Maggie got to her feet when John did, but paused to ask Andy, "Is there anything else? Anything new?"
Only someone who knew him well would have seen the hesitation before he replied, "No, nothing. At least until we have the forensics report later today."
Maggie pretended she didn't know him well and nodded as she turned away. She'd have to come back here later and corner Andy, try to find out what was going on. Unless it was her, and not John Garrett, he didn't want to tell.
She didn't much like this. If it came down to it, where would her loyalties have to lie? With the police or with John? That shouldn't have been a question, but it was. And she knew why it was.
Pushing those troubling thoughts aside for the moment, Maggie followed John from the station. He didn't speak until they were on the steps, and then it was to make a wry request.
"Would you mind if we went together in my car? I'll bring you back here afterward to get your car." He grimaced slightly when she looked at him quizzically. "I don't know if you've noticed, but these days any unaccompanied man moving around the city tends to draw quite a few suspicious stares, especially in a neighborhood such as the one we'll be visiting. Aside from disliking the way it makes me feel, I'd just as soon avoid the undue attention."
Maggie half nodded and went with him to his car, and it wasn't until they were on their way that she said, "It's the not knowing, of course. As far as most of the women in this city are concerned, any man they don't know could be the rapist-and sad to say there are probably far too many women who aren't even sure of the men they do know."
"That is sad. It must be hell to look at someone you believed you could trust and realize you aren't completely sure anymore. And hell to be on the receiving end of that doubt."
"I imagine so."
He glanced at her. "Imagine? Can't you feel it? When they do, I mean."
"Why ask when you don't believe it's possible?" Maggie made her voice a little dry but still casual. "Is that why you wanted me to go with you to the Mitchell house, by the way? So you could watch another… performance and explain it away?"
John was silent for a moment, then said, "I hate it when Quentin's right. He said you'd probably lived with doubt and disbelief most of your life."
"He'd know, being a seer. Not that you believe that either." She realized abruptly that they weren't heading for the address of the Mitchell house Andy had provided but in another direction entirely. Where-
"That's an old-fashioned term for it, isn't it? Seer?"
Maggie shrugged, feeling a slow little chill crawl over her skin. "I suppose. Anyway, he said he didn't see things, just knew them."
"And you?"
"What about me?" She clung to casual disinterest and fought the rising panic.
John drew a breath and said softly, "When you walk through a place where something violent happened, do you see things? Know them? Or feel them?"
Repeating her earlier answer, Maggie said, "Why ask when you don't believe it's possible?"
"I never have believed it's possible, but that doesn't mean I can't change my mind, Maggie. Not long before I called Andy and found out about the Mitchell woman, Quentin told me another woman had been taken. He knew."
"I'm sure you explained that away. It could have been a lucky guess." She knew where they were going now. Damn. Damn.
"It could have been. But if so, there've been a lot of lucky guesses over the years, too many times he knew things before he should have. And then there's you."
Stolidly, Maggie said, "I'm just overly sensitive, that's all. With a vivid imagination."
"I guess you've heard that a lot during your life."
"Enough."
"Okay. But at least I'm trying to have an open mind. Give me that much credit."
After a moment, she said quietly, "I'm sure you use calculators and computers and other machines in your business affairs; do you really have to understand the nuts and bolts of how they work in order to be satisfied with the information and answers they provide?"
"No. But I have to trust that the information they provide is accurate and reliable, and sometimes that requires at least some level of understanding. And you're not a machine. I really do want to understand you, Maggie."
Deliberately, Maggie half turned in the seat to look at him steadily. "If your friend Quentin hasn't convinced you in years of trying to, then what hope do I have? At least the things he tells you can be verified, predictions backed up by fact when those predictions turn out to be true. But what I do? What I do isn't backed up by anything, really. It's all subjective. Besides, I don't have the spare energy to jump through hoops for you, John. Just tell yourself I have a peculiar skill honed by half a lifetime of working with the police, and let it go at that. I can't prove anything to you."
"Can't you?"
"No."
He pulled the car over to the curb and stopped, then looked at her, his jaw tight. "I know a way you can."
She didn't have to look to know where they were. "No. I can't."
"Because the interview with Hollis took too much out of you?"
She had to be honest. "No."
"Because you have to save your energy for the Mitchell house?"
"Partly."
He nodded as if an inner belief had been confirmed. "But not completely. So what's the rest of the answer, Maggie? Andy told me you never walked through Christina's apartment after she died. Why not?"
Maggie drew a short breath. "I have my reasons." Reasons he wouldn't understand, let alone believe.
"What reasons?"
"Private reasons."
"Maggie-"
"John, I'm not going to walk through Christina's apartment. Not today."
"And you won't tell me why."
She shook her head slightly in a brief but final negation.
"I'm trying to understand this," he said, his voice slow, as though he chose his words carefully. "Because it's such a simple question, Maggie-why did my sister kill herself? I think you could answer that question, so I have to wonder why you won't even make an attempt. Am I asking so much? Just walk through her apartment and tell me what you see. Or know. Or feel-
Andy hung up his phone and scowled at Jennifer as she approached his desk. "Please tell me you have something," he begged.
She sat down and said, "We didn't expect forensics to find anything, especially not this quickly. So something else must have put you in a bad mood. Or somebody. Drummond?"
If anything, Andy's frown deepened. "I don't know whether to look forward to the day he's sitting in the governor's mansion or dread it. He'd be mostly out of my hair-but God help the state."
"Let me guess. Samantha Mitchell or her husband has a Very Important Friend in government?"
"Hell, they know everybody. At least according to Luke. And everybody is yelling at him to find the lady, pronto."
"I guess you told him we're trying to do that."
"I mentioned it, yeah."
Jennifer smiled. "Well, here's something else to brighten your day."
He braced himself visibly. "What?"
"While Scott's trying to track down those missing files, I've been taking a closer look at that book I got from the library. There aren't a lot of specific details on the series of murders in 1934, but there was one very interesting thing. It turns out the cops were undecided whether to call it six victims-or eight. Six was the official verdict, but there was a lot of doubt, apparently, among the investigating officers."
"What kind of doubt?"
"They were positive the first six victims were killed by the same man because of the similarities. The women were always raped and killed somewhere else and their bodies dumped later in remote or deserted spots, he always beat them up badly, the women always bore defense injuries, and he never tore their clothing."
Andy blinked. "Never?"