The office was quiet; Deakins had left for home over an hour ago. Bobby read the files and reports on Margaret Vaughn's death as Alex read about Samantha James. Alex finished reading first and stood, reaching her fingertips to the ceiling, stretching cramped muscles, unkinking her spine. She was feeling better as she walked to the coffee pot, and poured both herself and Bobby a cup.
When she arrived back at their desks, Bobby was just closing the Vaughn file. Alex handed him the coffee he said a grateful "Thanks." Each handed the other the reports they had just finished, opening the new file and began reading again.
~*~*~
Bobby sat at his makeshift desk in his dining room, the apartment around him dark, expect for the light of the computer screen, he logged on to the internet, and surfed into the IRS site through a back door created by his tree hugging friends. Highly illegal, he knew, but justified it to himself, it was for a good cause, and he couldn't wait for the red tape.
He ran a search on Samantha James, who died in Houston in 1996. According to the IRS files, Samantha filed her 1996 taxes three months after her death. Not only that, she filed her 1997 and '98 taxes as well, but under the name Samantha Connelly, a joint filing. Karen Clark wasn't the only one to have been bride after she was a corpse. Samantha James was married for three years after she died. The husbands name on the taxes was Matthew Connelly, Bobby noted that the 1998 taxes were the last joint filing, and in fact were the last filing that both Matthew Connelly and Samantha James-Connelly had ever done.
With dread in the pit of his stomach, he searched for Margaret Vaughn. As with Samantha, Margaret had filed her taxes after her death. And, in 1993, Margaret lived in Houston, the same city Samantha James lived and died. Again, same as Samantha and Karen, Margaret had married a year after she drown. Andrew and Margaret Alverton filed together '94 -'96. 1996 being the last time the IRS had heard from either one of them.
That old saying floated into Bobby's mind. I'm married, not buried. Apparently Karen, Samantha and Margaret
had been both.
Bobby closed his eyes tight against the brightness of the computer screen. All the information, all the names, dates, marriages, deaths. . . everything he had learned that day swarmed in circles in his head. Mentally silencing his information overload alarm, Bobby pulled up the Houston Chronicle website, clicked on obituaries, and found the reason Andrew Alverton never filed his taxes again. He died in 1996. The online obituary was linked to an article reporting Andrew's death. He had come home early from a trip, arriving at 3am. His wife, Margaret, thinking him an intruder, shot and killed him. The bullet had entered the center of his heart. The incident had been ruled accidental, and no charges were brought against Margaret.
On the LA Times site, Bobby found an obit for Matthew Connelly, and another link pulled up an eerily similar article. Matthew had been murdered as he slept. Shot twice in the head. Police suspected his wife, Samantha, but she had been in Seattle at the time, for the funeral of an old friend. The airline and hotel confirmed Samantha was in the state of Washington the night her husband was killed in California.
~*~*~
Bobby was at his desk early the next morning. His first two calls had been to the Houston and Los Angles Police Departments, requesting reports and files on the husbands deaths. The LAPD told him the Connelly murder was still an open case, all possible suspects had an alibi. Houston put him off, saying the death had been ruled accidental, and further investigation wasn't needed. Bobby eventually won them over, and they agreed to fax what they had. While waiting for the faxes, Bobby called the FAA, and got a list of flights from Seattle to Los Angles for the night Connelly was murdered. With the third airline he called, he got what he wanted. Samantha Connelly may have been in Seattle when her husband was killed, but Margaret Alverton had landed in LA from Seattle two hours before the time established time of death. She'd also flown back to Seattle the next morning.
Alex arrived a half hour later, carrying the fax from LA she'd been handed in the hall. Bobby was just finishing reading the case file Houston had faxed in. He handed the Houston fax to Alex, taking the LA fax from her at the same time. As she pulled off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair, she listened to Bobby as he explained what he'd learned, and what he suspected. Alex knew she was a smart woman, and a good cop, but she had difficulty following what Bobby was telling her. To many names, to many dates. To many lives. Bobby finally took her into the small meeting room near the desks, and used the white board to create a timeline, retelling each story as he wrote it down.
