Simon stroked her arm, knowing she had to be rattled by the fact Davenport had broken into her home. Hell, even he was still rattled, overcome with thoughts of what Davenport had been planning to do to Nina. None of them were pretty and even now he envisioned Nina’s torso bared, her back marred with bloody initials. Fighting back nausea, he took his hand off her arm and patted her back, hoping she wouldn’t notice that he was shaking. “Let’s see if he touched your stuff.”
She led him to her room. The last time he’d been in it, she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms. Now...
Nina’s horrified cry mingled with Simon’s ugly curse.
The letters BD were spray painted on her walls and on her pale bedspread.
Once again, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Doc. But if this doesn’t link him to the homeless murders, I’m not sure what will. I’ll get the stuff in your dresser. You grab what you need from your closet. But if anything looks like it’s been messed with, don’t touch it, okay?”
Shakily, Nina nodded and headed for her closet. As she extracted a suitcase and began filling it, Simon walked over to her dresser and examined a few of the items on top of it. Framed photos of her and Rachel. A ballerina music box. A bundle of swim team ribbons. A little teddy bear with a pink bow. Like the rag doll she carried in her purse, was the bear something she’d had as a child? Maybe even something that had belonged to her sister? But he wasn’t about to ask her that now, just as he hadn’t pressed her for details about her sister’s suicide. He already knew Rachel Whitaker had slit her wrists in the bathtub. The last thing Nina needed right now was to remember that.
He turned to her. “Bring casual and business clothes. In case you—” He broke off at the expression on her face. Her jaw had gone slack, her complexion ashen and the pupils of her eyes had dilated until they seemed almost black.
“Nina.” Simon took a step forward, but she shrank back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Nina took another step back and pointed a shaking finger. “The bear. On my dresser.”
“What is it? Isn’t it yours?”
She swallowed and wrapped an arm around her stomach, then bent at the knees, going into a low crouch. She gave a low moan of pain.
“Oh, Doc. Oh, no.” Immediately, he went to her and gathered her in his arms. With gentle movements, he stroked her hair as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, gasping for air. He murmured her name and held her tight until her breathing regulated.
“That’s how she did it,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“That’s how who did what?” he asked, but somehow he knew the answer.
“That’s how Beth killed herself. She used a pink ribbon from a teddy bear to strangle herself to death. That bear doesn’t belong to me. He brought it with him. Davenport. He left it here for me to find.”
* * *
SIMON WANTED TO RIP Davenport’s heart out through his rib cage, but right now Nina needed him. After she’d come close to collapsing in her bedroom, he’d held her until she stopped sobbing. Then he’d finished packing for her, throwing items from her dresser and closet into the suitcase she’d already pulled out. After that, he’d struggled with indecision. He’d been planning on leaving her in a hotel or at a friend’s house and following up with Davenport.
But at that moment, Nina had needed him more. She’d trusted him with her body. He was taking responsibility for her emotional well-being, too.
He’d bundled Nina and her overnight bag into the car and had taken off for his place.
Nina hadn’t argued. Didn’t even ask questions. That worried him. She wasn’t going to be able to take much more. Not with everything she’d already gone through.
On the way to his house, Simon called DeMarco and asked him to conduct Davenport’s interview, but DeMarco said Davenport had asked for an attorney. There would be no interviewing him until at least tomorrow.
That was good. That meant Simon could give Nina his full attention.
Now, in his guest room, he unpacked her items and put them away as she sat curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked utterly defeated. And that scared the shit out of him.
He sat next to her on the bed.
“I know he got into your house, Nina, even with the new security system in place, and I know that has to scare the shit out of you, but don’t let him into your mind. Don’t let him invade that space, too.”
“He already has,” she mumbled. “He’s been there for the past three years, reminding me of what happened. How I failed to stop it.”
“Then get him out. Shove him out of your mind. Put something else in there.”
“Like what?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Distract yourself with something.”
They stared at each other, remembering what they’d done earlier that day to distract her.
“Is that an invitation?” she asked.
When she placed a hand on his chest and flattened her palm over his pectoral muscle, the rest of the world faded away. Rational thought left the building. He saw only her. Smelled only her. Felt only her.
But he still managed to keep hold of some small measure of sense. He’d worried earlier that day that making love to her would be taking advantage of her. She’d convinced him that wouldn’t be the case. That she known full well what she’d wanted, and what she’d wanted was Simon. She might want him now, but this was different. She’d suffered one shock too many for him to even think about having sex with her.
“No, baby,” he said even as he clasped her hand in his. “We can’t. You’re too upset. That’s not what you need.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but Simon held on.
“Oh, yeah?” she challenged. “What do I need then?”
“You need me to hold you,” he said firmly. “All night. You need me to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That you’re going to be okay. And that I’m going to be here to make sure of it.”
She stared at him, lips trembling, blinking to fight back tears. Eventually, she took a deep breath. Swallowed hard. Then nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s what I need.”
