a second, and she started to talk, but he squeezed her arm.

“I know what you’re going to ask. Why would he come after you?”

She nodded.

“There was nothing for him to prey upon with me. As an adversary, Aiden has always had a level of, well, let’s call it respect for me. And I, him. He’s one of the most complex killers I’ve ever profiled. He makes Ted Bundy look like a charm school dropout. But now…I have you. I’m finally vulnerable. Prevailing wisdom is he may have seen us in Italy, that’s the only way we can imagine he would have known the level of emotion at stake for me now. Killing me doesn’t serve his interests. Killing you would make me suffer in unimaginable ways. That’s how he works. Problem was, we weren’t sure of his intentions, not all the way, until he showed up here.”

He squeezed her arm again. “There’s more you Judas Kiss

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should know.” He got up, slipped on his boxers and sat in the chair across from the bed. The fact that he’d severed physical contact was disconcerting. Taylor had the feeling she was playing confessor to his sins. She was right.

“I killed Aiden’s wife.”

Taylor felt her eyes widen. “What do you mean, you killed his wife?”

Baldwin sank his head into his hands for a moment, hiding his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and met her eye.

“It was an accident. A terrible accident. She came after me and I shot her. It was self-defense. At least, that’s what Garrett called it. I think I could have handled things differently. She was a woman, weaker than me. I should have been able to fight her off. But she blamed me for Aiden’s issues. Accused me of making him into the monster he’d become.

“After she caught him with the prostitute, she decided she wanted help. I managed to slip her out of the country, right under Aiden’s nose. I knew he was going to come for her, he’d promised me he’d kill her. When he came to her we’d just gotten her out. We had her stashed in a safe house in Vienna, and he found the address. I got the warning just before he showed up, got Lucy out of the house no more than five minutes before he arrived.

“And then it went all wrong. Without telling us, Lucy had arranged for Aiden to come. She wanted to be with him, was helping conspire to take us down. I can’t imagine what she was thinking, she’d just seen her husband slaughtering a woman. Aiden got to her somehow.

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leave. Was making excuses we ignored. In the car, she pulled a knife, attacked me. I was caught by surprise, reacted. I shot her in the leg, trying to stop her. Hit an artery. She bled out before I could get her to a hospital.”

Jesus. “And Aiden hasn’t forgiven you.”

“No. I took her from him. She was buried here in the States and he hasn’t been able to see her grave. He swore he would make my life as big a living hell as his. That’s why I’ve never gotten so close to anyone before. Now, there’s you. I couldn’t help myself. You became my world. And he knows it.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped, searching her face. Taylor could feel the waves of frustration coming off him. She went to him, knelt in front of him, took his hands in hers. “Oh, Baldwin. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what you were up against. What can I do?”

“You can let me keep you safe. I failed Lucy. I refuse to fail you, too.”

He reached for her, and they both stood up. He kissed her fiercely, with a hunger that made her stomach clench and her head swim. The stubble on his chin scraped hers, she didn’t care. She wanted more, raked her nails down his back. He pulled his boxers off with one hand and they were on the bed in a flash. He thrust into her with a single stroke and the world shrank away. No tragedies, no serial killers, no failures. There was nothing but him, filling her, claiming her, crushing her in his arms with brute strength, their frustration and hurt bringing them both to a climax within moments. Getting up for the second time that morning, Taylor made a decision.

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Baldwin had showered and left her blushing in their room. Good grief, that man was insatiable. There was something so joyous in their passion; even when their mutual moods were down they could always find solace in each other’s arms. He’d given her strict instructions not to leave the house, left an armed guard at the door and had patrols rolling through the neighborhood. Fuss, fuss, fuss. She was no stranger to dangerous criminals, knew she could hold her own if need be. Being aware was nine-tenths of the law when it came to being hunted. Not being where you were expected to be also helped. And that’s exactly what she planned to do.

No one knew about the conversation she’d had with Jasmine on Wednesday. Thalia Abbott was at St. Ann’s. She could swing by there after she went to see Ellen Ricard, who was expecting her to come by at eight. She invited the guard in for coffee, explained her intentions. She made it clear that he had no choice and made him swear not to tell Baldwin she had left. Give me two hours, she told him, then I’ll be back and be a good girl.

