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Gibson studied her. “I think you really mean that.”
Clarisse sipped her coffee. “I lie. A lot. But not about that.”
“I think that even if you do find this treasure, it will not be enough to pay off the debt that you’re owed.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I read a story in a newspaper about Harry Langhorne. How he liked to play with little girls in the most disgusting, repulsive ways.” She paused and eyed the woman. “Were you one of his victims?”
Clarisse rose. “I think that I chose wisely, Mickey. You have been everything I could have hoped for. And more. But don’t try to predict either my motives or my future. As good as you are, no one is that good. And you will check on Sullivan?”
“I will make discreet inquiries.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to stay here? Are you safe?”
These queries, earnestly given, seemed to stagger Clarisse for a moment. “Let your children sleep. Peacefully, tonight and every night. And me staying here would not be a good thing, for you or them. But thank you for the offer. And thank you for the coffee.”
“Why did you bring me into all this? Really?”
“You had everything, Mickey. Everything. And you pissed it away. So maybe I just wanted to teach you a lesson. And maybe teach myself one at the same time.”
Gibson’s expression hardened. “What the hell are you talking about? Pissed what away? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you better than you think. Maybe better than I know myself.”
She turned and walked out.
Gibson locked the door behind her and then put her back to it.
What the hell had that parting shot been about?
She had finally met the woman who had dominated her thoughts of late and not in a good way.
So did I just meet Francine Langhorne, or RE? Or a third party I haven’t heard of yet?
And I had everything, but pissed it away?
Gibson went back to bed but didn’t sleep a wink.
CHAPTER63
THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER FEEDINGher kids and then handing them over to Silva, Gibson rushed to her office and fired up her computer.
Her search this time focused on Wilson Sullivan.
He had joined the El Paso police force at age twenty-one. He moved up there before heading to a comparable position in Arkansas, where he achieved his detective status. After that were short stints in South Carolina, then North Carolina, and, finally, Virginia.
That was a lot of hopping around, she thought. She didn’t know if that was because he was just that type, or whether the police forces had asked him to leave. If so, she might be able to dig up something unless they had buried it, which, she knew, police departments often did.
And the thing was she could find nothing about him before he joined the police force in Texas. It was like a black hole. She went on sites that she used for ProEye to do more sophisticated searches and pulled a big fat zero on them.
Okay, put a pin in Sullivan and move on to something else.
She pulled up the photo she had of Francine Langhorne and compared it to her recollection of Clarisse from the previous night. Maybe a hint around the nose, the slightly off-kilter luminous eyes that gave them considerable depth, but she couldn’t be sure that the decades-old grainy photo of a little girl with big, sad eyes was the adult woman who had been in her house.
She next pondered the clue that Langhorne had left behind.