So that’s exactly what Simon gave her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE NEXT DAY, SIMON interviewed Davenport at the SFPD while his attorney watched on. When Simon first walked into the small interrogation room, he did so with trepidation. He was afraid his personal feelings for Nina would prevent him from keeping his cool. That he’d want to hurt Davenport the same way the other man had hurt Nina. Not just in the recent past, but every year that he’d sent Nina a card, shattering her attempts to move on and live a happy life by reminding her again and again of his daughter’s death, and the fact Davenport held her responsible for it.
Instead, as he sat across from the man, noting how pale and subdued and pathetically small he looked, Simon’s anger was somehow transformed into the same professional calm that always served him well during interrogations. He began the interview by asking preliminary questions about Davenport’s date of birth, place of residence and employer. Sure, Davenport was calm and cooperative now, but he had no doubt that would change once Simon started asking him the tough questions. As such, he was glad Nina wouldn’t be around to hear whatever ugly accusations soon came out of Davenport’s mouth.
Though she’d insisted on coming with him to the station, and had already identified Davenport’s mug shot, confirming he was indeed the man whose daughter had died in her care and who had been sending her threatening cards, she hadn’t even argued with Simon when he’d asked her to wait in the lobby during the interview. In a way, the ease with which she’d given in bothered him. It indicated more than anything else that she was still a little shell-shocked and not quite ready to deal with the full realities of the situation.
Still, he’d promised to keep her updated on their progress and he was going to keep that
promise. Right now, however, he needed to get as much information out of Davenport as he could. Between Nina’s testimony, and the fact Simon had caught him red-handed in Nina’s house, had had to chase him down and had had to disarm him, convictions for making unlawful threats, burglary and resisting arrest were pretty much in the bag. However, the same couldn’t be said for pinning him with the murders of Cann and John Hastings, the man and the second murder victim whose identity they’d discovered early that morning.
His preliminary questions over, Simon continued to stare at Davenport until the man squirmed. Then he stood, deliberately using his height to make the man look up at him. “Mr. Davenport, you’ve said you live and work in Charleston, South Carolina. Let’s talk about when you arrived in California and why you’re here.”
Davenport looked at his attorney, who nodded, indicating he should go ahead and answer. “I drove here over the course of several days. I arrived yesterday morning.”
“Did anyone accompany you on the trip?”
“No.”
Of course not. So unless Davenport had some proof, such as gasoline records, it was only his word that he hadn’t been in the state before yesterday. “Tell me, was the sole purpose of your cross-country trip to break into Dr. Whitaker’s house?”
Again, Davenport looked at his attorney. And again, his attorney indicated he could answer. “I didn’t come to break into her house. I wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”
“Yet you did break into her house. And you were carrying a gun with you. Do you always do that when you plan on talking to someone?” Simon asked. “Or only when you plan on talking to someone you’ve been sending threatening cards to? Someone you blame for your daughter’s suicide?”
“She is to blame for Beth’s death,” Davenport hissed. “And the cards I’ve sent her were only meant to remind her of that. Beth’s gone and I have to live with that loss every day of my life. Why should she get to move on with her life when I can’t?”
Because she did everything she could to save your daughter after you obviously screwed her up, Simon thought, but he managed to keep those words to himself. “What else have you done to remind her of her guilt, as you see it?”
Davenport blinked. “Nothing.”
Simon cocked a brow. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question then. Assuming you’re telling the truth about not arriving in San Francisco until yesterday morning, who did you hire to terrorize Dr. Whitaker this past week?”
Davenport’s brows furrowed. He glanced at his attorney, who wore a similar expression, then turned back to Simon. “What are you talking about? I haven’t hired anyone to do anything.”
Simon stared at the man, his stomach clenching at the man’s expression and tone of voice. If he didn’t know better, he’d be tempted to believe him. No, this guy was one of the best liars Simon had ever met. But he wasn’t buying it. He leaned forward. “You didn’t leave Dr. Whitaker a typed letter outside her front door telling her she was going to die? Didn’t kill her cat and leave it in her car? Didn’t kill two homeless men and carve a message into the back of one of them?”
Davenport’s eyes bulged out. “Wh-what? What are you talking about? No!”
“Mr. Davenport,” his attorney spoke up. “Please don’t answer any more questions unless I give you the okay to do so.” The man then turned to Simon. “What’s going on here, Detective? My client’s been arrested for burglary, assault on a police officer and possessing an unlawful firearm. Mutilation and murder of either an animal or a human isn’t on the table, as far as I know.”
“Not yet,” Simon gritted out, “but it’s gonna be. We have strong circumstantial evidence that your client is responsible for the deaths of two men.”
“You’re crazy!” Davenport shouted. “Crazy. I haven’t killed anyone.”
“But you were intending on killing Dr. Whitaker, weren’t you? Isn’t that why you drove to California? Broke into her house with a gun? Vandalized her home with your daughter’s initials and left that bear with the pink ribbon for her to find...”
“What?” Davenport’s complexion seemed to pale several shades. “No. No, I didn’t do any of that. I—”
“Mr. Davenport,” his attorney began, but Davenport cut him off.
