"What do you mean?"
Maggie drew a breath. "Once she got home, she had that elaborate computer system her husband had set up, and that new voice-recognition and reading program you arranged since she couldn't see the screen."
"Yes. I didn't want her to feel cut off from everything even if she wasn't ready to go out in public yet. Are you saying she used it for something else?"
"It probably shouldn't surprise you," Maggie said. "She was your sister, after all. She wanted answers, John."
"Answers? Are you saying she tried to find the man who attacked her?"
"She had all the information she'd been able to find on Laura Hughes, and of course she knew her own situation and background better than anyone else. She was convinced there was a connection somewhere, that the rest of us had been-blinded-by so many of the details that we couldn't see what was actually there."
"And she believed she could? Blind and virtually alone in that apartment, she believed she could find something everyone else had missed?"
"She did have a unique perspective. And she'd spent hours on end thinking about it. There really wasn't much else she could think about." Maggie sighed. "Please believe me, if I'd had even the slightest suspicion that what she was doing could have put her in danger-"
John abruptly pulled the car to the curb and stopped. He turned in the seat to stare at her. "Are you saying it did? Maggie-did Christina kill herself?" "
"No."
"No? Why the hell didn't you tell me this before? Christ, tell somebody-"
"Because I can't prove it, John." She kept her voice level. "Every speck of evidence in that apartment proves that she did kill herself. Andy and his people went over it with a fine-tooth comb, you know that. They even went over it twice, because you asked them to. You yourself went through her computer files, according to Andy; did you find anything?"
"No," he replied slowly. "At least, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing unexpected. There was nothing about the investigation, the other victim. No hint at all that she was trying to investigate on her own."
"That's what Andy said. He even had the department computer expert check it out when I asked him to, but there was nothing. If there was any evidence before she died, it was certainly gone afterward. Nobody found anything to point to an intruder or even a visitor. Security records for that night show no one entering the apartment, and even the fact that she'd given the nurse the day and night off seems to point toward suicide. The medical examiner was absolutely positive it was suicide, no reservations at all. I read his report. You read his report. According to everything they found, Christina wrote that suicide note on her computer, then put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger."
John drew a breath. "I hadn't even known she had that gun until afterward."
"Not surprising, since according to the registration, she'd bought it years ago, when she first lived alone in L.A., for protection. And since it hadn't been registered here in Seattle, none of us knew about it beforehand. But if you've been blaming yourself for not knowing, don't. If there hadn't been a gun, he would have done it another way."
"How the hell do you know that, Maggie? With all the evidence pointing the other way, how do you know Christina didn't kill herself?"
"I told you we had a connection, a bond." Maggie turned her gaze to the windshield, still working on holding her voice level and calm. "The night she died, I woke up… hearing her scream in my mind. Feeling her pain. It was just a flashing instant, but clear. So clear I'll never forget it. And what she was screaming was terror-and protest. She didn't want to die. The gun in her hand, pressed to her temple, wasn't under her control."
Jennifer was alone in the conference room, looking over the arrest report she'd requested from the Central precinct on David Robson, when Andy came in, looking harried and tired.
"Sanctuary," he muttered. "My kingdom for an hour or two of sanctuary."
"I'd grant it if I could," she said sympathetically. "But you know the minute the switchboard doesn't find you at your desk, the phones in here will start ringing."
"Yeah, I know." He sat down with a sigh. "You should be gone. How many hours have you put in today?"
"I'm off the clock."
"That's not what I asked you."
Jennifer shrugged. "Look, I didn't want to go home and figured I might as well be busy."
"Doing what?"
She tapped the report with a finger. "Following a very unlikely lead, trying to track down a transient who might have seen something helpful."
Andy grunted. "Where's Scott?"
"Gone for a pizza. We were hungry and he wanted some fresh air." She watched him, worried by the circles under his eyes and the tense line of his jaw. "I guess you haven't heard anything from Maggie? I mean, about her talking to Hollis Templeton?"
"No, nothing yet. And whatever she's got to say might not be relevant anyway."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Hell, no."
"Yeah. Our entire world does seem to have narrowed down just to this investigation, doesn't it?"
"You'd think." He sighed again. "The M.E. has promised to work on Samantha Mitchell ASAP, but neither one of us thinks he'll find anything new. One glance told him what it told the rest of us: She was alive when her throat was cut, and died from blood loss."
"Then that with the baby was done… after?"
Andy's jaw tightened even more. "A minute or two after, the M.E. thinks. The baby was probably still alive."
Jennifer hadn't expected that-or the jolt she felt hearing it. "Christ."
"Needless to say, we're going to try to keep that fact out of the media's hands."
"Does Mitchell know?"
"No, and if I have my way he never will."
She stared down at the arrest report. "Andy, is there something we're missing? Something we should have done and didn't?"
"Nothing I can think of. Don't beat yourself up about it, Jenn. We've had virtually no evidence, no witnesses able to give us a description, and no predictable pattern to the attacks-so far, at least. The closest we've come to a lead of any kind is thanks to you and Scott."
"Some lead," she said, sounding as discouraged as she felt. "We have a few sketches and photos of victims from a string of murders in 1934, and maybe our guy somehow got access to them, but so far the only thing we can be reasonably sure of is that he's going after look-alikes."
Before Andy could respond, the phone rang, and he picked up the receiver with a resigned grimace.
"Yeah?" He listened for a minute, absently watching Jennifer continue going through the file in front of her, then said, "Okay. Tell him I'm on my way."
When he hung up the phone, Jennifer said, "Our Luke again?"
Andy used the table for leverage to push himself to his feet. "Yeah, dammit."
"He's still refusing to ask the FBI for help?"
"He'd refuse to yell help if his pants were on fire, Jenn, you know that." He sighed. "But I think we need to bring John's friends in, and I mean officially. I'm about a breath away from calling the chief directly myself."
She shook her head. "Don't do that. We both know Drummond would never forgive or forget, and he could do your career a lot of damage."
"And maybe I don't give a shit."
This time, Jennifer smiled. "Yes, you do. And so do the rest of us, in case you didn't know that. We need you right where you are, Andy. But I agree it's time something drastic was done. I don't have to hear a shrink explain it to know that now that he's started killing his victims outright, this bastard is only going to get more vicious with every day that passes. We have to stop him, and we have to stop him soon. Is there another way around Drummond? A way to bring pressure to bear on him without any of us sticking our necks out?"