Fear Nothing: A Detective

by Lisa Gardner

  Alex had come with D.D. Phil as well. They huddled off to one side, a somber trio, listening to a minister’s highly impersonal service, before the casket was lowered and the first clod of earth followed.

  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more. About the cameras, the mason jars, the final twenty-four hours when I realized what the Rose Killer was planning, but also what I was capable of as well.

  As we discussed, everyone has triggers. It turns out, a smaller, defenseless victim triggers the good in my sister, Shana, while a raging killer triggers the evil in me.

  Shana Day had been buried the day before. A simple wooden casket, another hole in the ground. Apparently, Adeline had found the markers for her parents’ graves years ago and made the arrangements to expand the family plot.

  Mrs. Davies had attended. Her presence hadn’t surprised D.D. The older woman had walked right up to the casket and whispered a few words. Nothing D.D. could hear, but she’d bet money the woman had finally delivered her apology, necessary or not.

  I took a calculated risk breaking my sister out of prison. I gambled on her trigger being as strong as mine. But more, I gambled on our connection. That all these years later, we had forged a bond. We were sisters.

  And together, we would make our last stand.

  In the days since the bloody scene in Adeline’s apartment, Phil and Neil had kept busy processing Charlie Sgarzi’s apartment. In a locked file cabinet, they’d found copious notes, photos and other research material that had gone into the making of the Rose Killer. Surveillance videos of his victims. Website printouts on proper chloroform dosages. Handwritten logs tracking each victim’s schedule as he performed his reconnaissance. They even found newspaper clippings on D.D., as well as a fuzzy photo of her at the second crime scene. Best Phil could tell, Charlie had stumbled upon her by accident at the home of the first victim. But being a true-crime aficionado, he’d immediately recognized her as the lead investigator from several high-profile local cases. In that instant, he’d made his decision. The Rose Killer would take on Boston’s best detective. A duel of equals, a battle of wits. Apparently, according to Charlie’s notes, the stuff great drama was made of.

  D.D. would like the record to show that she’d won. Except, now no book would ever be written.

  If you’re reading this, I hope that the Rose Killer is now dead. Slain by Shana’s hand, if not my own. I would like to think that would be the end of the violence, but of course, that’s not to be.

  I have a hobby. I’ve never told anyone about it. It involves seducing men, then removing a small sliver of skin from their backs while they sleep. And yes, I preserve my souvenirs in formaldehyde, tucked beneath my closet floor.

  Doctor, heal thyself, you think. Trust me, over the years I’ve sworn to stop, demanded of myself to be the person my adoptive father wanted me to be. But the little girl who spent the first year of her life sleeping on top of the world’s most gruesome collection of trophies simply can’t let go. She is the ultimate Exile, and all these years later, she is still demanding to be heard.

  The service was wrapping up. Superintendent McKinnon walked over, looking especially regal in a severely tailored black suit.

  “Detectives,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Superintendent.”

  D.D. had personally met with the superintendent just the day before. Not at the MCI but over coffee. Two women, sharing memories of an old friend.

  The superintendent’s feelings had been hurt by Adeline’s actions. It had taken until that moment for D.D. to realize that’s how she’d felt, too. Why hadn’t Adeline trusted more, asked for help, ever told either of them what was going on?

  D.D. would’ve personally stayed over at Adeline’s condo if it would’ve made a difference. The superintendent muttered she might have been able to clear Shana for a family-emergency furlough, something. If they’d just known . . .

  But Adeline had not confided in either of them. Instead, she’d formed a plan on her own. Leaving D.D. and the superintendent to sort through the wreckage of the aftermath.

  “Things finally quieting down?” D.D. asked Superintendent McKinnon now.

  “I think the reporters almost believe I have nothing to say.”

  “What about the talk shows?”

  McKinnon shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Initial demand has already passed. An escaped killer on the loose is exciting. One that’s now dead and buried . . . not so much.”

  D.D. nodded. She understood what the superintendent wasn’t saying. That a highly dysfunctional relationship was still a relationship. After spending ten years managing, worrying and stressing over Shana Day, to have her just be gone . . . It left a mark, whether you wanted it to or not.

