“Which night would that be?”
“The night in the motel with Felicity,” she replied. “That’s what you really want to know about, now isn’t it?”
“Motel?”
“Don’t pretend to be any more stupid than you already are, Ellie. It’s unbecoming. Obviously you don’t have breeding, so at least try to live up to your supposed education.”
“Humor me.”
Miranda sighed. “You bore me.”
“Then let me speak to Annalise.”
“You bore her as well.”
“Really.” Jante said the word more as a statement than a question.
Miranda answered it anyway. “Yes, of course you do. Unfortunately, Annalise is too damaged to know better.”
“And why is she damaged?”
“Because she’s weak, of course.”
“So you damaged her?”
“No, she damaged herself.”
“How?”
The two of them sat staring at one another in silence as the progress bar on the video player crept along and seconds ticked off on the digital counter.
“That isn’t what you are here to talk about, Ellie. You know that.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Don’t play games.”
“I’m not. You know exactly why I’m here. You’ve been directly linked to seven brutal murders, maybe even several more. I’m here to find out why.”
“That answer is so simple you should have seen it by now, which simply proves my point.”
“The answer is rarely simple in cases such as these.”
“This one is. I did it for Felicity.”
“Are you saying that Miz O’Brien told you to kill those men?”
Miranda cocked her eyebrow. “See. I give you the answer and you still miss it entirely. Try thinking before you open your mouth. What makes you think anyone could tell me to do anything?”
“I never said anyone could. I merely asked if someone did.”
“You still want to know about the motel, don’t you?”
“I think you want to tell me about it, or you wouldn’t keep bringing it up.”
An almost wistful look seemed to pass across Miranda’s features. The struggle for control between the two women had been gently teetering like a carefully balanced see-saw on a still summer day. But now the imaginary wind picked up, and the nudge it provided seemed to dip matters in Jante’s favor.
“I’m talking about the motel where Felicity took the man Annalise used for revenge,” Miranda finally said.
“Brad Lewis? Your last victim?”
“I suppose that was his name. What they call themselves isn’t important. All that matters is that they love and are loved.” Miranda shook her head again. “But, as usual, you’re wrong. He wasn’t my victim. None of them are my victims.”
“You murdered him. That makes him a victim in my book.”
“I never said he wasn’t a victim. I simply explained he was not my victim. Annalise murdered him, not me. She did it out of spite because she is jealous of Felicity. I, on the other hand, would have loved him.”
“Semantics. He’s still dead.”
“See. I told you that you were too stupid to understand.”
“All right, since I’m so stupid, educate me. What is it about that night you want me to know?”
Miranda let out a contented sigh and stared into the distance with a pleased smile on her lips. The yearning look remained on her face as she began to talk. “It was a very special night. It was when Felicity first started to understand her true capacity to love.”
“How do you mean?”
“We both loved him. Together. And, when I left she was still loving him.”
“You mean torturing.”
“Loving. She was giving him what he wanted and needed. And, in return, she was accepting his love.”
“I see. What do you mean, ‘when you left’? Were you there with her?”
Miranda continued to stare off into space. “I should have stayed longer to make sure she didn’t stumble, but Annalise was being needy and I had to leave. I should have ignored the bitch and stayed where I belonged. I blame myself for not being there for Felicity. If I had I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”
“Where would you be?”
“Where I belong, of course. And where I will be soon enough. With her.”
The video clip ended, and the player automatically paused on the last frame. Staring back at us, frozen in two-dimensional space, was the image of Annalise wearing Miranda’s almost frightening smile twisted across her lips.
The flesh and blood Doctor Jante reached over and carefully spun the notebook computer back around before leveling her gaze on my wife. “Miz O’Brien,” she said, her voice even. “I think perhaps now you can see our situation a bit more clearly.”
Felicity sighed and gave her a shallow nod.
Jante continued. “I’m afraid I need to ask you a somewhat disturbing question. Was Annalise Devereaux in the motel room with you that night before the police arrived?”
CHAPTER 16:
From the sound of Doctor Jante’s question, it appeared that I should have stuck to my guns about drawing this interview-turned-witch hunt to an immediate close. Hindsight being what it was, my earlier curiosity-induced myopia had me feeling incredibly stupid for allowing it to continue even though I’d left the decision up to my wife. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it now without making Felicity look just as guilty as Annalise. Of course, it seemed they had already come to that conclusion without my help.
“Not that I recall,” Felicity replied.
Cliche though they were, I knew she had chosen the words carefully. Even if Annalise had been at the motel with her, she wouldn’t have known because, for all intents and purposes, Felicity had been there in body only. Her consciousness had been elsewhere, and her memory of that night had a several hour gap. But Annalise wasn’t the real issue here anyway, Miranda was, and she had most definitely been present. Just not the way they meant.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Hanley pressed.
“Exactly what are you implying?” I asked, issuing the demand before my wife could respond to his question. “What happened to the part where no one is accusing her of anything?”
“We aren’t implying anything,” Doctor Jante interjected. “And we certainly aren’t making accusations. We’re merely trying to find the truth and establish how Devereaux came to know these facts.”
Even though I knew the real answer, unbelievable as it was, I objected in the only way I could, waving my hand at the computer as I spoke. “What facts? That was just vague rambling. If anything she got lucky telling you what you wanted to hear. Not to mention the fact that I’m sure her attorneys have subpoenaed the same police reports you’ve been reading. They could have told her everything she just said.”
“Agreed,” she replied. “I think maybe you are misunderstanding our intent.”
“From where I sit it sounds to me like you’re trying to paint my wife as her accomplice. Is that the intent you’re talking about?”
“Actually, it’s just the opposite,” Agent Hanley offered. “We’re working to rule out Miz O’Brien completely.”
“Oh please.” I let out an abbreviated harrumph. “Do you really think I’m going to believe you aren’t lying through your teeth right now? Ten minutes ago you hit us with a purposely transparent good cop-bad cop routine. Why, I haven’t quite figured out, but it’s obvious you’re trying to run a game down on us. I sincerely doubt we can believe anything you’ve said since you walked through the door. You probably aren’t even with the BAU at all.”
“I can assure you we are with the BAU,” he replied. “And what you choose to believe is up to you, but you do need to calm down. The simple truth is we’re on your side, whether you realize it or not.”
Doctor Jante directed herself toward me. “We’re gathering information for a criminal analysis, Mister Gant. The supposed Miranda personality has recited various other facts about Miz O’Brien, all of which we have been able to corroborate.”
“Corroborate how?”
“Primarily through public records.”