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Milo knew about that in general terms but I’d never gotten into the core of the experience. He read something on my face that made him turn away from me and back to the box.
Tapping the top, he said, “Abused so she runs. You think whoever she ran from found her and killed her all these years later? That’s…oh, man, that’s soevil.”
His hand traveled to his gut and massaged, as if sick to his stomach.
I said, “Maybe it didn’t start out as a murder. What if the abuser found out she was rich and tried to take advantage?”
“Blackmail? I raped you twenty years ago so pay me off?”
“Whoever it was could’ve figured the threat of disrupting her Bel Air life would be enough to motivate payment.”
“Whoever it was,” he said. Another queasy look. “Bastard shows up and exposes the family history? Yeah, I can see that not going down well in socialite circles. But still, he’s putting himself in the crosshairs if she reports him.”
I said, “Sexual psychopaths get off on risk and reliving. This is someone he’s dominated before. If she told him to get lost, rage might’ve taken over. Why return empty-handed from the hunt? I’ll snag myself a trophy.”
The hand on his abdomen clawed. He winced, turned away again to hide his reaction.
I said, “If we’re talking a father or an uncle, he could be in his sixties or his seventies but still healthy. Physically. A brother or cousin would be younger.”
“Happy family,” he said. “So how did whoever the asshole is find her after all these years?”
I said, “Obviously, it took a while and I’m wondering if Richard Barlett had something to do with it. Meagin spoke to him months agoand two days after she died, he was dispatched exactly the same way. If she told Barlett where she was living and he passed it on, he could’ve signed his own death warrant.”
“Why would he rat her out?”
“Only thing I can think of is a connection to the bad guy. A close one. Barlett also changed his name and wiped out his past and he’s two years younger than Meagin.”
“A brother?” he said. “Two kids escaping the same hell.”
“He would’ve been sixteen when Meagin left, could’ve gone with her, or waited and done it solo. If they were together, their lives eventually diverged. Meagin grew progressively more confident and developed a steely resolve. Maybe Barlett didn’t.”
“So he rats her out to a psychopath?”
“Maybe he got conned.”
“Whatever…the whole thing is vile. She works her entire life to get it together then gets snuffed.”
Another wince. Reaching the fury that a lot of homicide detectives achieve as cases clarify.
I sat there, intellectually troubled but not allowing the emotional aspect to occupy my brain. It’s a skill I’ve acquired over a lifetime. At times it’s made me a better therapist. Able to focus on people needing help, providing genuine empathy without feeling their pain.
Sometimes I wake up at three a.m.
The man who’d closed over three hundred homicides, and still ached with every new one, got to his feet but made no move to leave. Instead, he used the shift in posture to stretch within the oppressive space.
I continued to sit, thoughts flooding my head.
Knowing what it was like to be trapped. The terror and joy of escape. Things I’d never told anyone and never would.
Thoughts allowed, feelings forbidden.
Milo sat back down, looking drained. “Anything else?”
I said, “Now we’ve got her real name.”
He sighed. “Time to excavate.”
CHAPTER
