The Sleeping Doll

Seaside.”
    Dance’s brows furrowed. “I doubt that. Evidence is accounted for too closely. No, I’d go for a more credible scenario: that the hammer was stolen recently. Where else could somebody find a hammer of yours? Do you have any property in the state?”
    “No.”
    “Any relatives or friends who could’ve had some tools of yours?”
    “Not really.”
    Which wasn’t an answer to a yes-or-no question; it was even slipperier than “I don’t recall.” Dance noticed too that Pell had put his hands, tipped with long, clean nails, on the table at the word “relatives.” This was a deviation from baseline behavior. It didn’t mean lying, but he was feeling stress. The questions were upsetting him.
    “Daniel, do you have any relations living in California?”
    He hesitated, must have assessed that she was the sort to check out every comment—which she was—and said, “The only one left’s my aunt. Down in Bakersfield.”
    “Is her name Pell?”
    Another pause. “Yep . . . That’s good thinking, Officer Dance. I’ll bet the deputies who dropped the ball on the Herron case stole that hammer from her house and planted it. They’re the ones behind this whole thing. Why don’t you talk to them?”
    “All right. Now let’s think about the wallet. Where could that’ve come from? . . . Here’s a thought. What if it’s not Robert Herron’s wallet at all? What if this rogue cop we’re talking about just bought a wallet, had R.H . stamped in the leather, then hid that and the hammer in the well? It could’ve been last month. Or even last week. What do you think about that, Daniel?”
    Pell lowered his head—she couldn’t see his eyes—and said nothing.
    It was unfolding just as she’d planned.
    Dance had forced him to pick the more credible of two explanations for his innocence—and proceeded to prove it wasn’t credible at all. No sane jury would believe that the police had fabricated evidence and stolen tools from a house hundreds of miles away from the crime scene. Pell was now realizing the mistake he’d made. The trap was about to close on him.
    Checkmate  . . .
    Her heart thumped a bit and she was thinking that the next words out of his mouth might be about a plea bargain.
    She was wrong.
    His eyes snapped open and bored into hers with pure malevolence. He lunged forward as far as he could. Only the chains hooked to the metal chair, grounded with bolts to the tile floor, stopped him from sinking his teeth into her.
    She jerked back, gasping.
    “You goddamn bitch! Oh, I get it now. Sure, you’re part of it too! Yeah, yeah, blame Daniel. It’s always my fault! I’m the easy target. And you come in here sounding like a friend, asking me a few questions. Jesus, you’re just like the rest of them!”
    Her heart was pounding furiously now, and she was afraid. But she noted quickly that the restraints were secure and he couldn’t reach her. She turned to the mirror, behind which the officer manning the video camera was surely rising to his feet right now to help her. But she shook her head his way. It was important to see where this was going.
    Then suddenly Pell’s fury was replaced with a cold calm. He sat back, caught his breath and looked her over again. “You’re in your thirties, Officer Dance. You’re somewhat pretty. You seem straight to me, so I guarantee there’s a man in your life. Or has been.” A third glance at the pearl ring.
    “If you don’t like my theory, Daniel, let’s come up with another one. About what really happened to Robert Herron.”
    As if she hadn’t even spoken. “And you’ve got children, right? Sure, you do. I can see that. Tell me all about them. Tell me about the little ones. Close in age, and not too old, I’ll bet.”
    This unnerved her and she thought instantly of Maggie and Wes. But she struggled not to react. He doesn’t know I have children, of course. He can’t. But he acts as if he’s certain. Was there something about my behavior he noted? Something that suggested to him that I’m a mother?
    They’re studying you as hard as you’re studying them . . . .
    “Listen to me, Daniel,” she said smoothly, “an outburst isn’t going to help anything.”
    “I’ve got friends on the outside, you know. They owe me. They’d love to come visit you. Or hang with your husband and children. Yeah, it’s a tough life being a cop. The little ones spend a lot of time alone, don’t they? They’d probably love some friends