Margaret Vaughn dies February 1992
Records show Margaret Vaughn working in Houston April 1992
Margaret marries Andrew Alverton Jan 1993
Lives as Margaret Alverton 1993-1996
A. Alverton dies June 1996
Samantha James June 1996
Samantha James begins working in Atlanta July 1996
Samantha marries Matthew Connelly Dec 1996
Lives as Samantha Connelly 1996-1998
M. Connelly dies March 1998
Karen Clark dies March 1998
Karen Clark arrives in NYC March 1998
Karen Clark marries Stephen Morris April 1998
Married April 98-Oct 98
Lives as Karen Morris 1998-2000
S. Morris dies Oct 1998
Marries Martin Wharton Jan 2000
Lives as Karen Wharton 2000-present
M. Wharton dies Oct 2002
"My God." Alex muttered, understanding the magnitude of what Bobby had just lain out. "Hang on." She said and left the room quickly. Grabbing a file off her desk, she jogged walked back, closing the door behind her. Laying the file on the table, she opened it, searching for what she remembered, Bobby hovering over her shoulder. Alex found what she was looking for and pointed to it as she spoke. "Leslie Barnes, the 18 year old kidnap victim-"
"Whose prints were on Karen Clark-Morris-Wharton's lipstick." Bobby interjected.
"Yeah, she 'died' in 1987. If the first record we can find of . . .whoever this woman is, is in 1992, what was she doing for 5 years?"
Bobby took a deep breath, contemplating the possibilities.
~*~*~
ADA Ron Carver had been called and asked to come in to listen to the theory. They gathered in Capitan Deakins office, Carver taking one of the two chairs in front of the captain's desk.
"Morris married her after knowing her for only a month?" Deakins asked
"We called Joel Decker, Morris's old friend," Alex explained. "He told us Morris met Karen in a chat room in November of '97. They had an online affair until she shows up here in March of '98."
"Right after the real Karen Clark died." Carver interjected.
"If she used Karen Clarks name four months before she killed her . . ." Deakins studied the timeline Bobby had created.
"She already had her picked out, and was already planning to kill her husband." Alex answered. Bobby had become silent after he explained everything to Deakins and Carver, sitting on the corner of a small table in the corner of the office.
"Insurance?" Deakins asked.
"None that we could find."
"Not on any of them?" Carver looked incredulous.
"Morris did have a policy, but his mother was beneficiary."
"Family money? Jewels? If, this is the same woman, why the hell did she kill all her husbands?" Carver stressed the 'if' as he said it.
Alex shook her head. They didn't know. No insurance, no family money, all of the marriages had racked up debt, not riches. There was no reason Alex could think of for these men to have been killed. She also wasn't entirely convinced this was done by the same woman, the woman they'd met as Karen Wharton.
"Do you have any actual evidence this is the same woman?" Carver asked, standing at looking over to Bobby.
Slowly, Bobby shook his head. "I want to bring her in anyway."
"On what grounds?"
Suddenly animated again, agitated, Bobby, stood, and began pacing. "The prints on the lipstick. If she confesses she's Leslie Barnes, I can make her fall on the rest of them."
Carver sighed deeply, crossing one arm just above his belt and resting the other arm on it. Two of his fingers pulled gently at his ear as he thought over the legal ramifications. "Ok." he said after a few minutes. "But if she asks for a lawyer - If she even says the word lawyer - the questioning stops. She's not under arrest." He laid his hand out flat, slicing the air horizontally, emphasizing the 'not'.
Bobby nodded in agreement with the terms.
~*~*~
Thinking she'd be less suspicious, less on guard, they didn't go pick her up. Instead Alex called, told her they'd found something in her husbands background, something they needed to speak to her about. She agreed to come down to their office.
While they waited for her arrival, Bobby was busy printing and copying; phoning to request more faxes from other cities departments. When he'd gotten everything he wanted, he gathered up all he'd collected, and a roll of scotch tape and disappeared into the interrogation room. He came out twenty minutes later, quickly scanned the room for Karen, and when he didn't see her, wheeled the whiteboard from Deakins office into the interrogation room as well.
Back at his desk moments later, he had just enough time to readjust his tie as Karen walked in.
"Mrs. Wharton." Bobby called as he stood raising his arm in a half 'over here' wave.
She smiled when she saw him, and made her way through the traffic of cops and criminals.
"Detective . . .Goren, wasn't it?" She held out her hand.
