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“I—I...”
For a moment—a brief moment—he was flustered.
Then he recovered.
“Sally told me all about the breakup. And how he sucked in bed. No balls!” he said, and laughed at what he saw as a great pun.
“You can try all you like with a jury, Mr. Carver, but I don’t believe a word you say. You were playing with us when you were furious someone else took a woman—and used a pine coffin as a tool to kill her, just like you. You said you were the one and only.”
He sighed. “Because you’re gullible idiots.”
She leaned closer to him, smiling.
“Emily Watkins. What a beautiful girl. And she used public transportation. That might have made it easier for you. I mean, she had to walk some dark and empty streets now and then, getting to and from work. She was so...”
“Beautiful, athletic,” he said.
“Wait! I thought you didn’t do it?” Colleen said.
“I saw pictures.”
“Oh? Well, yes, I guess they were in the paper. She had such beautiful hair, all held back with that darling little red barrette.”
“Soft hair,” he said quietly, his eyes in the past.
“And I believe she was Jewish.”
“Irish,” he said.
“Irish?”
“Irish Catholic,” he said. “She wore a shamrock—in the picture they had in the paper.”
“Maybe it was Lainie Nowak who was Jewish,” Colleen said thoughtfully.
“Could be. Beautiful and businesslike—with a feminine flair. The woman was stunning. But could she find some losers. According to what I read in the paper.”
“Different from Emily, though. She didn’t like jewelry,” Colleen said.
“She liked it just fine,” he said frowning. “Delicate earrings. Like I said, businesslike and feminine. Stunning, simply stunning.”
Colleen sat back. “Interesting what you recall—from the papers.”
“Of course,” he said, grinning broadly. “Everything I told you was a come-on. Because you’re all assholes. Even the dog. Hang around with assholes, you become an asshole.”
She leaned forward, smiling sweetly. “I know. It’s just terrible when such assholes are after you, isn’t it? And when they record your conversations.”
He lifted his arms toward the one-way mirror, knowing fully well, of course, that he was being watched.
“Record away! I’m telling you I’m innocent, and Sally Smithson is a sad slut who can’t get it without begging, especially the way she wants it!”
“Well,” Colleen said softly. “I believe you were The Embracer—”
“You’re an ass. A damned beautiful ass!” He laughed again. “I’ll bet it is a beautiful ass.”
“But you’re not the one and only Embracer. There is someone else out there. Oh, and as to Emily and Lainie, yes, you’re a murderer. A very sick, psycho murderer, I’m afraid. You see, the pictures of the dead women that appeared in the papers were not pictures of them as they were the night you killed them. You described them as they were discovered—murdered. And we assholes have this conversation on tape, Mr. Carver, and it will be played in the courtroom when you go up for murder.”
She stood.
He tried to stand as well, furious.
“No, no. Harassment! You tried to lead me. You tried to get me to say things. Entrapment! I’m telling you, I didn’t murder anyone. And I took pity on a girl who couldn’t get what she wanted from another guy. You don’t believe such women are out there? Oh, yeah, you poor wretch, you’re just like them. You sleep with your gun. Or your damned dog or—”
The door flew open. Mark was there, Red at his side.
Red let out a warning growl.
It wasn’t quite as intimidating as the look on Mark’s face.
“I think we’re done—we got what we came for,” he said, staring at Carver.
The man was furious, slamming his chains against the table.
Two of the guards rushed in, but they had done their duty well. Carver couldn’t budge from the table.
Mark led her out of the room.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his brows furrowed, his tone dark. She could see he was barely containing his anger.
And she could see he’d like to throw a punch at Carver’s smug face.
But he was in control.
