“Of course. Guard!”
The guard returns and unlocks the door.
“Uncuff Mr. Gibson,” he tells the man who hesitates but does as he’s told.
Holzman steps aside and I enter the room where Danny Gibson is sitting on the other side of the table. An ugly smirk on his face as he takes my measure.
He looks different than he had in the photos I saw. Bulkier with muscle. And meaner. His head is shaved showing off a tattoo of the year 1999. I guess it was a significant one for him. His face is pock-marked and he’s a big guy. The thought of him touching Isabelle makes my blood boil. Turns my hands into fists.
The door closes behind me and I pull the chair out. Gibson is still sizing me up. He doesn’t know who I am.
“That bitch send you? I already told her I’d shut my mouth. I have, haven’t I?”
“What bitch would that be?”
He goes quiet, probably worried he’s already said too much.
“No one sent me, Danny. I’m here to hear your side of the story,” I say, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. At least he doesn’t stink. I guess I expected him to stink.
“What, are you from the state? No. No way. Not dressed like you are.”
“Just a private citizen.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
“Tell me what happened the night you murdered Christian York.”
“Like I asked, what’s in it for me?”
“That’ll depend on how honest I think you’re being.”
He snorts but leans back and studies me some more. “I’d been casing the house. Just planning to grab a few things and get out before anyone was the wiser. That’s it.”
“So, if you were casing the place then you’d have known the girl would be home.”
He swallows and I watch his throat, think what a delicate thing life is. How easily it can be snuffed out. One slit and it’s over.
“What did you want to steal exactly? It’s not like they had anything of value.”
“Everyone’s got something.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t there to take anything from them,” I say, leaning closer. “That gash have something to do with your updated story?”
He looks momentarily uncomfortable and looks away.
“Because from what I’ve read, you swore up and down you were hired to do a bigger job than steal some trinkets.”
He draws in a deep breath and exhales. “Who are you?”
“I’m the husband of the woman you tried to rape that night. She was sixteen years old at the time. Did you know that?”
His face loses all color and sweat breaks out across his forehead.
“I guess that didn’t matter much,” I add, knowing it’s true. Scum. “What was the amount you were paid?”
He grits his teeth, fingers intertwined so tightly the veins on the backs of his hands are popping.
“What’s rape worth these days anyway?” I ask.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks me. “Guard!” he shouts to the closed door.
“Or weren’t you hired to rape her first? I’m really curious about that part.”
“I’m done in here. Guard!”
“He won’t come.”
“Guard!”
Nothing.
“Who paid you?”
He shakes his head.
I lean across the narrow table, half getting up, and wrap my hand around his throat. “Tell me who the fuck paid you and what exactly they hired you to do.”
I squeeze.
His eyes bulge.
I need to put the thought of Isabelle trying to fight him off out of my mind before I kill the fucker. I ease my hold, sit back down.
“Fuck it,” Gibson says with a shake of his head. “He wasn’t supposed to show up.”
I wait.
“I was fucked up then. In a bad fucking place.”
If he wants my pity, he’ll be waiting a long time. Until hell freezes over.
He swallows hard. “The girl was the target. That what you want to hear?”
“What I want to hear is the truth.”
“Well, then you just heard it.” His eyes narrow and I wonder if he’s less stupid than I thought. “The guy said he didn’t care what I did or what I took as long as the girl was dead at the end. I had to make it look like a break-in gone wrong.”
“Guy?”
He nods.
“Name?”
“I don’t fucking know. We didn’t exactly exchange business cards.”
“How did he find you?”
“My reputation precedes me,” he says with something akin to pride. Asshole.
“I bet. Go on.”
“Gave me some cash to think about it. Show me he was serious. A down payment, he said. Judging by the amount he was dead serious,” he pauses. “Told me I could walk away with it. I should have. But he promised me two more payments just like it. One when I agreed, the other when the job was done. I should have known something was up when that second payment showed up in some fucking bank account I couldn’t touch.” He shakes his head.
The funds were wired from a charity. My guess is the money was tied up. The Bishop’s are cash poor, I know that, but it surprises me they’d take a chance on the money trail being discovered.
“Assholes,” he says then leans toward me. “He did have one specific request about your wife, though.”
My wife.
He must see how him saying the words gets under my skin because one corner of his mouth curves upward.
“And what was that?” I ask stonily.
“Make it bloody.”
I study him. My hands clench and unclench at my sides. I’m almost done here.
“One more question.”
“Shoot,” he says casually, balancing on the back legs of the chair. You’d think he’d know how dangerous that is.
“Did you put your dick inside her?”
That grin spreads across his face. “Just the tip.”
It's in that moment I decide I’ll get my thousand dollars’ worth.
25
Isabelle
The house is practically empty. Jericho was gone when I woke up. I guess it’s his business trip to Atlanta. Zeke took Leontine and Angelique to a movie after lunch. They invited me but I declined. There’s something I want to do while I have the opportunity and the new guards stationed around the house are not as observant as Dex, who mentioned needing to run an errand and that he’d be back within the hour. Whatever errand he was running seemed urgent.
Once they’re all gone, I tell Catherine I’m going to take a nap before Professor Larder arrives for my lesson and head out of the kitchen but before turning to go up the stairs, I make my way to Jericho’s study like it’s perfectly normal for me to be going there. The less suspicious I look the better.
When I get to the door, I realize it may be locked but am relieved to find it’s not. I wonder if he simply forgot to lock it or doesn’t bother to.
I walk into Jericho’s space, close the door, and lean back, my hands still on the doorknob behind me. It smells like him in here.
I feel a momentary twinge of guilt when, after taking a deep breath of his lingering aftershave, I make my way to his desk. The surface is clear of most things, a laptop sits closed on one corner, there are a few sheets of paper and several photos of Angelique. I am relieved there isn’t one of Kimberly. I know I shouldn’t feel jealous of her. She was Angelique’s mother. But I’m glad he doesn’t keep a photo of her on his desk.