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“That’s before she realized who she was!” Herman insisted.
“Yes,” she agreed emphatically. “Before my memory came back.”
Reed held up a hand. “Okay. Mr. Kemp, if you’d step outside, a deputy will lead you to another room where you can wait for your turn.”
“No.” He was shaking his head, his color rising. “My wife is fragile. I need to be with her.”
“What you need to do is wait outside,” Reed insisted. “Detective Delacroix will escort you.”
“Oh, please.” Greta was shaking her head so emphatically her hair clip slid down the strands of hair it was supposed to contain. “I need my husband with me.”
Delacroix was on her feet. “Mr. Kemp, if you’ll come with me.” Then to Reed, “I’ll pick up a swab for a DNA sample.”
“A what?” Greta said, looking frantic.
“Honey, they can’t take one without your permission,” Herman insisted, not budging.
“Or a court order.” Delacroix was by the door. “Mr. Kemp. If you would come with me.”
“No!” Greta was on her feet in an instant. “No, he has to stay. I need him.”
Delacroix said, “If you really are Rose Duval, DNA will prove it.”
Greta looked about to faint. “Herman . . . ?”
“Don’t worry, honey. You have rights.” Glowering at Delacroix, he added, “We both have rights. I’m calling my attorney.”
“You do that,” Delacroix said. “Good idea.”
“And I’ve set up an interview with Kimberly Mason.”
Reed remembered the reporter who’d shown up at Margaret Le Roy’s house, the same one who had been leaving him messages. “Kimberly wants the story,” Herman said. “She’s with WKAM.”
“We’ve met,” Delacroix said dryly as she ushered him out of the room.
Greta sank back into her chair. She glanced at the recorder on the table, then the cameras mounted high in the corners of the room. “I don’t like this,” she muttered.
“Duly noted.” Reed suggested, “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Tell me what you remember or know about the Duval family and how you came to believe that you’re Rose.”
“I don’t know.” She looked at him skeptically and bit her lip. “I don’t feel comfortable without Herman here.”
“He’ll be back. In the meantime, can I get you anything?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and elevated her chin.
“All right, then.” But he made a quick call on his cell. “Yeah, this is Reed in the interview room. Would you mind, I could use a cold drink? No, not coffee or sweet tea. Diet Pepsi? Sure.” He glanced at Greta, lifting his eyebrows. “So far just one . . .”
She didn’t take the bait.
“Make it two. Yeah, thanks.”
Clicking off, he leaned back in his chair.
“Now, your address is listed in Tampa and six months ago you were in Miami and the year before that—”
“I know where I lived!” she cut in. Then gathered herself and said a little more calmly, “What does where I lived have anything to do with this?”
“Just establishing some facts. But why don’t you just tell me why you think you’
