Darker Than Desire (22 page)

He'd made that statement in a cool, flat voice, all the while staring Sorenson dead in the eyes.

David hadn't asked for a lawyer, but at the moment he hadn't said shit-all anybody could use, and he hadn't said a damn thing to implicate himself or anybody else.

Of course, he hadn't said much of anything that didn't need to be pried from him with a crowbar.

When he remained silent over the offer of coffee, again, Sorenson just sighed and leaned back in his chair. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him they'd been at this for over three hours, but only the first hour and a half had been going over the events of the past few days.

Then David had talked. In clear, concise sentences, he'd detailed what he'd been doing for the day, right up until the part where he and Sybil went inside her apartment.

Something had flickered in his eyes then.

And as much as Sorenson didn't care to poke around in somebody's private business, he decided that was what he needed to do. Poke around there, right there. Not because he gave a damn about what David and Sybil did, but if he hit the one area where David seemed to have a weakness maybe he'd lose that iron grip he had on his control.

With a casualness Sorenson didn't really feel, he flipped back through his notes. “Let's get back to talking about today,” he said easily.

“And here I was thinking that's what this was all about,” David said mockingly. “Since Louisa died
today
. Not a few weeks ago, not twenty years ago. But thanks for the walk down memory lane.”

Sorenson shot David a look, but his eyes showed nothing. It was like staring at a pond frozen over. Icy blue. The chief just nodded absently. “You never know when the dots will connect, though. Sometimes that connection is right there, but we all walk right past it, look right past it, even though the clues are pretty simple. So, about today. I need to know more about just what happened once you and Sybil got to her studio. Why you went there, instead of home.”

David ran a thumb down his cheek, his gaze boring into Sorenson's. “One thing my psychotic mother did do was make sure I had some manners. I don't kiss and tell, Chief.”

“The two of you were there just for … personal reasons.”

David lifted a brow. “Personal reasons?” He snorted and shrugged. “I guess I can go with that. Yes, it got pretty damn personal.”

“All afternoon.”

David's lids dropped and he tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling as he slumped on the hard ladder-backed seat. He lounged in it like it was a La-Z-Boy recliner. After a few seconds, he shrugged. “We slept a little. She's got a bed in her office. One of those daybeds. We were in there when Jensen showed up.”

“So between … personal activities and sleeping, you two were busy all afternoon and well into the evening.”

David straightened and focused his unnerving gaze on Sorenson once more. A smile curled David's lips ever so slightly. “Yeah. All afternoon. Well into the evening. I'd have been happy to spend the rest of the night there, if y'all hadn't shown up.”

“Where was her nephew in all of this?”

A vein ticked in David's brow. “Drew spent the day with a friend.”

“Convenient.” Sorenson tapped his pen on his notepad, never taking his eyes from David's face.

“Convenient?” David's voice dropped, and for the first time that ice finally cracked. It wasn't the heat of anger that bled through, though. It was cold, deadly menace. “I don't think you can describe anything about this day as
convenient
. The man we buried was the closest thing I had to a father. Sybil was there because she wanted to be there for me. She didn't think it was the best place for Drew—it's not like he's had the easiest life with his junkie mother who only shows up in his life when she wants to beg for money or bitch at Sybil. Then Louisa decides she's going to make a scene at the judge's funeral, screeching like a harpy. Sybil and I came
here,
because we wanted to be alone and it was the closest place. Louisa ended up dead somehow, and while she was a harpy, she didn't need to die for it. Then the cops show up and drag Sybil and me to the police station although she didn't have shit to do with anything. You had no reason to bother her even if you do have a hard-on for me. Three hours later, I'm still stuck in here and you want to say anything about this is convenient?”

Sorenson blinked as David came to a stop, his voice biting and cold. He'd never once raised his voice and his fury was that much more menacing for it. That much more cold. Sorenson had always been of the mind that a man who controlled his rage could be more dangerous than the one who acted in the heat of passion.

As he sat there looking at David, he knew a few things. To the bone.

David hadn't killed Louisa. Even if he hadn't had an ironclad alibi, Sorenson didn't think he would have been looking to charge him. Whoever had killed her had done so in a fit of rage.

David damn well had the capacity to kill the men who'd died in this town over the past few months. Yet somehow Sorenson didn't see him being the kind of man who'd shove a bagful of M&M's down one guy's throat or spike another's man whiskey with Benadryl so he could slip a knife in, nice and easy.

No. If David wanted a man dead, he'd do it. Up close, personal. Because that's what all of this was for him.

Personal.

“Did Troyer abuse you?” Sorenson asked, keeping a close watch on the man's face. Every last line.

David's flinch was so minute, if Sorenson hadn't been watching for it he wouldn't have seen it. Then, finally, David looked away. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

David's eyes slanted his way, glittering like frozen bits of ice under an arctic sun. “Unsure of the meaning, Chief? Let me break this down for you and I'll be clear, because it's the only time I'll speak of it. Ever. I only knew a few names, and the men I
did
know you can't do shit about because they died during a span of five years, starting with the hunting accident Chief Keith Andrews had. Abel Blue was the next to die—he had a heart attack. Luis and Garth Sims both died within a month of each other. Those are the names of the men I knew about, in addition to my father. Other than that?” David shook his head. “I don't know.”

“If you did?”

David leaned forward, his eyes vivid, lethal. “If I knew, there would be more blood spilled in this town than you could handle.”

“You realize that's not exactly a wise thing to say to a cop.”

“Maybe I'm not a smart man.” David showed no emotion as he said it.

“Did you have anything to do with the deaths of Harlan Troyer, Willie T. Merchant or Gary Quimby?” Sorenson asked, well aware he might not get another chance to ask that question.