When she rolled out of the garage, she was whistling. They may take her badge, but damn it, they weren’t going to stop her investigation of these crimes. Her conscience kept trying to get her attention, but she ignored the little voice in her head that said to go back home, nestle in with a good book, and let Baldwin handle things. When had she ever trusted a man to take care of her? Never. It wasn’t that she was thumbing her nose at him, but somewhere, she subconsciously wanted 292

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to prove to him that she was the tough girl he thought her. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She watched for cars following her, but saw nothing that gave her the slightest bit of concern. So far, when Aiden was around, she’d always been able to tell. He set off her warning systems; all her antediluvian adrenaline caches pushed into the red zone whenever he was in proximity. She trusted that wouldn’t change. His wife’s grave. Baldwin had said that Aiden had a twofold plan—ruin Baldwin’s life and see his dead wife. She’d forgotten to ask where Lucy was buried. Maybe Aiden had decided to slip off and commune with her spirit before garroting Taylor’s throat. The drive downtown was uneventful and she pulled in to the parking garage under the building. It was dark and gloomy. She wondered briefly if she should go ahead and park at the meters on the street. Deciding that would be the smart thing to do—see, Baldwin, I’m not a total idiot—she wound her way back up the ramps and onto West End. She found a spot on a meter that had a sign saying she could park there starting at 8:00 a.m. She looked at her watch. Seven forty-five. Close enough. What would they do, give her a ticket?

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Baldwin had her spooked enough to watch her back, that was for sure. The thought that Aiden had taken off once he knew Baldwin was in town came back, stronger than before. It made sense. Wishful thinking, probably, but hey, a girl could dream. What would life be like if they weren’t chasing madmen? Boring and staid, definitely.

In the lobby, a black lacquered sign listed Dr. Ellen Ricard’s office on the eighth floor. There was a Judas Kiss

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communal bustle toward the elevators—patients, receptionist, the odd nurse in blue scrubs coming in with coffee from the nearby West End Starbucks. Taylor moved into the scrum and took her place in the elevator. Dr. Ricard’s office was at the end of the long hallway on the right, next to an emergency stairwell. Taylor entered, a discreet ding announcing her presence. The office was finely decorated—a red and gold patterned Aubusson rug took up almost all the floor space, making the matching textured impressionist oils by local artist Jennifer Wilken stand out against the creamy walls. The furniture was thick, square and suede. A glass coffee table held Town and Country magazines, and the place smelled slightly of Chanel perfume.

Alerted by the door’s subtle chime, Dr. Ricard emerged from an interior room. She had shoulderlength silver hair that didn’t match her youthful face. Square black glasses, minimal makeup, black knit pants with a deep-cut black-and-white silk top—Ricard was an odd mixture of hippie and hip. She couldn’t be more than forty, but Taylor wasn’t very good with ages. Ricard crossed the room and held out her hand. Taylor shook it, then followed when the doctor gestured, leading the way into her inner sanctum. The room was filled with sunlight—facing east, the early morning sun spilled through the windows, lending an air of good cheer to the surroundings. Two heavy couches faced one another across a second art deco glass coffee table; a large wing chair covered in black velvet bore the markings of frequent use. Sure enough, Ricard crossed the room, curled like a cat with her feet tucked under her, laid the notepad and pen on 294

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the coffee table and indicated Taylor should sit with a nod of her head. Taylor did, amazed at the control the woman exuded without even speaking. After a moment, the doctor spoke, her accented voice making Taylor feel like she was on a museum tour in Great Britain.

“I’m Ellen Ricard, but you already know that. How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Straight to business. All right. “Corinne Wolff. She was a patient of yours. I was hoping you’d tell me why.”

“If you know she was a patient, then you know that I’m not bound to tell you anything about our private sessions. But, I am sorry that we’ve lost her. Corinne was a magnificent girl.”

“Then help me find out who killed her, Doctor.”

“Isn’t that readily apparent, Lieutenant? Two days out and you already had a suspect in custody.”

“That’s true, but I don’t think it’s a foregone conclusion that Todd killed Corinne. Yes, he’s been arrested because there’s evidence condemning him, but the investigation into his actions is far from complete. That’s not why I’m here. I understand that Corinne and her husband were…open with their sexuality.”

“Be that as it may. It’s you who isn’t sure. You don’t want to be responsible if he is innocent.”

“You’re right, I’m not convinced. I’m not careless with people’s lives, regardless of their choices. And stop psychoanalyzing me. I’m not a patient, I’m trying to get some answers.”

Ricard finally smiled, and relaxed in the chair. “All right, Lieutenant. I’ll stop playing games if you will.”

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Taylor wasn’t sure what to make of the good doctor. Was this going anywhere, or was she just spinning her wheels?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ricard steepled her fingers, tapping her two forefingers together. “It means I saw the news this morning. That you’d been suspended. Is this true, or did you get reinstated five minutes ago?”

