Now That She's Gone Read Online Free PDF Page B

returning the black and gold tube to the open jaws of her purse.
    â€œYou’ve talked to the FBI, haven’t you?” Kendall asked, already knowing the answer. They all had. Birdy had. The sheriff had. Kendall—as the last member of law enforcement to have a sit-down interview with the notorious killer—had a three-hour interview with two special agents and a stenographer. The FBI had pressed her hard as if she was supposed to know more about the plans that Brenda had been hatching with Janie Thomas. But she hadn’t any information. Not really. The interview was a little on the awkward side, with Kendall pushing back as they fired their questions.

    S TATE’S A TTORNEY D AN W ILSON : So you made a kind of connection with her, isn’t that right?
    K ENDALL S TARK : I don’t know what you mean. I interviewed her.
    SADW: It was more than an interview; you did some pretty deep soul-searching of the subject.
    KS: Soul-searching? Not really.
    SADW: I see. Well, she flirted with you.
    KS: She flirts with anything with a pulse. Man. Woman. Dog, I suspect. Anyone she can use. That’s what Brenda Nevins does. Don’t you have Behavior Analysis guys in Quantico? Maybe you should talk to them.
    SADW: You are being evasive and we want to know why.
    KS: Evasive? I’m a local cop. I interviewed her about a case in which she was, as it turned out, tangentially involved.
    SADA: She was very interested in your son.
    KS: I didn’t get that.
    SADW: You didn’t?
    KS: No. But you’ve got my attention. What do you know?
    SADW: I’m sorry. This is an active investigation.

    Those familiar eyes staring at Kendall held steady from across the conference table. Cool air pumped in and the AC whirled. Behind Deirdre Holloway was a large framed photo of a beloved deputy killed by a meth head the year before.
    â€œYes,” Brenda’s mother said. “I’ve told them whatever they needed to know. I’ve talked to them before, you know.”
    â€œBefore what?” Kendall asked.
    â€œBefore Janie Thomas.”
    The detective was surprised, but she didn’t allow any emotion to register on her face. The feds never shared. They only popped into backwaters like Port Orchard to show the rest of the world they were on top of it and that the local PD or sheriff didn’t know how to investigate a serious matter like they did. In part that was true. Outside of a few major American cities, none had the resources that the bureau lorded—sometimes irritatingly so—over them.
    â€œWhat were they after?” Kendall asked.
    Deirdre narrowed her gaze. “You don’t know?”
    Kendall shook her head. “No. I don’t know.”
    Brenda’s mother wiped her nose and wadded up her tissue.
    â€œMy daughter was corresponding with a couple of other serial killers incarcerated in Utah and right here in Washington.”
    â€œCorresponding?” Kendall asked. “That’s not possible. Inmate-to-inmate mail is impossible.”
    Deirdre fiddled with the pashmina, smoothing out a wrinkle that had seemed to annoy her from the moment she arrived. “You obviously don’t know Brenda as well as you think,” she answered after a delay.
    Kendall had read everything she could about Brenda Nevins. She’d followed her case during her murder and arson trial. Everyone did. But as a law enforcement officer, Kendall was supremely interested in the psychological makeup of the female killer. Outside of Aileen Wuornos, who murdered her customers in Florida, and a smattering of trailer park “black widow” killers over the years, there were few women who killed more than once. Brenda not only fit into that camp, she seemed to be the only one who reveled in the endeavor.
    â€œHow?” Kendall asked. “And really, why? That is, if you know.”
    As she spoke, something occurred to Kendall. Deirdre was a little like her daughter. She had a