The Heart of a Killer

by Jaci Burton

  Only, Susan Maclin would never have closure for her son Tony's murder. Shit.

  "Stop it," Dante whispered, taking a seat in one of the oversize chairs next to her.

  Anna shifted her gaze from all the beautiful knickknacks over to Dante. "Stop what?"

  "Looking so guilty."

  "She's making us tea."

  "I'm sure it's already made."

  "Don't you feel guilty?"

  "No. And you shouldn't, either."

  "Here we are."

  Anna sat up straight and managed to put on her nonsmiling detective's face for Tony Maclin's mother as the woman handed her a glass of iced tea.

  "Thank you."

  Susan took a seat across from Anna and Dante, held herself in rigidly perfect posture as she faced them. "You're welcome. So tell me what news you have about my son's case."

  "Is your husband around?"

  Her hopeful look faltered a bit. "I'm afraid Bob doesn't live here anymore. We're divorced."

  "I'm sorry," Anna said. "If you don't mind my asking, for how long?"

  "Is that relevant?"

  "Everything is relevant in a murder investigation, Mrs. Maclin."

  "We divorced five years after Tony was killed. His death put a strain on our marriage, as you can probably imagine." Susan swept her perfectly coiffed hair away from her face.

  "I can imagine. So you stayed here in the house?"

  "Yes. Bob's family is in Chicago. The memories here...they were hard for him. He relocated. Which made it difficult for Sam."

  "Sam?" Dante asked.

  "Tony's younger brother."

  "Oh, that's right," Anna said. She remembered the younger brother being mentioned in Maclin's file. But Dante wouldn't have known about him. She shot him a look and he covered nicely, turning to Susan.

  "Does Sam live here with you?" Dante asked.

  "Off and on. He's a sculptor, an artist like me, though I paint." Her eyes filled with tears. "Like Tony was going to be, before he died. He was so very talented..."

  Anna waited while Susan composed herself, trying to feel sympathy for this woman who'd lost her son. But her son had taken something from Anna that night twelve years ago, and Anna's life had never been the same.

  And while she didn't mourn Tony Maclin's death, she felt bad for what Susan Maclin lost because of that night. A son. A marriage.

  If they hadn't killed Tony...

  "Even after all these years, it's still so difficult," Susan said.

  Anna lifted her chin. "Yes, it is."

  Susan frowned. "Excuse me?"

  "We're sure it is difficult for you," Dante said, taking over for Anna when she couldn't. "I'm sorry we have to put you through this, but we just have a few questions. We're hoping to update the file. You never know when a new lead could help us find the person who killed your son."

  Susan pulled a tissue from the box on the glass table in front of them, dabbed her eyes and nodded. "Of course. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

  "Tell us about Tony," Anna said. "There's not much in his file. I'm curious, since you live out here, if you have any idea what he was doing in an alley in South City that night. Did he have friends who lived over there?"

  "Not that I know of. Tony had a tight circle of friends, all local to the area. He was involved with the art club and with sports. His father insisted he do something other than sit inside and paint, so he played soccer."

  "Varsity?" Dante asked.

  Susan met his gaze and smiled. "Yes. Bob got him involved with sports when he was a kid. The usual stuff--baseball, soccer, basketball. He wasn't big enough for football when he got older, but he had agility, so he gravitated toward soccer, and was good enough to make the varsity team in high school."

  "Did he enjoy sports?"

  She nodded at Dante. "Well enough, I suppose, and it was an outlet for his frustrations."

  "What kind of frustrations?" Anna asked.

  Susan's lips lifted. "It's an artist thing. When you work on a piece, and it's not going the way you want it to, it can be so incredibly frustrating, because it's here in your soul--" she fisted both hands against her chest "--but you can't bring it out on the canvas. He got to let out that anguish on the soccer field. I think it helped clear his head so he was better able to work on his craft."

  "He painted. Like you?"

  "Yes," Susan said.

