Harris had a strong, instantaneous reaction. He gasped, covered his mouth with his hand.
“I read about that,” he said.
“Did you know her?” Reid asked, all his senses activated as he watched the emotions cross Harris’s face.
“No, I just felt sorry for her. And her family. Who would do that? Kill her and the baby?”
“Did you ever want to kill one of your victims?” Reid asked.
“Oh my God, no!” he said.
“Do you mind if we step into your room?” Reid asked. “And look around?”
“That’s fine,” he said, glancing at Warren. “But you’re not supposed to search, right, Robin?”
“He can, if there is reasonable suspicion,” Robin Warren said in a kind voice.
Reid stood in the room, barely big enough for a twin bed, bureau, closet, and microwave set on a countertop. The walls were blank except for a few postcards tacked above his bed. The wastebasket was half-full of empty nip bottles. Cans and cartons of chili, mac and cheese, and tuna, classic food pantry/soup kitchen fare, were stored on top of the microwave.
Piles of books covered the floor—Reid glanced and saw titles by Carl Sagan and textbooks about stars and planets; self-help books titledTake Charge of Your Life NOW;The Past Was Never Your Friend;Say Hello to the Present (Your Greatest Gift);Turn Those Inner Demons into Angels!; and, most surprisingly, three novels by Danielle Steel.
“What are your ‘inner demons’?” Reid asked.
“Normal ones!” Harris says. “Everyone has them.”
“Okay,” Reid said. So far he was just standing there, turning in a tight circle, seeing what was obvious to the naked eye. He hadn’t opened a drawer or the closet door.
“I am very upset about this,” Harris said. “I haven’t done anything. Ask Robin! So how can you possibly say there’s ‘reasonable suspicion’?”
Reid leaned close to look at the postcards above Harris’s pillow. There were five, all tourist shots of towns in Connecticut. Vineyards in Stonington, docks in Mystic, the ferry in Hadlyme, and Main Street in Black Hall.
The shot of Black Hall showed the big white church and the Lathrop Gallery.
“You like Black Hall?” Reid asked, lightning shooting down his spine.
“I like all those towns,” Harris said, sounding nervous. “They’re beautiful. They have dark skies, perfect for seeing stars. Places I would like to live, buy a good telescope, and get back to my profession, when I get off parole.” He paused as if waiting for a question that never came, then clarified. “Astronomy. That is my profession.”
“Been to the Lathrop Gallery?” Reid asked.
“No, never.”
“I asked if you knew Beth Lathrop,” Reid said.
“And I said no!”
“How about her husband? Pete Lathrop?”
“No!”
Reid straightened up. “Well, Mr. Harris,” he said. “This is what they callreasonable suspicion. I’m going to call for some Silver Bay police officers to take you to the station. And then we’re going to search your room.”
“Robin,” Harris wailed.
“Just do what he says,” she said sternly.
“I need a drink before I go,” Harris said, sounding on the verge of tears.
“That will have to wait,” Reid said, snapping on latex gloves, staring at the postcard of the gallery, his heart beating faster, knowing he was about to see what Harris had hidden in his drawers and what was written on the back of the postcard.
