Take the Key and Lock Her Up Read Online Free PDF Page B

comfortable in the air
     conditioning while we talk? This blasted heat is horrendous.” He wiped a bead of sweat
     off his forehead as if to emphasize his point.
    Devlin wasn’t unaffected by the heat himself. His black T-shirt was damp between his
     shoulder blades. But no way was he going to agree to sit in a patrol car, especially
     if Drier wanted to put him in the backseat, where he’d be locked inside. He’d rather
     endure the muggy July heat.
    “I’m fine right where I am.”
    The lieutenant frowned, giving up all pretense of smiling. “My apologies for being
     blunt then, but you leave me no choice. We have some bad news for you. We’ll run some
     tests of course, to be sure, but our fact-checking over the phone makes us confident
     that you know one of the victims we found inside the basement.”
    Since Devlin had spoken to his father on the phone a couple of hours ago, he knew
     his family was up at his dad’s house for their traditional Friday night gathering
     and cookout. Which was where Devlin would be right now if he hadn’t allowed himself
     to get sidetracked by the wobble of fear in O’Malley’s voice. Devlin was already anticipating
     the mouth-watering steaks he’d throw on the grill on his father’s back deck.
    If Drier believed Devlin knew one of the victims, then Devlin wasn’t going to shed
     a tear for them. Most of the people he knew, besides his family, were just as likely
     to put a bullet in him as to speak to him.
    One of the many hazards of his occupation.
    And if the victim was one of the few people Devlin called a friend, the only way Drier
     would know that was if he’d discovered Devlin’s true occupation. In which case, he’d
     be having this conversation from inside a jail cell.
    “Who’s this person you think I know?”
    Drier waved the coroner forward. “Dr. Kennerly removed some items from the victim.”
    The coroner didn’t say anything. He just handed Devlin a large, clear plastic evidence
     bag.
    Devlin held it up, saw the rings and bracelet inside, and froze.
    “We strongly believe,” Drier continued, “that the victim is Carolyn Buchanan, your
     mother. A clerk at the courthouse pulled some records and confirmed Carolyn was the
     name of your father’s wife before they divorced years ago. That name is on the bracelet.
     The clerk was also familiar with the Buchanan family due to your father’s occupation
     as a lawyer and confirmed the names of Carolyn’s sons, which match the names on the
     charms. The Division of Motor Vehicles provided the hair color and height from your
     mother’s driver’s license. The victim’s, ah, estimated height and hair color match the . . .”
    Devlin tuned everything out around him. He didn’t have any clear memories of the jewelry.
     Not something he would have paid attention to as a kid. But he’d seen that bracelet
     in so many family photos there could be no doubt. It had been a gift from his father.
     It was definitely Carolyn’s. Which meant she was dead. And even though she’d divorced
     his father over two decades ago, when Devlin was thirteen, he knew with absolute certainty
     that Alex was going to be devastated when he found out she’d been murdered.
    Alex had loved Carolyn to distraction, had never remarried, and to this day could
     be found—when he didn’t think anyone was watching—staring wistfully at one of her
     many photographs still hanging on the walls of the house where they’d spent their
     eight-year marriage.
    The silence around Devlin intruded on his thoughts. He looked up, directly into O’Malley’s
     expressive brown eyes. There was a deep sadness there, for him—sympathy that was entirely
     misplaced. Devlin’s father was the one who deserved sympathy. Carolyn was barely a blip on the radar of Devlin’s
     life. She wasn’t his biological parent and had never pretended to want him as her
     son. She’d worn that bracelet only to please her husband, not because of any