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“So you are backing off this?”
“What exactly do you want me to do?” asked Gibson.
“Can I be frank?”
“Oh, go right ahead,” replied Gibson, girding herself for what she felt was coming.
“Aside from any personal connection I have in this matter, I thought it would give you something interesting to do. I can’t imagine how bored you’ve become. The detective in you must be champing at the bit over this sort of case. You solve this and you could start your own investigation firm.”
“How many times do I have to say this? I have little kids. I’m not going to be some sort of modern-day gumshoe trying to build an empire from scratch.”
“One can buy excellent day care if one has enough money. That goes for childrenandparents. And when your kids are old enough to go to pre-K, which is right around the corner, what then? How will you spend your days?”
Sleeping, thought Gibson, but she said, “My days are plenty full, thank you very much. And why pick me in the first place? I know what you said before, but I didn’t believe it.”
“There simply aren’t that many female detectives. It’s still very much a male-dominated space. I just thought you would do a great job. And I like working with women more than men. But if you’re not interested, so be it. Have a nice life,Mommy.”
Before Gibson could respond, the line went silent.
She slowly put down the phone.
Shit. What a manipulative piece of crap. And yet, she still got to me. She really did.
But the woman had said something important without it seeming important at all.
And maybe Gibson had her first real clue.
But you can’t go there, Mick. You just told that woman three times that you have little kids. And you promised your dad. And if something happened to them because of your decision to pursue this?
She sat back and closed her eyes.
God help me.
CHAPTER15
THE NEXT MORNING GIBSON PULLEDthe card out she had been given and punched in the number. She had made up her mind. She didn’t believe she could just walk away from this case, regardless of the peril it might bring her and her kids, for the simple reason that Clarisse knew she was involved. And there was no telling what that woman was actually up to or what she really wanted. She could have killed Langhorne for all Gibson knew. And the woman might have a beef with Gibson somehow, which had led her to seek out Gibson in the first place.
She knows where I live. She knows about my kids. She knows everything about me, apparently. She is probably dangerous as hell. So if I have to be stuck in this nightmare, I need some reinforcements. Someofficialreinforcements.
The voice answered two beats later. “Sullivan.”
“It’s Mickey Gibson.”
“Ms. Gibson, what can I do for you?”
“Please, just make it Mickey. I wanted to thank you for calling my boss and putting in a good word for me.”
“Well, it was an unusual situation, and I’m not sure how I would have handled it.”
Sullivan knew nothing of the conversations she’d had with the woman who had initially called herself Arlene Robinson. Or Gibson’s trip back to Stormfield to get the prints off the mailbox. Or her now knowing Pottinger’s true identity.
And while part of her wanted to tell Sullivan some or all of this, her gut was not inclined to do so. And she almost always listened to her gut. Here, it was pretty easy because Sullivan could charge her with obstruction of, and interfering with, a police investigation. And she did not care to find out what the view was like from the other side of the bars.
“So how’s the case going?”
“It’s going,” he said carefully.
“It occurred to me that Pottinger might not be the man’s real name,” she began.