“No, I won’t be quiet. I didn’t do any of those things. Her front door was unlocked. I let myself in, but only because I wanted to talk to her. And okay, I wanted to scare her a little. But I didn’t leave Beth’s initials or any damn doll. I—I wouldn’t have done that. I couldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to her. Tell her I knew what she was trying to do. That she was trying to convince people she’d helped that other girl, Rebecca Hyatt, but that I knew the truth, me and that reporter. That’s why I came to California, so I could—”
“Reporter?” Simon interrupted. “A reporter called you about Rebecca Hyatt? When?”
“Last week.”
“What was his name?”
“I—I don’t know. I can’t remember. Shannon something. From the San Francisco Reporter. He told me that a girl had almost died because of Dr. Whitaker.”
Simon snorted with patent disbelief. “That’s a real convenient story, Davenport. But there’s no newspaper called the San Francisco Reporter.”
Davenport looked confused. A little scared. “What? Well, then he lied about where he worked.”
Simon pierced Davenport with a glare. “I totally agree someone’s a liar, Davenport, but I think that person’s you. But if you’re going to keep to your story, why don’t you tell me exactly what this phantom reporter told you.”
* * *
WHILE SIMON INTERVIEWED Davenport, Nina sat in the station lobby and tried to read old magazines to pass the time. Eventually, however, after reading the same paragraph five times, she gave up. She sat there for what seemed like hours, staring at the dingy walls and entering an almost meditative state before Commander Stevens stepped up to her.
“Dr. Whitaker?”
Nina jerked to attention. “Yes?” She stood, looking for Simon. “Is the interview over?”
“Not quite yet. Simon is still in with Davenport, trying to wrap up a few loose ends. He asked me to tell you he should be out soon.”
“Did—did he get the information you need?”
“Some of it. Davenport confessed to sending you a threatening card and breaking into your house, but that’s it. It’s to be expected,” Stevens reassured her. “He’s copping to those crimes since we already have the evidence we need to charge him with them. I’m not at all surprised he hasn’t copped to the others, especially since he has an attorney. They’ll wait to see what the DA charges him with and what kind of deal he’s willing to offer prior to trial.”
“But will the DA have enough to charge him with the other things? Killing my cat? Killing those two men?”
“The initials he left on the man and in your house are circumstantial evidence. We’re still working on tracking down his movements. He claims he drove here and didn’t arrive in California until yesterday morning. If we can confirm he was actually in the city when the victims were killed, it should be enough to charge him. Of course, the DA will want more before he’s actually brought to trial, and we’ll continue working on getting it for him. Unfortunately, we’re going to need your help for a while longer.”
Nina’s eyes widened. “In what way?”
“According to Simon, you and he already discussed why Davenport might have targeted the two men that he did. However, he also said he hasn’t had a chance to talk about those two men in detail, and explore whether you might have met them or otherwise know anything about them or their treatment histories.”
“No. We discussed some things yesterday. Some of his theories, and the victims in general. But he—he hasn’t had a chance to talk to me about them in detail yet. He said he’d speak to me after he was done with Davenport.”
Stevens nodded. “Yes, well, I’d prefer another investigator go through things with you.”
“Why
?”
“Frankly, to cover ourselves. It’s clear to me that you and Detective Granger have become...friends...and it would just be simpler all the way around if he wasn’t the detective to take your official statement. Do you have any objection to Jase Tyler or Carrie Ward taking care of that?”
She hesitated and stared at Stevens. All of a sudden, she was hit by a vague sense of discomfort. As if she needed to be wary of this man. But why? What he was saying made perfect sense. And it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong. Still, she’d have felt better if Simon was here. So he could watch her back, so to speak. But that was exactly the kind of thing Stevens was trying to prevent. He didn’t want there to be any appearance of favoritism or bias in case Davenport tried to fight the charges against him.
So even though she’d remain on her guard, she needed to do what Stevens asked. She tipped up her chin. “Do I need an attorney?”
“No. You’re not under suspicion for any crime, Dr. Whitaker,” Stevens said. “You’re not under arrest and you’re free to leave at any time. We just need to explore what you might know that can connect you to Mr. Cann and Mr. Hastings, the two men to each other or more important, either of the two men to Davenport.”
“Mr. Hastings. That’s the second murder victim? You’ve identified him?”
“Yes.”
“Simon said both murder victims were homeless. Have you informed their families?”
“Mr. Cann’s family was contacted weeks ago. As to Mr. Hastings, we’re trying to track them down right now.”
Nina thought about things then took a calming breath. “Okay. I’m happy to tell you what I might know, but I doubt it will help. As I told Simon, I’ve never worked with the homeless population, certainly not since moving to San Francisco. But first...can I see Lester Davenport? Is that possible?”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“I knew him before he was suffering from guilt-induced crisis. I also had some interaction with him after Beth’s suicide. I’m a psychiatrist. Trained in interpreting behavior and emotional states.”
“Any conclusions you form about Davenport in this case can’t be used by us in any formal capacity, and that includes at trial. You’re one of his victims. As such, you’ll be deemed a biased witness.”
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