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“According to Rochelle, Bruce was not nearly as nice a guy as I thought.”
She went on to tell Gibson about Dixon raping Rochelle and then stealing her necklace.
After a long moment of silence Gibson said, “What happened to Rochelle’s father?”
“Don’t know. He disappeared pretty soon after my dad did. I told you her mother had done a runner already, like mine. So when Rochelle and I turned eighteen, we got the hell out. There was no reason to stay. And, as I told you before, Dougie and Rochelle later went off together. They’ve been together ever since.”
“How did your brother look?”
“Physically, not great. But…” She paused and glanced at Gibson. “He seems really happy with Rochelle. And she with him.” She cleared her throat. “That’s more than I have.” She frowned. “Sorry, that’s self-pity bullshit, I know.”
“I think it’s just being human.”
Francine’s next words were said in a businesslike tone. “And if we can’t get the money right now, there is something we can get.”
“What?”
She pulled a notebook from her bag and held it up. “Earl Fucking Beckett.”
CHAPTER77
I’M PRETTY BUSY,” SAID WILSONSullivan as he stood in front of Gibson in the waiting area at police headquarters.
“Just wanted to catch up again and see how things are going. I thought we were working this together.”
“Well, things change. I got a dressing-down from the top. They don’t want collaborations with civilians.”
“Damn, that’s too bad. And just when I thought our working relationship was really hitting its stride.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. Now, if there’s nothing else?”
“No, that’s about it.”
Sullivan turned to leave.
“Hey,Mark!”
He whirled around to see Francine Langhorne standing there.
“I think it’s time we talked,” she said.
***
Sullivan sipped his coffee and looked down at the table. They were in the police cafeteria, which was empty at this time of the morning.
“How’d you do it?” he asked.
“Just connected the dots,” noted Gibson. “Principally, your career trail matched Beckett’s.”
“That doesn’t tell me how you got my real identity.”
“I took your prints off the pen you were using when I visited you last time. We suspected you weren’t who you said you were. Past twenty years ago, Wilson Sullivan didn’t really exist.”
He eyed Francine. “And you’re really Harry Langhorne’s daughter?”
“In the flesh. Sorry to use an old WITSEC tactic to out you by using your real given name, but we had to make a move on the chessboard.”
“And where do we go from here?”
