Quinn laid pictures one by one in front of Driscoll. They were crime-scene photos of Angel’s murder. The black-and-white photos of the child’s death disturbed Zack, reminding him that no matter what Chris Driscoll had suffered at the hands of Bruce Carmichael, nothing justified his actions now or then.
Driscoll whimpered, turned his head from the photographs.
“This knife also killed Angel.”
Quinn tapped the knife. Driscoll’s fingers moved, as if aching to hold the weapon. Quinn picked it up, turned it over and over in his hands, then laid it on top of one of the photos.
It was a close-up of Angel’s face, her eyes glassy and unseeing, blood splatters almost black in the aged gray-toned photograph, seeming to split her face in half.
Tears streamed down the killer’s face.
“You know this knife killed Angel because you stabbed her to death.”
Driscoll shook his head. “Bruce killed her. He killed my mother, then killed Angel.”
“Were you with Bruce when he killed your mother?”
Driscoll shook his head again. “He picked me up from school. He already had Angel. He picked me up and we drove for days. He said Mama was dead. An accident… “ His voice trailed off.
“How did you find out he killed your mother?”
“Angel.”
Again, silence.
“Angel knew?” Zack prompted.
“She was there.” His voice was a whisper.
“Angel saw Bruce kill your mother?”
Driscoll’s voice took on a childlike, asexual quality as he voiced his sister’s words: “ ‘I told Mama that Daddy was touching me down there and I didn’t like it. Mama packed a suitcase and we were going to leave, but Daddy came home and saw. He saw and he got a big knife in the kitchen and hurt Mama. He hurt her and there was blood and she was dead.’ ”
“Bruce killed your mother and took you and Angel away from New Jersey. You ended up in Los Angeles.”
“We lived in nine states. Nine states in three years. Angel… she wanted a real home. Real homes don’t exist, I told her. I was her home. I would take care of her.”
“But you couldn’t.”
Driscoll’s chained hands slammed into the table. “I was going to kill him!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
The placid face twisted in monstrous rage, his eyes wild and glassy.
Every cop in the room froze, ready to jump on Driscoll if he tried anything. He didn’t move.
Zack asked, “Why didn’t you kill Bruce?”
Driscoll’s eyes locked on Zack’s. “That’s what she said.”
“Angel?”
“The bitch. The bitch in the car. Before she fucked everything up and tricked me.”
Olivia?
“I would have killed him. I would have! I needed time, and Angel didn’t want to give me time. Planning. We needed to plan. But she didn’t give me the time to plan. She was scared. I protected her the best I could. I did everything for her. I cleaned her up. I took care of her. I kissed her bruises. I would have taken care of her. She wanted to run away, but how would I feed her? How could I take care of her?”
Zack glanced at Quinn, then said, “Why did you kill Angel when you loved her so much?”
A strangled cry escaped Driscoll’s throat. “She was going to run away. Leave me. I couldn’t protect her.” He heaved out a mournful sigh and stared at the picture, unmoving. “I wanted to protect her. I wanted to stop Bruce from hurting her. She told me she wanted to be free. But then-she wanted to run away. Run away from me.
“Angel, sweet Angel, I had to free your soul. You’re free. You’re happy. I know you’re happy now and no one will ever hurt you again.”
Driscoll stared at Zack, but his eyes were unfocused.
“Spirits don’t die,” he whispered, almost pleading with them. “Souls feel no pain. Angel doesn’t hurt anymore. She has eternal life.”
Quinn cleared his throat and asked softly, “Why the other girls?”
“My angels-they’re all my angels. They all hurt. Because that’s what people are-in pain. Constant, torturous pain.
“I had to free their souls, give them a painless life forever and ever. They’re at peace now. They’re with my Angel.”
CHAPTER 31
Olivia sat at Miranda’s kitchen table holding an empty coffee mug and staring out the window.
Miranda sat across from her. “Liv, give him some time. Zack is one of the good guys. He’ll come around. He’ll understand. He just needs to work through his feelings.”
She shook her head. “You weren’t there, Miranda. I explained everything. I really thought he would understand. And he’s right: I should have told him sooner. When did I become such a good liar?”
“You’re not. You’re the worst liar in the world.”
“Not anymore. I’m a master deceiver.” Zack’s words had felt like a physical assault. The more she tried to explain, the angrier-and more hurt-he became.
Olivia’s cell phone rang, but she didn’t make a move to get it. Miranda glanced at the number. “It’s someone in Virginia,” she said.
Olivia reluctantly picked up the phone. “Olivia St. Martin.”
“Olivia, it’s Rick Stockton.”
She sighed and braced herself. “Hello.”
“I know everything.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I knew it’d come out, but I wanted to explain-” She rubbed her eyes. Her excuses were already sounding lame. Last week, she couldn’t think of any other options. Today? She wished she’d done everything differently.
Not because she might lose her job, but because she’d lost Zack.
“We’ll talk about that later. We have more serious issues to deal with.”
She sat up straighter. “What happened?”
“I got a call from the deputy district attorney in San Mateo County, California, this morning. Two prominent people from the Hall investigation were murdered in their homes this week. Hamilton Craig, the district attorney; and Gary Porter, the detective originally in charge of the Hall investigation thirty-four years ago.”
“Gary? Dead? I just talked to him earlier this week. He was going to Hamilton’s funeral-I thought it was an intruder, a robbery gone bad.” Olivia’s heart rate increased.
“The bullets from both victims came from the same.38.”
“Oh no.” Her hand drifted to her mouth. Both Hamilton and Gary gone. Murdered. “Who did it? Do they have a suspect?”
Rick paused. “They got a warrant to search Brian Harrison Hall’s apartment. They found blood evidence that he killed both men, and ammunition that matches the fatal bullets.”
“Hall?” Her voice cracked. She could barely speak.
“That’s how I learned about your activities this week. When I spoke with the attorney, he told me that an ‘Agent Olivia St. Martin’ had been in Redwood City just yesterday morning. I called Greg. He told me everything.”
“I’m sorry, Rick. I-I didn’t have a choice.” As she said it, she knew it was true. She really hadn’t had a choice. She’d never have been able to live with herself if she’d done nothing and more girls died.
She’d helped save Nina Markow. She’d helped put Christopher Driscoll behind bars. She would do it again if faced with the same choice. She hadn’t known Zack when this started. And while she regretted not telling him the truth sooner, she didn’t regret coming to Seattle.
She had to explain it to him. Again. And again. Until he forgave her.
He had to forgive her. She loved him.
“So Hall’s in prison again?” she asked.
“They can’t find him.”
Olivia tensed. “What?”
“They found a vehicle registered in his name at the San Francisco International Airport. The time stamp indicates that he parked at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. We’re reviewing all security tapes and airline records to figure out where he went. He may have fled the country.