“That’s amazing,” I say. “I’m glad I stopped in here.”
“Tell me about your wedding. I know your fiancée likes PAC-MAN.”
“Jay? No, he’s not my fiancée. He works with me. My fiancée is flying in tonight.” I tell her all about the hotel and the island in Maine.
“You look familiar,” she says, and bless her and my mother, I’m going to use her fame. And with good reason, I hope.
“Well, my mother is, was, Laura Love.”
She covers her mouth. “Oh my. Honey. Her story was heartbreaking. It was like Diana dying. She was our sweetheart. She played Marilyn Monroe and yet she became our generation’s Marilyn Monroe.”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, she was.”
“You know I have a customer that has come in since she was a young girl. Her name is Marilyn. I remember she first visited right about the time your mother had just played Marilyn Monroe and made such a splash. That stood out to me.”
Bingo times one thousand. “You don’t hear of many Marilyn’s. Is she blonde?”
“Yes, actually. And very pretty.” She walks to the wall and starts hunting for a photo and then taps one. “Here she is.”
I step forward and eye the photo and sure enough, it’s Marilyn. There are two photos, one of her as a young girl with a young boy. Then her as an adult with an adult man.
“She’s pretty. Is that her brother?”
“Might as well be,” she says. “That’s Desmond Morrison. The two of them are great friends. They met here in the neighborhood. He’s a bright young man but had some struggles. He has some illness. It led to him getting into some trouble, but he seems okay now.”
“Illness?”
“Oh, that thing Elon Musk has. It’s like autism?”
“Asperger’s syndrome? It’s a disorder, not an illness.”
“Yes, yes. Sorry. I misspoke. I’d never offend him. He communicates a bit uncomfortably, but he is sharp as a tack.”
“Then she found the love of her life?”
“Oh no. They are like siblings. And he won’t even talk on the phone. They meet here once a month. And believe it or not, they send each other letters. He’s a researcher of some type. I think he invents things. It’s great to see them so close.”
“And after all these years they still live in the neighborhood?”
“Oh no. She lives in New York City. He lives in New Hampshire for the tax credits. Drives in every day, I think.”
Adrenaline surges through me.
“Order up!” someone calls.
It’s all I can do to calmly walk to the counter and pay for the order, making small talk as I do. A new customer walks in and I have the opportunity to shoot a photo of the two pictures on the wall. I rush to the game room. “Come, Jay. Now.”
He glances over his shoulder, looks tormented, and then walks away from the game, with the sound of PAC-MAN being eaten filling the air.
We step outside and I hand him the food. “Call our men and tell them she’s not really alone at all. Be careful. And tell Enrique to meet up with them now. We’re on our way there, too.”
I’m already at the side of the vehicle, punching in the address in the GPS. After which, I text Tic Tac the photos before calling him. He answers with, “Who is he?” obviously looking at the photos.
“Desmond Morrison. Her longtime friend with Asperger’s syndrome, who is, get this, an inventor of some type. I don’t know where. He won’t use the phone. That’s why there are no call records, but he meets Marilyn here once a month. I think she’s a mama bear to him. And I think Rip and his cohorts made a fool of him and she went off the deep end and took him with her. And I think he’s at her house. We’re an hour out and on our way there now. Get all you can get me. And update Andrew and Chief Houston.”
“On it,” he says. “Be careful. I just pulled him up. He’s had four assault charges over the years. He has a hot temper. Almost beat a man to death. More soon.” He hangs up.
I call the Boston PD and have them coordinate backup with the New Hampshire law enforcement. But I also ask everyone to stand by and stand down for now. When I end that call, I glance at Jay and know something is wrong instantly.
“What is it?”
“They’re not answering, Lilah. Neither of our men answers when I call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The pizza is actually amazing.
The fact that our men still won’t answer is not.
The fact that with all I have on Marilyn and Desmond I can’t prove they did these crimes in a court of law just plain sucks, but I have a plan and make the calls to set it all in action. All while shoving food in my mouth.
I finish a slice with my MacBook in my lap, as Tic Tac and Lucas both load information about Desmond into a shared file with Andrew on speakerphone, waiting on a chopper home from New York City.
“Tell me about him,” he says.
“Desmond’s parents are both dead. Causes appear natural. He has no siblings. He’s brilliant, literally. He has a genius IQ. He’s worked in development for several big pharma companies and most recently worked for Danson Defense Contractors. He sees a psychologist on a regular basis, which I know because Lucas hacked his employee records. He himself provided them that information to support his claim of being disabled and in need of accommodations. All employers did, in fact, make accommodations for his conditions, but Desmond doesn’t just have Asperger’s. Asperger’s is not his problem at all. In fact, from what I see, it’s the source of his brilliance and success. But he’s bipolar. And it appears he tends to refuse his meds. He feels they affect his creativity. And when he goes manic, he gets violent.”
“Damn,” Andrew says. “I have a buddy who is bipolar. The meds make a difference, but I guess we can’t know what it’s like to have Asperger’s and be bipolar.”
“There are plenty of people with afflictions that they turn into assets,” I say. “I don’t believe these things make him a killer. Or violent. There are other factors. How he was raised. Genetics.”
“Says my sister, the profiler.”
“I don’t like these kinds of cases,” I say. “I just don’t believe in blaming a crime on a condition. That’s stigmatizing other people with that condition.”
“Then you don’t believe in a lesser sentence for mental health issues?”
“Not necessarily. Mental health is a universal consideration in all individuals.” I read a few more lines. “He beat an old lady half to death. He’s volatile. And our men aren’t answering the phone.” I glance at Jay. “Anything?”
He shakes his head and worry knots in my belly. I go back to the files. “He made some hefty bonuses over the years, but just never managed to hold a job. He was let go from Danson because he was assigned to a government contract job and his security was declined. He hasn’t worked since. That was nine months ago.”