The Mephisto Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

telling us their names?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Why?”
    “Why don’t I want my privacy violated? Do I actually have to answer that question?”
    “This is a homicide investigation. A woman was slaughtered last night. It was one of the most brutal crime scenes I’ve ever walked into.”
    “And you want my alibi.”
    “I’m just curious why you won’t tell us.”
    “Am I a suspect? Or are you just trying to show me who’s in charge?”
    “You’re not a suspect. At the moment.”
    “Then I’m under no obligation to even talk to you.” Abruptly, O’Donnell rose to her feet and started toward the door. “I’ll walk you out, now.”
    Frost, too, started to get up, then saw that Jane wasn’t budging, and he sank back down again.
    Jane said, “If you gave one damn about the victim, if you saw what he did to Lori-Ann Tucker—”
    O’Donnell turned to face her. “Why don’t you tell me? What, exactly,
was
done to her?”
    “You want the details, do you?”
    “It’s my field of study. I need to know the details.” She moved toward Jane. “It helps me understand.”
    Or it turns you on. That’s why you suddenly look interested. Even eager.
    “You said she was dismembered,” said O’Donnell. “Was the head removed?”
    “Rizzoli,” said Frost, a cautionary note in his voice.
    But Jane did not need to reveal a thing; O’Donnell had already drawn her own conclusions. “The head is such a powerful symbol. So personal. So individual.” O’Donnell stepped closer, moving in like a predator. “Did he take it with him, as a trophy? A reminder of his kill?”
    “Tell us where you were last night.”
    “Or did he leave the head at the scene? Someplace where it would elicit maximum shock? Someplace it would be impossible to miss? A kitchen counter, perhaps? Or a prominent place on the floor?”
    “Who were you with?”
    “It’s a potent message, displaying a head, a face. It’s the killer’s way of telling you he’s in complete control. He’s showing you how powerless you are, Detective. And how powerful he is.”
    “Who were you with?”
The instant the words were out, Jane knew they were a mistake. She’d allowed O’Donnell to goad her, and she had lost her temper. The ultimate sign of weakness.
    “My friendships are private,” O’Donnell said, and added, with a quiet smile, “Except for the one you already know about. Our mutual acquaintance. He keeps asking about you, you know. Always wants to know what you’re up to.” She did not have to say his name. They both knew she was talking about Warren Hoyt.
    Don’t react,
thought Jane.
Don’t let her see how deeply she’s dug her claws into me.
But she could feel her own face snap taut and saw Frost glance at her with concern. The scars that Hoyt had left on Jane’s hands were only the most obvious wounds; there were far deeper ones. Even now, over two years later, she flinched at the mention of his name.
    “He’s a fan of yours, Detective,” said O’Donnell. “Even though he’ll never walk again because of you, he bears you absolutely no grudge.”
    “I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”
    “I went to see him last week. He showed me his collection of news clippings. His
Janie file,
as he calls it. When you were trapped in that hospital siege, over the summer, he kept the TV on all night. Watched every second of it.” O’Donnell paused. “He told me you had a baby girl.”
    Jane’s back went rigid.
Don’t let her do this to you. Don’t let her dig those claws in deeper.
    “I believe your daughter’s name is Regina, isn’t it?”
    Jane rose to her feet, and though she was shorter than O’Donnell, something in Jane’s eyes made the other woman abruptly step back. “We’ll be calling on you again,” said Jane.
    “Call me all you want,” said O’Donnell. “I have nothing else to tell you.”
                      
    “She’s lying,” said Jane.
    She yanked open the car door and slid in behind