  Anna looked at the artwork on the walls in the sunroom. Beautiful paintings of women dressed in flowing dresses standing at the edge of a beach, ocean water lapping near their feet while the women searched the water as if they were looking for something. There were birds or sea creatures in the distance, sometimes lighthouses. In some there were children--sometimes one boy, sometimes two, building sand castles or frolicking in the water.

  "You paint with an impressionistic feel," Anna said. "They're lovely."

  Susan beamed. "Thank you. My work has been on display in galleries all over the country."

  "Was Tony as good as you?" Anna asked.

  "Better, I think. His talent was raw, but so good. He was set to attend college in New York that fall."

  Guilt hammered at her. "I'm sorry."

  As if she hadn't heard Anna's apology, Susan went on. "He was so nervous about moving away, about moving to New York and attending college. He seemed so distracted that summer."

  "Distracted how?" Dante asked.

  "Jittery is the only word I can come up with. In and out of the house a lot. Wasn't concentrating on his painting much, which was unusual for him."

  "What about his friends?" Dante asked. "Anything change with his friends?"

  She sighed, clasped her hands together in her lap. "Everything changed with him before he died. His personality, the way he acted with his friends. I don't know what was going on with him."

  "Did you know he was on drugs?" Dante asked.

  Anna shifted her gaze to Dante, not sure whether this was the right time to ask that question. But she'd brought him along and hadn't coached him on the questioning, so she had to accept his involvement in the interrogation of Maclin's mother.

  "I didn't. I suppose in retrospect it makes sense considering his behavior, but Tony was always such a good kid. And he played sports. I'd like to think the drugs they found in his system was an anomaly, something he'd just done once."

  Ha. Fat chance. Anna knew better. If he was out of his normal area and high, chances were he was either looking to buy or trying to sell. "It's possible. What about his friends?"

  "Nice kids. We'd known them all from the time Tony was little."

  "No troublemakers, no one who stood out to you as someone you didn't want your son to be around?"

  "Not at all."

  "What about newcomers into his circle?" Dante asked. "Anyone come over or infiltrate his group that you didn't recognize?"

  "Not that I can recall, but it's not like we stood guard over his social group. We trusted him. He had a lot of freedoms because he was a good boy."

  At their exchanged looks, Susan added, "Sam might know, though. He was only a few years younger and went to the same high school, sometimes hung out with Tony and his friends."

  "Is he around?"

  "Probably working in his studio. Let me see if he'll come talk to you."

  After she left, Anna turned to Dante. "What do you think?"

  "I think, like a lot of parents of teenagers, she was blind to whatever it was her son was up to."

  "And we still don't know what that was."

  "No, but maybe his brother does."

  Susan returned with a guy dressed in spattered khaki overalls and a tattered T-shirt. He had long, shaggy dark hair and was wiping his hands with a rag.

  "This is my son, Sam. Sam, this is Detective Pallino and Special Agent Renaldi. They're working your brother's case."

  Sam kept his head ducked down and hair fell over his eyes, so Anna couldn't get a read on his expression.

  He looked shy, didn't make eye contact.
>
  Or maybe antisocial. Anna couldn't tell which just yet.

  "Hi."

  "Hi, Sam. I'm Anna Pallino, and this is Dante Renaldi."

  "Hey, Sam," Dante said, taking Anna's cue that they needed to be friendly.

  "Sam," his mother said, "they thought maybe you could tell them about Tony's friends."

  He looked irritated to have been disturbed. "What about them?"

  "We need to know who his friends were, who he hung out with prior to his death," Anna said.

  Sam shrugged and leaned against the wall, wiping his hands with the rag. "The usual people."

  Susan smiled apologetically at them, then laid her hand on Sam's shoulder. "They need to know names, Sam."

  "Tim Long. Travis Aducci. Heather Sanderson. Uhh, Mark Charich, Evan Amarola, Jill Serlins..."

  Anna wrote the names down as Sam went through the list. He seemed to have a decent memory, since they ended up with about twelve names.

  "Thanks, Sam," she said. "I'm sorry about your brother."

