Page 112 of Choosing Us

“I don’t know her. Me? What do you even know? You’re just her supervisor.”

“Did it bother you that you couldn’t control Dr. Lane?” Tara’s tone matches her previous statements, but the question is loaded.

The color rises in his cheeks as his eyes narrow on Tara. “That’s making an incorrect assumption.”

She tilts her head and leans in slightly, mirroring his body language. “How so?”

His voice drops as he answers, but there’s a slight tremble to it. “Harlow is mine. I don’t have to control what is mine. She yields to what I want.”

“She … yields?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t really sound like Harlow, though, Dr. Tremblay. Do you get where I’m confused?” I add as Graham whips his head toward me, spearing me with a death glare.

“You don’t know her. You have no idea what I’ve done for her.”

“How did you help Harlow, Dr. Tremblay?” Tara softly asks.

His voice is slightly steadier as he struggles with the composure he’s barely hanging onto. “I helped make her career what it is. I did everything for her. Anyone that fails to appreciate the role I’ve played is a fool.”

“And Harlow is no fool,” I supply.

“Never. Not my Harlow. When she reached out to get my opinion on the CPM that she was creating? I knew she finally saw it. I knew she understood we were on equal footing, and I knew, eventually, she’d reach out about these cases, too.”

“Which cases?” Tara asks.

“The Carnation Killer ones. It’s a perfect puzzle for someone with a sophisticated and beautiful mind like Harlow’s.”

“So, it was the perfect gift for her then?” Tara adds.

Graham smiles as his eyes light up. “Hypothetically. Only someone like Harlow could fully appreciate the intentionality and intricate attention to detail something like that would require. In fact, one could consider it a grand gesture like in those silly books she loves to read.”

“I think you put a lot of effort into creating this for Harlow, but she didn’t react the way you expected or wanted her to,” I suggest. “And things don’t go well if someone doesn’t appreciate your actions, do they, Dr. Tremblay?”

He schools his face to look unbothered, but the pulse point in his neck is fluttering at such a high-rate speed that it exposes the truth. This man is anything but calm, cool, and collected.

I shrug as I pivot the direction of the interrogation. “What part of the murders do you think made it perfect for her? Or was it one particular murder, like maybe the one in Boston or New York, or was it the murders you committed in Salem or Las Vegas?”

He bristles at that as his attorney interrupts, insisting Graham pleads the fifth, and Graham swats his hand away.

“You have no proof. You have nothing. You are nothing.”

“Interesting choice of words. Would your mother say DNA is nothing?”I ask, barely keeping the smile off my face. Asshole doesn’t even see it coming.

“What do you mean? Of course, she never would have said something like that. DNA is everything.” Graham scowls.

“Then, Graham, please, listen carefully when I say we. Have. Everything.” I let the intelligent doctor connect the dots.

“What? No. That’s not possible. Where is Harlow? I demand to see Dr. Lane immediately. I’ve put up with your dog and pony show, and I want to speak to Harlow.”

His delusion is running rampant, but it’s time to give him a healthy dose of reality. “That’s not happening. But I can tell you what is going to happen right now: two technicians are going to come in here with a signed court order for your DNA, and I highly suspect it will match the DNA left at The Carnation Killer’s scenes.”

His face pales, but his bravado hardly deflates. “Impossible. You’re bluffing.”

“Are you sure? Are you positive there wasn’t any trace DNA left behind?” Tara asks innocently.

“I would never be so foolish! I wore gloves!” Graham yells at Tara as spittle flies from his mouth, but as soon as he realizes what he just said, he immediately adds, “Hypothetically!”

But it’s too late.

“It’s a good thing that DNA is proven science instead of hypothetical theory, asshole,” I say as I push back from the table, Tara mirroring my movements.