The Good Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

think.”
    Touché, Doc, he thought. She might like calling the shots, but he had news for her: so did he. One eyebrow lifted, Vince settled into a chair, gesturing for her to begin.
    But instead, she let the silence draw out.
    He stifled a smile. This was starting to get interesting. She couldn’t win this game, of course. He’d grilled a lot of suspects; he had one of the highest clearance rates in the department. Silence wouldn’t work on him.
    Neither broke the impasse for a long, long span.
    Then she spoke. “Did the dead boy have a family to grieve for him, or are you the only person who cared?”
    Vince jolted at the unexpected tangent. “His mother’s a junkie. She’s only sorry now because her meal ticket is dead.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Kids get left to scramble for themselves all the time, Doc. A whole lot of kids never have June Cleaver for a mom.”
    “Is that what happened to you?”
    Vince froze. “We were talking about the kid, not me.”
    She met his gaze evenly. “But the depth of your grief over him has roots farther back, doesn’t it?”
    “Doc, I told you to stay out of my head.”
    “It’s common knowledge that you go hard on anyone who harms women or children.”
    Vince clenched his jaw. “So what?”
    “So talk to me about why you feel this strongly.”
    “You don’t mind people treating children like animals, maybe even mutilating and torturing them? You didn’t see the kid—I did. The bastard used a razor to make tiny slices all over his body and let him bleed to death.” He drew a savage satisfaction in seeing her eyes widen, her body recoiling.
    For about ten seconds, then he felt as if he’d impaled a butterfly on a pin. All color had left her face. “You said nothing shocks you. Don’t you know that adults do hellish things to children every day?”
    She rose gracefully and walked to the console in the corner, where she poured a glass of water.
    He saw her fingers tremble. And sighed. “Okay, Doc. Here it is. I’m sure my file shows that I never knew my father and my prostitute mother abandoned me at age four. It probably shows that I spent my childhood bouncing around from one foster home to another. Well, at one of those lovely homes, full of such goodness of nature that they took in stray kids, was a father who got off on making his son be his whore—”
    Her glass struck the console.
    “Still want to hear my story?”
    She picked up another glass. “Would you care for some water, Detective?” Her voice was nearly inaudible.
    When he didn’t answer, she turned around, her face once again a perfect mask. “Detective? Water?”
    He could almost have imagined her previous distress. Dr. Cool and Elegant had every hair back in place. “No. Thanks.”
    She crossed back to her chair and sat down, taking dainty sips. “Please continue.” Her voice was too controlled.
    “Forget it,” he said. “It’s not important.”
    Temper flashed in her eyes. “I’d like for you to finish your story.”
    “That’s the last thing you want.”
    “You’re wrong.” Her gaze fixed on his. “I do want to hear what you have to say.”
    “How long have you had this job?”
    “A year and a half.” At his snort, she drew herselfup very straight. “Detective, simply because I’ve had a privileged upbringing doesn’t mean I have no interest in making the world a better place. You don’t have the market cornered on justice.”
    Whoa. Steel in that backbone. “I never thought I did.”
    “Very well.” She accepted the apology he hadn’t offered. “Please tell me how you feel about what happened to that boy.”
    He’d rather crawl through an ant bed with honey smeared on him. “No one thought it was important then, why should you?”
    “You reported it? How old were you?”
    She wasn’t going to give up. He bit back an oath. “Not right then. I was eight. The boy’s father threatened me, told me no one would believe me.”
    “What happened?”
    “Two