“Ma’am, I’m Detective Walt Duncan. You remember me? My partner and I spoke to you yesterday. We’re working the Fanning case.”
His name causes a wince, and I wish I hadn’t needed to say it.
“Your husband tells me you have some concerns regarding the situation.”
She looks to her husband then, and tears slip down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for all this.”
He brushes at her cheeks, his face lined with concern. “Honey, you do not need to be sorry for anything.”
“He’s right,” I say. “You did nothing wrong. If our interview had any part in this, I am truly sorry.”
She shifts her attention to me. “No. It wasn’t you. It was me. And I did. Do something wrong, I mean.”
The unexpected statement brings the moment to a standstill with no one blinking or even breathing.
“Saturday morning,” she says, shattering the odd stillness, “I went to Dawson’s Detail Shop on Dickerson whereheworks.”
The husband’s face pales. “Oh my God, baby, what were you thinking?”
I want to tell him to be quiet, but I ignore him instead. “Where Fanning works?” Liv and I only just learned from the lawyer that the bastard has a job. In fact, Dawson’s was another of the calls I made after leaving Liv at her Subaru. No one there has seen Fanning since Saturday around noon.
“Yes,” Patricia says. When her husband starts to say something else, she holds up a hand to stop him. “That was my part. The thing I was supposed to do.”
No matter that my instincts go on point, I don’t ask what that means. She’s talking. I want her to keep doing that until she’s finished. The clarification that she is talking about Fanning is all I need at this point.
“I was supposed to go early, before the place opened, and spray paint the words ‘sick fuck’ on the front of the building.”
Her husband’s expression shows shock now, but thankfully he says nothing.
When a couple of beats pass with her saying nothing more, I prompt her with, “Were you able to accomplish this?”
She blinks and sets her gaze on me once more. “No. He was there already. Before anyone else. Almost like he knew I was coming.”
Shit. “Fanning?”
She nods. “He told me that I should go home and be a good girl or he’d be coming for my little girl next.”
“Oh my God.” The words come from the husband, who now looks aghast. “How did he know we were having a little girl?”
She shrugs listlessly. “Social media, I guess. We posted the gender reveal party months ago. It’s the only way he could have known.”
My chest hurts with the effort to breathe. This means he was keeping tabs on his victims via social media. The idea tears at my gut.Not really surprising but damned infuriating. “What happened next, Patricia?”
“I ran back to my car and rushed away.” More tears are streaming down her cheeks. “But look what I did.” She stares at me with such worry and fear, it makes my heart ache all the more. “He could come for our baby. And it’ll be all my fault.”
“First,” I say, “I’m putting a surveillance detail on your home. He is not going to get your baby or you.” I turn to her husband. “Call home and let the grandmother know that an officer will be there soon.” Then I shift back to Patricia. “I understand why you felt compelled to do this. Really, I do. And you have every right to hate this man and want to force others to see what he is.”
She swipes at her damp cheeks. Her husband has moved to the other side of the room to make the call.
“I wish he was dead,” she admits, her voice quavering.
That makes two of us, but I don’t say this.
“I have one more question, Patricia.” I approach this cautiously. I don’t want to spook her or have her guard going up.
She nods as if she understands.
“What did you mean when you said that was your part, the thing you were supposed to do?”
