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“Your mother said you were eight years old when she split up with him. That’s old enough for you to remember a lot of details.”
“Yes, I was old enough to remember him hitting her. I remember her pushing me into my bedroom to keep me away from him.”
“What happened to Bruce Flagler?”
“Ask my mother.”
“Don’t you know?”
Amy sat down and looked across the table at Jane. “What I do remember is the day we left him. The day we threw our clothes into a suitcase and jumped into the car. Mom told me everything would be okay, that we were going on a big adventure, just the two of us. Far enough away that he’d never find us, and we’d never be scared again.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t care. Why do you?”
“I need to find him, Amy.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe he killed a woman nineteen years ago. He strangled her in her home and he took her three-year-old daughter. He needs to be in prison.”
Amy’s phone dinged. She looked down to see a text from her mother.
“Did your mother know what Bruce did? Is that why she left him?”
Amy tapped out a reply and put down her phone.
“Did she know the man she was living with was a murderer?” asked Jane.
They both heard the sound of a key in the front door and Amy jumped up. “She’s home. Why don’t you ask her?”
Julianne walked into the kitchen carrying a grocery sack and the scent of fresh basil wafted in with her. Glass bottles clinked as she set the sack down on the countertop and she flashed Jane a smile. “Detective Rizzoli, if I’d known you were coming to visit, I would’ve rushed home earlier.”
“Amy and I were just catching up,” said Rizzoli.
“She took a swab of my mouth, Mom,” said Amy.
“From Amy?” Julianne frowned. “Whatever for? Now that this nightmare’s all over—”
“Is that what you think? That it’s all over?”
Julianne regarded Rizzoli for a moment and Amy did not like the long silence that followed. She didn’t like how her mother’s smile had vanished. Julianne’s face was now unreadable, a blank mask that Amy had seen before, and she knew what it meant.
“I’m going to need a swab of your mouth too, Mrs. Antrim.”
“But you already know my blood’s on that knife. You saw the cut on my hand that night. I got it defending my daughter. Fighting off that man.”
“His name was James Creighton.”
“Whatever his name was!”
“I’m sure you knew his name, Mrs. Antrim. You also knew why he was so interested in your daughter. He had every reason to be.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell me about Amy’s biological father. I believe his name was Bruce Flagler.”
“We don’t say that name. Not ever.”
