Page 100 of Breathe Me In

I slid the three victims’ photos in front of him and waited a beat before I pointed at each one. “Shelly White, Maggie Deloitte, and Sophia McKinnon. You have anything to say?”

He waved a hand straight up through the center of the photos, then jerked it back like he remembered something. Then he pushed Sophia’s toward me.

“That’s not one of mine. I don’t use such barbaric methods to kill—there’s nothing poetic about it.”

“Right.” I tucked her photo under the file. Further confirmation of Jeremy Law’s guilt. “All right, so these two were your victims. You have anything to say about them?”

“It was necessary. Tragic though it may be.” He lifted a hand as if it had been nothing. How could I have missed such darkness in someone I’d known so long? I’d always liked the guy.

“Is that what you want me to tell their families? That it was necessary!” I looked at him like he was nuts. He obviously was.

He spun a rubber ring on his finger. “I want you to tell them that their children were part of something much bigger than they could understand.”

“Explain it to me. Make me understand, and how does Gumbo fit into all of this?” He looked down at his hands.

“He’s merely a pigeon.” He shrugged.

“Ha!” Bree surprised both of us and smacked the table. She gave a dark laugh and turned her chair to look at me. “He killed two innocent women with basically an eyedropper so he could simply puff and run. Nah, he’s nothing more than a coward.”

“I’m a lot of things, Miss Jaminson,” he said quietly, “but I’m not a coward.”

“He’s a coward and a pathetic excuse for a man.” Bree ignored him, and it seemed to anger him. I nodded for her to keep pushing that angle.

Hank began to breathe hard, and his expression changed suddenly to one of anger. “Give me five minutes alone with you and I’ll show you just how—”

Bree moved so fast neither of us saw her snap one of his fingers. His hand jerked back, and his pinky looked dislocated.

“Ouch!” He snarled at her. I was impressed.

“Watch what you say,” she warned. “I’ve got nine more to play with.”

“Psycho bitch.” He babied his hand.

“No, no, no, pretty psycho bitch,” she said. “At least that’s what you implied that night you approached me in the parking lot. Right? I know it was you. Because of the way you stand. I forgot about it but noticed it at the station that day. You lean your weight on your right side. I just didn’t catch it until now.”

“She is good.” Hank’s anger disappeared as quickly as it came, and he smiled at me.

“I believe you also said prettier than my videos that night in the parking garage,” Bree went on. “So, what the hell does that mean? Were you creepin’ on me?”

I sneaked a glance at Cap, who was behind the two-way mirror. Why didn’t I know about that conversation?

“You know what I wonder about, Stone?” Bree looked at me.

“What?” I played along, but it felt odd for her to call me anything but Brad.

“We have all the video footage of the murders, even the moment where he sprays the girls”—she turned to the two-way mirror as she bluffed—“thanks to the IT guys. Working backward with the girls’ time of death, and now knowing Hank is the murderer, one thing bothers me. He never watched them die. Why is that?” She continued to direct her words to me and ignored Hank.

“Perhaps he didn’t want to kill them,” I answered. “Real killers drag it out and make their victims suffer.”

“No, they didn’t suffer,” he muttered.

Bree glared at him then and laughed. Hank jerked his handcuffs, and I saw Bree’s face harden. “How would you even know if it was painful or not? You didn’t watch. You’re still here, very much alive.”

“No, because—” He sighed and shook his head slowly. “If only there was more time.”

“What?” I swung my hand around. “Go on, defend yourself.”

“I want my lawyer now.”