Taylor slid farther into the sofa cushions, miserable. Damn. Ricard waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t care, Lieutenant. I’ve seen the tapes.”

Taylor blanched, but Ricard continued, not warmly, but with a certain sense of shared camaraderie.

“Don’t worry. It’s blatantly obvious that someone is upset with you and trying to ruin your reputation. I’ve been through that kind of crap myself. Intimidation, coercion. Don’t let them get you down. But in all honesty, none of that matters here. I see that you’re true in your desire to find Corinne’s real killer. The fire in your eyes is unmistakable.” She smiled, the first kind look that had crossed her face since Taylor entered her sanctum.

“This will have to be off the record, though. Surely you understand. If I’m going to divulge secrets of a patient to an unfrocked police officer, I can only speak hypothetically.”

Taylor searched Ricard’s face for signs of mocking, and found none. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t like she could march into headquarters and announce she’d solved the case anyway. No, better to take the doctor at her word, listen to what she said, glean as much information as possible.

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“I understand. That’s fine. I’m just curious why someone as controlled and secure as Corinne Wolff would fall apart like she did. For her to be taking prescription anti-anxiety medication during a pregnancy seems wholly out of character, and if it’s a clue that will help me discover if it’s her husband, or someone else, who killed her…”

Ricard was nodding, so Taylor stopped and let the woman gather her thoughts.

“You know a lot about her already. A thorough victimology, I presume?”

“I’m trying to build an accurate victimology. Corinne seemed to be a woman with two distinct personalities. On one side, the suburban housewife and mother, the former tennis wunderkind, the short-lived businesswoman. The other side was apparently out of control, desperately searching for happiness and pleasure. I’d like to find out why this woman had two sides that were so extreme.”

“We all have two sides, Lieutenant. The persona we adopt for our fellow man, and the self that we keep hidden, the real part of us that allows the core to make judgments and derive pleasure from our actions. You can’t tell me you’re the same person at home, in private, that you are in public. Simply being a woman in a man’s position would preclude you from showing any normal weakness or vulnerability on the job.”

“I’m hardly a woman in a man’s position, Doctor. And yes, I am the same woman at work as I am at home. What you see is what you get.”

Ricard smiled, her lips thinning. The woman didn’t like being challenged.

“Really? How many female lieutenants are there in the police force these days?”

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“Plenty.”

“And do they have field jobs or administrative posts?”

“In Metro? Administrative. I’m the only lieutenant in the field.”

“And I bet you have the respect of your team. That you never show them how deep down you wish you could relinquish control and allow them to care for you.”

“Oh, you’re wrong there. We are a team. We work together, and I surrender to them all the time. If I didn’t they’d never trust me.”

“And you have a man at home?”

“Yes.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s with the FBI. He’s…”

“Yes?”

“He’s in the middle of an investigation and keeping certain aspects of the case from me. He wants to protect me, and I don’t need protecting.” Shut up already, Taylor. This chick was good.

Taylor continued. “But that’s neither here nor there, Doctor. It has nothing to do with Corinne Wolff.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re so very wrong. Corinne also operated under the misapprehension that she was in complete control of her life. That the choices she made were her choices. That she engaged in distasteful behavior because she wanted to. But in reality, there’s always a part of a woman that wants to be cherished and protected, not subjected to multiple sex partners. Much less have those most intimate moments sold to the highest bidder.”

Taylor looked at Ricard. Behind the glasses, the 298

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mask of cool reserve, Taylor saw a shrewd woman. Taylor made sure her own face revealed nothing but cool interest in Corinne Wolff.

“So you’re saying Corinne is a victim?”

“In a way. Corinne, unhappily, is no longer with us to verify that she felt abused by her husband’s proclivities. You, on the other hand, are early enough in the game that you can steel yourself to the accusations against you, knowing deep in your heart you’ve done nothing wrong. Corinne didn’t have your fortitude, I believe. She was easily led. Instead of fighting, she acquiesced. Allowed herself to be used.”

“I’m not a victim, Dr. Ricard. That’s where Corinne and I differ. I’d appreciate you keeping this discussion strictly about her, please. Was she being used by her husband?”

Ricard looked amused for a moment, then nodded and continued. “Corinne was being used by many people. Husband, family, siblings, lover. You’ll hit upon the truth soon enough, Lieutenant. Let’s talk for a bit about the anxiety a young mother might feel if she were in a position similar to Corinne Wolff.”