Fifteen Detective Olivia Newhouse #3
Walt kicks off the questions. “Warden Tennison tells us you overheard what sounded like an argument between former inmate Carl Fanning and Dr. Lewis Newhouse back in February.”
“That’s correct, sir,” Winslow confirms. “We heard shouting in the interview room. Fanning’s voice was particularly loud. He was calling for us. He wanted to return to his cell.”
Walt appears to consider his answer for a moment. “Do you recall anything else he or Newhouse said? Think carefully,” Walt urges. “This could be very important.”
A frown furrows Winslow’s brow as if he is doing exactly as Walt asked and concentrating hard to remember any little detail. “The doctor appeared visibly upset. I remember that in particular. He told Fanning he’d better remember his warning or there would be severe consequences.”
I swallow with effort and throw out the next question. “Did Fanning say anything in response to my—to Dr. Newhouse or to you as you escorted him back to his cell?”
Winslow shakes his head, then frowns. “Wait. He kept muttering something like: We all got bones buried somewhere. Didn’t make any sense at the time.
” He shrugs. “To tell you the truth, I think the man was crazy. I mean, crazier than we already knew. We all thought he got off way too light for what he did, if you know what I mean.”
When I say nothing more, Walt presses, “That’s all Fanning said?”
Winslow nods. “‘We all got bones buried somewhere.’ That’s it.”
The image of a shovel sliding into dirt slams into my brain with such force that I flinch.
The rest of the exchange between Walt and the guard is nothing more than a jumbled hum of syllables.
This can’t be—none of it. My father would never have been involved with a man like Fanning, and he sure as hell didn’t have any bones buried anywhere.
Nothing about any of this makes sense.
There has to be some mistake.
Poor Walt. He spent the drive from Riverbend to the next address on our list trying to reassure me that I had nothing to worry about despite what we learned from the warden and the guard.
I’m a really lousy partner right now. I feel terrible that he has to deal with all these personal issues of mine on top of this perplexing case.
This is not me. This is not my life. And yet, it is.
I feel like I’m coming apart from the inside out.
With every ounce of courage I possess, I focus on moving forward to the next step in the investigation. I can’t look at these personal issues—my father’s involvement with Fanning, and David, and the baby—for even a second longer.
Andrea Donnelly is the next name on the list of Fanning’s victims. She was eleven when he picked her up from the movie theater. An ER nurse now, Andrea is petite and pale, but her voice is steady and there is strength in her eyes as she explains what happened to her nineteen years ago.
“My friends Sunny and Ellen were making fun of me because I’d told them about my secret crush on a boy in our class.
” She shakes her head. “It was silly.” A sad smile tugs at her lips.
“They didn’t mean any harm, but at that age, you take everything to heart.
I’d gotten my period earlier than them, and I guess they were jealous.
God only knows why, but it was a big deal at the time. ”
When she hesitates, I nod my understanding. “Girls can be cruel at that age.”
She exhales a big breath. “I have two of my own now, and I remind them every day that adolescence is the hardest time they’ll face in their lives.”
“You were angry with your friends, so you went outside,” Walt prompts.
Andrea nods. “It was so foolish. I should’ve stayed inside.
” She closes her eyes for a long moment.
“But I didn’t. He spotted me on the sidewalk half a block from the theater.
I was headed home. He offered me a ride.
I said no, of course. But then I saw those mean boys from the high school.
I was far more afraid of them than of a stranger who was old enough to be my father.
And I was pretty sure I’d seen him at the theater dropping off a girl I thought was his daughter, which turned out to be a mistake.
Carl Fanning never had a daughter.” She shakes her head.
“I don’t know. I was stupid. Stupid and naive. ”
Andrea shares how terrified she was when she realized he wasn’t taking her home and how he pulled over, yanked her out of the front seat, and stuffed her into the trunk.
Her throat works with the remembered fear.
He took her to the rear parking lot of an abandoned factory, raped her, and left her naked and unconscious on the cracked and faded asphalt.
As she speaks, the images flash through my mind as if I were there. I can smell the sweat from the bastard’s physical exertion. Can hear his raspy panting. I can see her lying on the ground like a discarded rag doll.
The black dots float across my field of vision, and I know I have to get out of this house soon or I will vomit on the woman’s beautiful Persian rug.
I touch the phone at my waist and say, “I have a call.”
I rush out of the house so fast I almost stumble over the dog.