‘What time is it?’ Mary asked.
‘Why, do you have somewhere you need to be?’
‘Please,’ Mary said, her head shaking and dropping down half an inch, in a disapproving gesture. ‘We can play whichever silly power game you want to play later, but right now, all that we’ll be doing is wasting time. I just asked for the time. It’s not a tricky question.’
Kendall held Mary’s stare for a little longer before finally checking his watch. ‘It’s 2:33 a.m.’
‘And where’s Quaddra?’ Mary asked with more than enough urgency in her voice. ‘Is he still at the hospital?’
‘Are you referring to the person who we found stabbed in the kitchen… back in the house that you came running out of with a bloody knife?’ Kendall asked back.
‘Yes.’ Mary’s eyebrows angled up as she nodded once. ‘Quaddra… my husband… the man you found in the kitchen. I saw him being carried out on a medical stretcher. I assume that he was taken to the hospital.’
‘That’s correct,’ Kendall confirmed. ‘It looks like you did apretty good number on him. There was a lot of blood in that kitchen – all of it his.’
Mary leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. ‘Is he still in the hospital, or has he gone back to the house?’
‘Why do you care? Is it because you failed to kill him? Want to try again?’
‘I was defending myself.’
Kendall angled his body to one side to look at Mary. ‘It doesn’t really look that way, does it?’ His voice was calm, his tone condescending. ‘The person you stabbed is pretty physically fit… quite muscly too. Are you telling me that you got into a physical altercation with him and he’s all banged up and cut, being all stitched up in the emergency ward while you…’ He pursed his lips while he looked at Mary again. ‘Don’t seem to have a scratch on you? That’s pretty hard to believe. Unless you’re a secret ninja.’ He moved his hands about, mimicking karate chops. ‘Is that who you are, Mary Buckner… a ninja?’
‘I know how this looks, OK? And I can explain everything to you in a moment, but right now I really need to know if he’s still at the hospital or if he’s gone back to the house… please, this really is important.’
The desperation in Mary’s eyes was real.
Kendall stared straight into them. ‘Why?’ he asked, sitting back on his chair. ‘Why is it so important? What difference does it make?’
‘It makesallthe difference,’ Mary replied in an urgent voice before proceeding to tell him about the secret basement, the Polaroids… the trophies… the computer… the video… everything. ‘If he gets back to the house before you guys get to that basement,’ Mary said in conclusion, ‘he’ll get rid of all the evidence down there.’ Her eyes filled up with tears again. ‘I’m telling you… please… if he’s still in the hospital… please go back to the house and check it for yourself – bottom right-handdrawer on the Victorian chest inside his office, which is to the right of the main stairwell. You’ve got to do it before he gets back.’
Kendall had listened to Mary’s story in complete silence, his eyes carefully studying her expressions, her movements, her breathing… all of it. When she was done, he kept his eyes on her for several extra seconds before they moved to the two-way mirror, as if he could see through it.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Mary added. ‘You already have me. I’m cuffed and in a holding cell. All I’m asking is for you to go check. The house is just about a mile from here. It will take you five minutes to drive there at this time.’
Mary was right, they had taken her to the San Francisco Northern District Police Station, which was just about a mile from Pacific Heights.
‘If you don’t go check,’ she continued, ‘trust me… a crazy psychopath will walk away free… and he’s going to kill again.’
Kendall sat forward and rested his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers together in front of him. He didn’t say a word. He simply stared into Mary’s eyes so intensely, it was as if he could read her soul.
Mary didn’t shy away from his stare.
Still in silence, Kendall got to his feet and walked over to the door. ‘For your sake,’ he said, as he pulled the door open, ‘you better not be lying.’
Ninety-Seven
Detective Kendall parked his Dodge Challenger in the exact same spot where he had parked earlier – just a little to the left of Quaddra and Mary’s front door.
Before leaving the station, just about five minutes ago, he got in touch with the hospital at UCSF, where Quaddra had been taken to. To prevent him from entering hypovolemic shock, Quaddra had to be put on a blood drip, and he would have to spend the night in observation, which meant that there was no danger of him coming back to the house before morning.
Back at the station, Kendall had also asked his partner, Detective Derek Choi, what he thought of Mary’s story. Choi had been the one sitting on the other side of the two-way mirror, while Kendall talked to Mary.
‘She was too rattled up for me to get a good reading on her,’ Choi had replied. Derek Choi was an expert when it came to reading and interpreting body language. No one could really lie to him for too long before he started picking up on telltale signs. ‘But if she’s lying, then she’s a great actress.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Kendall had agreed.
‘And also a bit stupid,’ Choi had added. ‘If this was a murder attempt gone wrong and she was trying to come up with an excuse for it, then the easiest thing to do would be to go with abusive husband. Simple story – he hit her one too many times and shefinally fought back. That story would fly, even if it wasn’t completely true, but making up a serial killer story?’