  “How’s your shoulder?” McKinnon asked.

  “Look.” D.D. gingerly raised her left arm. Not pretty, but better.

  “Great!”

  “Yep, anytime now I’ll be back to cracking heads and taking names. Or at least terrorizing my fellow detectives.”

  Beside her, Phil smiled. He’d missed her being on the job. Neil, too. She could tell.

  The superintendent waved in farewell, then worked her way across the cemetery toward her car. Phil’s cell phone was already vibrating at his waist. He unclipped it from his waistband, walking off.

  D.D. and Alex stood alone.

  I know, Detective Warren, that had I asked, you would’ve helped me, too. You would’ve summoned the cavalry, girded your loins and waded into battle on my behalf.

  Thank you for your faith in me.

  But in truth, I’ve been lucky to have lived this long. A woman with my condition, I should’ve succumbed to infection or some other injury long ago. The constant diligence preached by my adoptive father saved me, but maybe it doomed me, as well. I spend night after night inspecting my own skin, while diligently denying myself even the simplest of life’s pleasures, a walk on a beach, a hike in the mountains, a crazy night out on the town.

  And for what? The lover I’ve never taken? The kids I’ve never had? The life I’ve never truly led?

  I’m tired, D.D. I’ve been isolated too long by a condition that sounds like a blessing but is ultimately a curse. I’ve lost my connection to humanity. I’ve lost my sense of self.

  Alex remained patiently waiting. D.D. leaned against him, not quite ready to leave the graveside but not sure why.

  “Adeline left her entire estate to a children’s service agency,” she commented now. “And we’re talking a considerable sum of money. Apparently Adeline was pretty successful, not to mention what she’d inherited from her adoptive father.”

  “It stands to reason she’d want other children to have a better chance,” Alex said.

  “You mean, better than her and her sister.”

  “Adeline confused making a bad choice with being a bad person,” Alex supplied reasonably. “Maybe because bad choices were her family legacy, so she only needed to mess up once to decide the exception proved the norm. But she’d been granted a huge opportunity when she was adopted, and she used it to build a real life. She was intelligent, empathetic, valued. Even when she went off the rails . . .” Alex shrugged.

  D.D. understood what he was trying to say. “You had to like her style. I mean, the look that had to have been on Charlie Sgarzi’s face when he saw Shana standing there . . . I hope it was worth it.”

  “She helped you,” Alex said somberly. “For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

  “You know, you get older, acquire more aches and pains, then of course, do something stupid to wind up injured like I did, and it’s easy to be bitter. I didn’t want to hurt. Or slow down. Or feel so . . . weak. But Adeline was right: Melvin is looking out for me. And pain brings us together. A shared building block of the human experience. Adeline never got to feel that bond. In the end, it got to her.”

  “Do you think he
r sister loved her?” Alex asked. “It’s what Adeline wanted, but after everything she did, is it what she got?”

  “I don’t know. Adeline herself stated enough times that Shana wasn’t capable of such emotions. Then again . . . They knew each other, I think, understood each other in a way other people never could. Even if Adeline didn’t magically feel sisterly love, I bet she felt less alone with Shana by her side. And for Adeline, I would think that would be enough.”

  Alex nodded. They remained standing there a moment longer, the backhoe now in play, summarily filling the grave with dirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  D.D. wanted to say something. Felt she should say something, but what? She hadn’t known Adeline that long, or obviously, that well. And yet still, she mourned the woman’s loss.

  “Thank you,” she whispered at last, head tucked against Alex’s shoulder. “For what you had to teach and for what you helped me learn. And no, I still don’t approve of what you did, Adeline, but I do understand. I hope it was worth it for you. I hope you and your sister did stand side by side, and for that moment, you finally felt as if you belonged. As if you had family. And now . . . Peace, Adeline. Peace.”

  D.D. straightened up, took a deep, cleansing breath. Her eyes were burning, but that was okay. Tears, like pain, were another great equalizer. And nothing the great D. D. Warren couldn’t handle.

  She kissed her husband on the cheek. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  Alex squeezed her hand. “Always.”