  "Uh-huh." He turned to his mother. "I was in the middle of my project. I need to get back to it."

  Susan shifted her gaze back to Anna.

  "Just a couple more questions, if you don't mind," Anna said. "Sam, where were you the night your brother was killed?"

  He didn't lift his head, continued to wipe his hands on the rag. "I was here."

  "With your parents?"

  "We were out that night at a party for some friends," Susan answered. "I thought Tony and Sam were both home, but I guess Tony went out and left Sam by himself."

  "Did Tony tell you he was going out?" Anna asked.

  Sam shrugged. "I was in the studio working on a project. I didn't know he left until my parents came home and asked where he was."

  "And what time was that?"

  "All this information is in the police file, Detective," Susan said.

  "Yes, it is, but we do like to go over the information again, if you don't mind. It helps to freshen the case."

  "Of course. Answer the question, Sam."

  "What was the question?"

  "What time did your parents come home?"

  He shrugged again. "I don't remember. Why are you here now after all these years? You didn't find his killer then. Do you have a lead or something now?"

  "No, we don't. We're just checking out some cold cases to see if something new will come up."

  Sam lifted his head and Anna saw a spark of anger there. "All you're doing is upsetting my mother. You don't have anything new, so why don't you leave?"

  "Sam, that's rude."

  "So? They're rude for coming here after all this time, bringing up Tony's death again." He looked over at Anna and she saw the anger directed at her, his words sharp and focused. "He's dead. Someone killed him and you don't know who did it. Leave it alone."

  Sam turned and left the room.

  "I'm sorry," Susan said. "Tony's death really upset him all those years ago. It upset all of us, as you can imagine. It's taken a lot of years to put the pieces back together."

  "I'm sorry if our coming here has reopened old wounds, Mrs. Maclin," Anna said. "I think we have enough now."

  She headed toward the door, hoping Susan would lead them out. She could already feel the sensation of the walls closing in on her. She needed to get out of here.

  "It's no problem," Susan said. "Sam's not always so antisocial. He really is a nice young man. It's just about this...about Tony...that gets him upset."

  "We understand," Dante said.

  "If we can help at all," Susan said, "if it gets you closer to finding Tony's killer, please come see us at any time."

  Anna stiffened and Dante laid his hand at the small of her back, leading her toward the door.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Maclin," Dante said. "You've been very helpful. We'll be in touch."

  As soon as they were out the door, Dante all but shoved her toward the car, opened the door and pushed her inside. Once he started up the car, he cranked the A/C to arctic level.

  "Relax. Breathe. And not too fast. I need your head clear so we can debrief that meeting. No panic attacks right now."

  She concentrated on her breathing, on the cold air-conditioning flying at her face. Pulling away from Tony Maclin's house helped. As soon as they were on the highway again, the tension in her body lessened. He pulled into a fast-food drive-through and got them both something to eat and drink, then parked in the restaurant's lot, where they ate silently.

  Anna knew Dante was watching her.

  "I'm fine now."

  "You're not fine. You feel guilty because Susan Maclin is grieving over the loss of her son."

  She shrugged and shoved a couple French fries in her mouth.

  "Remind yourself what her poor, sweet, athletic, artistic son did to you that night twelve years ago. How he jumped you in the alley, dragged you behind the Dumpster, held a knife to your throat, cut off your clothes and carved a heart across your breast. How he laid on top of you and pulled your shorts off. What he would have done to you--"

  She held her hand up. "Enough."

  "Don't feel guilty because he's dead. He got what he deserved."

  She shifted in her seat to face him. "Did he? We could have handled it differently, could have held him, called my dad or the cops."

  "And then what? You saw where they live. That place screams money. His dad's a lawyer, Anna. Did you know that?"

  "Yes."

  "He would have gotten a slap on the wrist. Probation. And you would have been called to court to testify against him. Would you have been able to do that, or do you think they would have plea-bargained him out of it? The case might have never gone to trial. Rich boy would have been back out on the streets, sniffing coke and doing the same damn thing to another girl."

