God, he thought he’d loved this woman. But she hadn’t trusted him. She’d slept with him, but didn’t trust him with the simple truth.
He’d been betrayed.
“Zack, believe me, I struggled with this. I didn’t want to lie, but I had no choice.”
“We all have choices, Olivia. No one held a gun to your head forcing you to deceive me. Not only me, but my boss, my partner, my colleagues. You lied to everyone. You’re a master of deception.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “You made the wrong choice. And now you’ll have to live with it.”
“Travis, Olivia, we need to get down to the substation,” Quinn said as he approached them. He stopped. “What happened?”
Zack shoved Quinn in the chest. He had liked the Fed, but Quinn Peterson was as much a liar as Olivia. “You knew and didn’t say anything. You’re just as much of a fraud as she is.”
He walked away before completely losing it.
Tears rolled down Olivia’s cheeks. “Oh, God, Quinn. I really screwed this up.”
Quinn touched her chin. “Liv, how did he find out?”
“I had to tell him. I’m in love with him.”
“He just needs time. He’s angry, but he’ll get over it.”
She shook her head. “It’s not his anger that I’m worried about. I hurt him badly, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”
Quinn looked at her bandages and frowned. “Are you okay? You really should go to the hospital and get checked out.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go home.” She looked at her friend, blinked back the tears. “I have nothing else.”
Zack paced the interrogation room, waiting for Driscoll to be brought in.
He’d skipped riding with Peterson to the substation, tagging along with one of the deputies. He needed to push Olivia from his mind. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to finish his job.
Damn, her betrayal hurt. Out of all the people he’d met, he’d never have pegged her as a liar.
The first day or two, he sensed she was holding back something. When she told him about her sister, he believed that was it. He hadn’t expected more lies, additional revelations.
He slammed his fist on the table and sat, taking deep breaths. Focus, Travis. You have a killer coming in five minutes and you need to do this right.
He had a list of questions for Driscoll, and he needed to get his mind wrapped around the case, not around the woman he’d mistakenly fallen in love with. The woman who would bear the scars of a killer on her body.
But he’d bare the scars of their brief relationship on his heart.
He took a deep breath and focused on Driscoll. He wanted answers to his questions, but didn’t hold out hope that this monster would cooperate. Still, the question why burned in him, not that any answer would be satisfying. But he had to try to understand.
He wanted to know how Driscoll had picked his first victim.
He wanted to know how he selected the cities he stalked.
He needed to know why he marked each victim with Angel.
The door opened and Quinn Peterson walked in. Zack tensed, but nodded to the Fed. He would put his animosity aside for the Driscoll interview.
It wasn’t like he’d have to see Peterson after this case was wrapped up.
The sheriff came in with a deputy escorting Chris Driscoll, who was in wrist and ankle chains. He moved slowly from the beating, not just because of the restraints. The deputy secured the killer by cuffing his leg chains to the hook on the floor and forcing him to sit in a chair.
Driscoll looked like an average, physically fit middle-aged guy. Except for his black eye, bruised jaw, and the bandage that covered his cheek.
Zack felt no remorse for bashing the killer’s face in. Though he deserved it, Zack was relieved he hadn’t killed him. Washington had the death penalty, but Zack hoped Driscoll didn’t make it the average ten years it took for death-row prisoners to be killed.
Child predators didn’t fare well in prison.
The only thing about Driscoll’s otherwise average appearance that stood out was his eyes: a clear, icy blue. In his eyes, Zack saw the killer. But he could see how another might see kindness in his face.
The sheriff had read Driscoll his rights when he was first arrested, then stayed with him while the doctor from the local clinic came over to bandage his injuries. Driscoll hadn’t asked for an attorney then, nor when he was formally booked, but Quinn as a federal officer had to extend the same rights.
“Go to hell,” Driscoll said, his expression unchanged.
“We have everything we need to put you on death row, Mr. Driscoll,” Quinn said. “So this interview is really just for us to get to know each other, have some questions answered, before they lock you up.”
Driscoll said nothing.
Zack and Quinn exchanged glances, and Quinn nodded. Driscoll wasn’t going to cooperate, but they didn’t need him to. What they wanted was an explanation.
“We know how you set up Brian Hall thirty-four years ago,” Zack said.
Driscoll stared straight ahead, but Zack detected a hint of satisfaction in his static grin.
“Pretty smart of you. You and he were in Vietnam together, fought side by side. He wouldn’t think his good pal would set him up.”
Driscoll shook his head. “Hall’s an idiot. He was never my friend.”
Zack didn’t disagree with that statement, but said, “He knows. He led us to you. He’s out of prison and knows you set him up.”
Driscoll shrugged.
“We’ve tracked down thirty-one victims in ten states,” Quinn said. “Have we missed anyone?”
Driscoll remained silent and unmoving.
“It would show the judge you have remorse if you help ease the minds of families who don’t know the fate of their children.”
Again, silence.
Zack slammed his fist on the table, then took a deep breath. He wanted to strangle Driscoll into talking, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Besides, based on the evidence Doug Cohn extracted from Driscoll’s cottage, there appeared to be a total of thirty-two victims. An FBI profiler Quinn had talked to out in Virginia felt that the first lock of hair Driscoll kept was of his half sister, Angel. It appeared Olivia’s preliminary work had in fact identified all thirty-one other victims.
The profiler had a wild theory about Angel’s murder based on the trial transcript and the fact that Driscoll kept her hair, a fact that was left out of the police report but Quinn Peterson had dug up through the original autopsy report.
Zack glanced at Quinn, who nodded.
“We know about Angel.”
At the mention of her name, Driscoll tensed.
“You know nothing about her. Don’t say her name.”
“We know your stepfather raped her.”
“Bruce was not my stepfather. He never married my mother. His blood does not run through my veins. His name is not my name.” Driscoll’s fists clenched and unclenched.
“He hurt her, didn’t he?”
Silence.
“You couldn’t protect her.”
The chains that bound Driscoll’s feet rattled.
“Maybe you tried to protect her. You were older. A teenager. But he still raped her. Bruce raped Angel like you rape girls who look like her.”
Driscoll grunted, his face pained.
“You wanted to touch her.”
“No.”
“You hated Bruce for hurting her because you wanted her for yourself.”
“I am not Bruce!”
Quinn tapped his finger once on the table in a prearranged signal. “No, you’re not Bruce Carmichael,” Quinn said. “Bruce killed your mother. Stabbed her to death. With this knife.”
Quinn put the sealed evidence bag in front of Driscoll. The killer’s hands were restrained, but his shoulders jerked as if trying to reach it. Quinn had moved heaven and earth to get the evidence from Angel Carmichael’s murder flown in from Los Angeles this morning. He’d had another agent drive it up to the Cascades substation.