  D.D. smiled. She kept her hand in his, and together, they walked away.

  If you’re reading this letter, Detective Warren, then my story is done and I no longer have to be afraid of the dark.

  My sister and I have finished our dance. Two lost souls, finally connecting when it mattered most.

  Now, I picture us as little girls again. A four-year-old big sister, a nearly one-year-old baby. We are holding each other’s hands and we are smiling.

  We are about to do what we’ve waited forty years to do.

  Shana will take the first step.

  And I will follow. As we step out of the shadows of our parents’ house. As we walk away from our father’s legacy of horror.

  As together, two sisters finally head into the light.

  Acknowledgments

  This book was an interesting and personal journey for me. As someone with a bad back, I’ve spent the past ten years learning much about various pain management theories, techniques and treatments. Like D.D., I was initially skeptical of the Internal Family Systems model and this whole naming-your-pain business. And yet, like D.D., I’ve learned that the strangest things can help, and talking to your pain is certainly more productive than cursing it. For that, I would like to thank Benita Silver, clinical psychologist, who provided Adeline with her expertise in Internal Family Systems therapy. Please understand that any mistakes in Adeline’s explanation of the model and therapy are mine and mine alone.

  Also, after years of helping rebuild my back, chiropractor Shawn Taylor seemed to take gleeful delight in maiming the legendary Detective D. D. Warren. With the help of his wife, Larissa, he devised her extremely rare and painful avulsion fracture. Physical therapist Gary Tilton then assisted with the proper recovery program. Again, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

  Next, my deepest appreciation to Wayne Rock, retired Boston detective and longtime friend, for helping me understand how the BPD would handle an injured detective, not to mention one who’d discharged her weapon. Thanks, Wayne, and yes, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. There’ve gotta be some perks to being the author!

  Being one of those people who aren’t terribly comfortable in funeral homes, I had a lot to learn about proper practices and licensing in Massachusetts. Thank you, Bob Scatamacchia, for patiently explaining the inner workings of a funeral home as well as basic embalming techniques. It’s one of those businesses no one likes to talk about, and yet we’ll all need in the end. Thank you, Bob!

  Speaking of death, Tonya Creighton was selected this year’s winner of the annual Kill a Friend, Maim a Buddy Sweepstakes at LisaGardner.com. She nominated Christi Willey for a star-making turn as a prison parolee.

  Dawn Whiteside captured the honors for the global sweepstakes, Kill a Friend, Maim a Mate. She selected Christine Ryan to die, the first winner to appear on page one of a novel. Hope you both enjoy!

  Finally, Kim Beals won the rights to name a character at the annual Rozzie May Animal Alliance charity auction. She chose to honor her father, Daniel Coakley, a true gentleman, beloved by his family. Congratulations, Daniel!

  Once again my editors, Ben Sevier and Vicki Mellor, went out of their way to make this a better book. I’d like to say I got it all right the first time, but nope. On the other hand, thanks to a great editorial team, no one will ever be the wiser. I’m also deeply indebted to my agent, Meg Ruley, for her brilliant insights and practical guidance. In a business this crazy, it is good to have her by my side.

  Last but not least, my love to my amazing family, creative forces in their own right, who keep me on my toes and ensure that life will never be boring. Perfect!

  About the Author

  LISA GARDNER is the number one New York Times bestselling author of fifteen previous novels, including her most recent, Touch & Go. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include Catch Me, Love You More, and The Neighbor, which won the International Thriller of the Year Award. She lives with her family in New England.

  In 1864, E. P. Dutton & Co. bought the famous Old Corner Bookstore and its publishing division from Ticknor and Fields and began their storied publishing career. Mr. Edward Payson Dutton and his partner, Mr. Lemuel Ide, had started the company in Boston, Massachusetts, as a bookseller in 1852. Dutton expanded to New York City, and in 1869 opened both a bookstore and publishing house at 713 Broadway. In 2014, Dutton celebrates 150 years of publishing excellence. We have redesigned our longtime logotype to reflect the simple design of those earliest published books. For more information on the history of Dutton and its books and authors, please visit www.penguin.com/dutton.