A sneer twisted David's mouth. “No. I didn't know they were involved, but if I had known? I would have killed them, but they would have died a far bloodier, more painful death than you can imagine. Spiked whiskey and M & M's aren't the weapons I'd choose. The only one who suffered at all, from what the papers are saying, was Willie T.” He lifted a brow, paused a moment. “Gut shot, right?”

“Yes. He had a bullet wound that perforated his large intestine. Without immediate emergency surgery, he had no chance.”

David's smile widened. “I wouldn't have used a gun. It wouldn't make him hurt enough. I never even bothered to learn how to shoot, because if I'm going to kill somebody, I'll do it with my bare hands.
If
I ever killed one of them, I'd want the man to look me in the eyes … and know who I was, and why he was dying.”

“You really think anything you've just said has put my mind at ease, son?” Sorenson asked softly.

“You aren't going to be at ease around me anyway.” David shrugged, his lack of concern obvious. “I can tell by looking in your eyes. You already suspect I could, and would, kill if it came down to it. What you want to know is if I killed any of the men who've died here in town.” He stood up, towering over Sorenson now. “I didn't kill them. I can't tell you who did. Now unless I'm under arrest, I'm going to leave.”

*   *   *

He stood in the hall for five minutes, waiting for the anger to fade, trying to ease the ugly, slimy feel of shame that once more saturated every thread of his being.

It wasn't possible, but he had to be able to walk out there and look at Sybil.

Had to find a way to get himself level before he looked at her.

This was a fuck of a time to realize just how much, how desperately, he needed her with him. He'd always known he needed her. From the very time he'd touched her and felt the way the noise and chaos inside him seemed to calm.

And now, more than ever, she needed to be
away
from him.

Some of him had hoped that if he just kept his mouth shut the cops would realize he had nothing to tell them and they'd let it go. They knew it was Diane Sutter who had been found.

But they didn't know what had happened to Peter. David didn't know, and he didn't care. But they had an unsolved disappearance, they had numerous murders, all things that tied back to him.

He was a fool for thinking he could keep this from spilling out onto her. Onto Drew.

But he wasn't going to stay a fool.

It was time to bring this all to an end.

Tonight, while he still had this ugliness of the past few hours harsh in his head. They'd brought her in, questioned her. Louisa never would have confronted him if it weren't for the ugliness in his past and he wouldn't have been questioned over her death. All of this was because of him.

Hearing a soft, tired sigh out in the lobby area, he lifted his head.

He had absolutely no fucking idea how he was going to walk away from her.

It was the most painful thing he'd done in twenty years. Maybe ever.

He had been on the receiving end of pain more times than he knew, but once he'd found it in him to leave he'd wrapped that shell of ice around him, letting next to nobody in, and it had been safe. Leaving without knowing what was going on with Lana, that had hurt, but he'd been half out of it with pain. Realizing that his mother had been waiting for them and he'd put Lana in danger, that had hurt, but the shock of it all had dulled everything but the fear.

This time, though, there was no danger to dull anything.

No jagged wound in his side spilling out his blood to cloud his thinking.

No fear for his life, or somebody else's, to push him on.

Just the knowledge that he had to do this. He had to go out there, look at Sybil, take her out of here. He had to get her home. Had to find a way to look her in the eye and tell her it was done.

And then he had to walk away.

For the first time in decades, he wanted to go to his knees and pray for some other way.

But there wasn't anybody up there to answer anyway.

So he didn't bother.

Sometimes the only way was the painful one. This was the best thing for Sybil. And for Drew.

*   *   *

“You don't need to wait,” Jensen said softly as she gave Sybil a cup of coffee. Sybil's statement had been brief.

David, though, he'd been back there for more than three hours.

Rotating her head to eye Jensen narrowly, she let the silence draw out before she finally said, “I'm betting you'd just run off and leave your guy here alone, right?”

Jensen looked away without response.

“That's what I thought.” Closing her eyes, she went back to brooding.

Louisa was dead.

Mean, backstabbing gossip.

Oh, there were other gossips in town. Meg Hampton cut Sybil's hair, and you couldn't trust that woman with a secret to save a life. But she didn't have any mean in her. Louisa was—no. Louisa
had
little room for anything but mean. Mean and petty.

And somebody had killed her.

Then the cops came to the door looking for David.

Hasn't he had enough trouble in his life?
Sybil asked silently, shifting her gaze to stare upward.

There wasn't an answer, though. Sybil hadn't really expected one.

“You've got Drew to think about,” Jensen said.

“Drew is with a friend.”
Until noon.
She'd have to leave before that. Leave, think of something to say. Think of some way to explain this to the kid. Especially if they didn't let David leave.

A quiet sigh drifted toward her. “Look, Syb—”

“Don't,” she said, her voice low and angry. Rising from the seat, she started to pace while a hundred angry words crowded in her head. She stopped halfway across the room and whirled around to glare at Jensen. “I don't care what
you
or any fucking cop here thinks. Never mind the fact that he was with me, all day long. If we weren't at the funeral then he was either under me or on top of me, and yes, I can paint you a picture if you need it. But forget that. That man wouldn't kill a helpless woman and that's what Louisa was. She was no threat to him.”

“She made him angry earlier,” Jensen said, her voice level.

Sybil snorted. “If
anger
alone was all it took to make him kill, half the people in this town would be dead.
I
would be dead, because I can guarantee that I've pissed him off. David isn't going to go kill somebody just because he's pissed off.”

“So why would he kill?”

A soft sound caught her attention, but even if she hadn't looked up, hadn't seen David standing there, she wouldn't have answered that. His blue eyes, blank as a doll's, stared into hers for a long moment and then he glanced at Jensen.

Slowly, Sybil turned her head and looked at the other woman, quirked a brow. “I don't know. Why would
you
kill, Jensen?”