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“You don’t understand. Someone else is trying to get to her,” he insisted. “I need to talk to her in private so I can explain.”
“Like hell are you getting near her.” Thankfully, Grace hadn’t appeared behind me. She must have heard the commotion and was wisely staying away. She was probably terrified. I wished I could go to her, but without a weapon, I had no way to control Weich, so I couldn’t release him. “I’m not letting you touch one hair on her head. If you want her, you’ll have to go through me.”
He bucked against me, but not violently, just as if testing the strength of my grip. When I didn’t budge, he stilled. “It’s not like that.” His voice was strained. “I have important news she needs to hear.”
At that, I paused. He was probably making it up or living some kind of delusion, but on the off chance he did know something, I needed to hear it.
“You can explain everything to me at the police station,” I said, silently trying to determine the best way to get him there without backup to restrain him.
He moaned in distress. “The police never believe me.”
I snorted. “I wonder why.”
“Come on. I’m not a threat.”
“You charged at me,” I pointed out.
“Only so I could get to her.” He growled in frustration. “You’re not going to believe me, are you? No one ever does.”
Deciding on a course of action, I angled my face away from him and toward the living area. “Gracie,” I called. “I need you to bring me some cuffs and my keys, then lock the door behind us. Don’t open it to anyone other than my family or Desdemona. Got it?”
She didn’t answer, but a few seconds later, she appeared silently behind me and handed me the cuffs. Her scared eyes lingered on Weich, and then she hurried away again. Sensing her presence, Weich tried to look over his shoulder, but I manhandled him into the cuffs before he could. I pressed the button on my keys to unlock the car and guided him down the stairs, pausing until the door shut behind us and I heard the lock click into place. Weich mumbled something incoherent.
I opened the back door of the vehicle. “Get in.”
I half-expected him to run for the house again, but he got into the car, only his glare telling me how unhappy he was. I locked him inside and made a brief phone call, then got into the driver’s seat and headed for the police station.
“She’s not safe by herself,” Weich said as we began driving. He seemed to have calmed down.
“She won’t be alone for long.” I had already asked Liam and Kennedy to go to her. I’d considered sending in the whole Braddock clan, but Grace was already overwhelmed. She was close with Kennedy, and the other woman understood what she was going through, so Liam and Kennedy were the obvious choice to keep her company.
At the station, I called Mehrtens and Patton, who’d been most involved with the investigation, and asked them to come back in. Mehrtens arrived first and joined me in the interview room. I informed Weich of his rights and started the audio recording.
“It’s about time,” he said as soon as I was done. “This is taking too long. Grace is in danger, and we’re all here sitting on our asses.”
“Why don’t you tell me more about why Grace is in trouble?” Mehrtens suggested. We’d agreed she’d take the lead on questioning him, since I might blow my top and do or say something to jeopardize the case.
“Someone emailed me yesterday,” Weich said. “They told me where she lived and sent me photographs of her.” He glanced from Mehrtens to me. “I’ve been going to therapy every month for years, and I understand now that I made a mistake when I broke into Grace’s house. I was sick, and the only defense I have is that I genuinely believed she loved me and needed to be rescued. But this is different. I’m on my meds and I’m doing okay. That’s how I know that whoever sent me those photos wanted me to hurt or scare Grace. I can’t think of any other reason why they’d send them. I’m not dangerous to her anymore, but whoever it is doesn’t know that.” He looked at me pleadingly. “You don’t have any reason to believe me, but you can ask my therapist.”
“Who’s your therapist?” Mehrtens asked.
Weich gave her the details.
“Do you have any proof that you’re telling the truth?” I asked, unable to help myself.
His expression was blank for a moment, but then he nodded, visibly relieved. “The email is on my phone.”
“Which is where?”
“My pocket.”
Mehrtens approached him, taking a plastic glove from inside her uniform and putting it on her right hand. “Please stand. Do I have your permission to take it out of your pocket?”
“Yes.”
Mehrtens extracted the phone and swiped the screen.
“The pin is four-two-seven-zero,” Weich said.