  She lifted her chin, refusing to let Dante get to her. "Stop it."

  "Stop what? Stop trying to make you see that just because a rich, entitled drug-dealing prick like Tony Maclin didn't get the chance to keep doing what he did to you that night you shouldn't feel guilty about it? You expect me to feel bad because we beat the shit out of him and he happened to die because of it? Hell, Anna, I've killed people who did a lot less than he did."

  Shocked at his revelation, she frowned. "What does that mean?"

  He turned away from her. "Nothing."

  "Dante."

  "We're not talking about me. I don't feel any guilt over that night. I'm not sorry for what happened. I'm glad we beat the hell out of him. I'm glad he's dead. No regrets. You shouldn't have any, either."

  Dante was right. She shouldn't have any. That night twelve years ago had been the worst night of her life.

  Tony Maclin had terrorized her.

  He might have been the sweetest, brightest star in Susan Maclin's life. But to Anna, he'd been a monster. And that one single act continued to haunt her.

  She hadn't done anything wrong that night so long ago. Nothing except try to protect the guys who had saved her life.

  Yet somehow she was continuing to allow herself to be victimized by the crime that had been committed on her.

  She lifted her gaze to Dante, the one person who had gotten to her first, who had scared Tony Maclin enough to pull away from her before he had done even more damage to her.

  She owed Dante her life.

  But Roman's words stayed in her mind, coupled with Dante's statement of a few moments ago.

  He seemed so nonchalant about death.

  Had he killed innocent people? And if so, who?

  Could she trust him? God, she really needed to. They were growing closer, and she needed to be able to lean on him, both professionally and personally.

  She had to know. But how?

  How was she going to find out whether she could trust him or not?

  The only way she knew how to get at the truth, of course.

  Point-blank.

  Sixteen

  Anna kept thinking all through dinner, not sure how to approach what she wante
d to talk about with Dante.

  They grilled burgers outside and she fixed salad. They ate, had some beers and mostly talked about nothing. Dante didn't press her, either, which she appreciated, but she caught the sidelong glances he gave her.

  He knew there was something on her mind.

  After the dishes, he opened a bottle of wine and handed a glass to her and took one for himself. They sat on the sofa in the living room.

  "You want to talk to me about what's on your mind?"

  It was now or never and she wasn't one to hold back. She half turned to face him. "Roman thinks I shouldn't trust you."

  He didn't seem shocked or angry. "Yeah? What did he say?"

  "That we don't really know all that much about you since you were gone, and that despite your FBI credentials, all the killings began when you showed up. And we need to look at all the angles, which include you being a suspect."

  He seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded. "He makes a good point."

  That was it? Roman made a good point? She'd expected him to disagree, to yell, anything but quiet agreement. "But my captain verified your credentials."

  "Do you know that for a fact? Did you ask him?"

  "No. But I also know Pohanski wouldn't accept you on face value, so that FBI badge has to be legitimate."

  "Okay."

  "That's all you have to say? I've basically accused you of being a murder suspect and you find that acceptable?"

  Dante shrugged. "Roman's right to be cautious about me, or anyone who tries to insinuate themselves into your life. I'm glad Roman's got your back and is protecting you. It means he cares about you and he'll be extra sharp looking out for you."

  "Goddammit, Dante, you're not taking this seriously. I practically pointed the finger at you as the killer."

  He leaned back, relaxed and offered up a half smile. "Is that what you really think?"

  She gaped at him, then stood, threw her hands in the air and began to pace. "I don't know what to think anymore. You make me crazy."

  He climbed to his feet to block her. "Yes you do. You have great instincts, Anna. Use them."

  She pinned him with a look. "Is that how I'm supposed to trust you? With my instincts?"

  "You want more tangible proof?"

  "Yes, dammit, yes, I do. Shouldn't I?"

  "Is that what it's going to take for you to trust me?"

  She didn't know how to answer him. It was her job to look for evidence, for tangible proof of innocence. Not just someone's word. It didn't matter if it was Dante.