Bobby nodded and shook her hand, smiling at her. "We just have a few things we'd like to discuss with you about your husband. Uh.. . . " he glanced around at the activity that surrounded them and looked at Alex. "Maybe we should go in there" he pointed vaguely toward the interrogation room, "for a little privacy." He turned to Karen and smiled.
~*~*~
Just inside the door of the interrogation room, Bobby stepped to the side, and turned, as if out of politeness, back toward Karen. He was really watching for her reaction, nearly savoring the moment. Karen was three steps behind Bobby, Alex a step behind her.
Karen stepped through the doorway, smiling slightly at Bobby, and then as everyone does when they walk into an unfamiliar room, she turned her head, surveying her surroundings. Her scrutiny didn't last long; her attention was immediately drawn to the wall straight in front of her. All the printing and copying Bobby had done, were pictures of all the people he considered to be Karen's victims. He'd taped them to the wall, in timeline order, beginning with her parents and ending with an 8x10 of a smiling Martin Wharton.
Bobby watched her reaction, her eyes widening as she took in the entire wall, realizing. He was right. He knew it. Up until that instant, he wasn't positive, but in that second, he knew he was right. He continued to watch as her eyes moved down the line, pausing for a moment on each picture, she was looking with mere curiosity, nothing else. No regret. Recognition only showing for the last two photos, Morris and Wharton. The two husbands she was married to as Karen. And even then, as she stared at those last two photos, there was no sign of emotion. Not the tears of bereaved widow, not even sadness over the lives that might have been. Bobby glanced at Alex, who still stood in the open doorway, behind Karen. Alex returned his look, she was now convinced too.
"Margaret?" Bobby prompted, using the name she'd spent the most time as since shedding herself of the name her parents gave her. She turned to him, in response. He had her.
"Who's Margaret?" She asked, cocking her head to one side.
Bobby smiled. Big, broad, genuine. She was smart, he liked smart.
Instead of answering her question, he held out his arm, gesturing to the chair that faced the two way mirror. "Please, have a seat."
She did, settling herself into the chair, even glancing at her reflection in the mirror, and smoothing her hair. Bobby took the seat directly in front of her, blocking her view of herself. She smiled at him; she was enjoying this too, feeling simultaneously like the cat and the mouse. "What is it that you found, and how can I help you with it?"
She asked as Alex settled into the seat at the end of the table nearest the door.
"We think you killed your husband." Bobby stated flatly, watching her eyes.
"Which one?" She asked, an amused lilt in her voice.
Again, he smiled at her response. "All of them, actually. As well as some other people. And you may as well have killed you parents, considering they died of broken hearts."
"All of them?" Karen asked, her brow knitted in confusion. "There've only been two. What do you mean 'all'?"
Bobby swung his arm at the wall of photos. "All of THEM. Com'on. You know we know. Just tell us." When she only responded with a look of utter confusion, he continued. "Your mistake . . " He moved his arm, instead of pointing at the photos, he pointed at her. "Your mistake was using that numerology crap more than once. I know it must have been very effective, but surely you must have known you'd used it to often. Is that why you didn't move on after you killed Morris? You didn't want to chance using that same con one more time?"
Karen stared at him, not responding. "All of them. You killed the boyfriend you staged your kidnapping with, you killed a girl to take your place in the burned car. . .she was a hooker, wasn't she? Or a junkie? Someone no one would ever miss." Karen didn't answer his question. "You killed Margaret Vaughn, Samantha James, Karen Clark, your husbands, Andrew, Matth-"
Karen cut him off in mid sentence. "My, my, how you do go on." She said in her best Scarlet O'Hara. Bobby stopped speaking, staring at her impudence. Karen smiled at the effect she'd had on him. "You know. . ." she began again, her eyes flickering down Bobby's body, "every other man I've rendered speechless . . ." she paused for effect "Eventually proposed." Smiling at her own teasing, she brought her arms up to rest on the table top, propping her head onto one of her hands.
Bobby stood suddenly, the legs of his chair loudly scraping the cement floor. He walked the length of his side of the table, turning gradually behind Alex, coming up so he stood at Karen's back, looming over her. He stood silently for a moment, making her feel his presence. Then he bent down, so his mouth was at her ear. "I like breathing." He whispered to her. Karen sucked in her breath sharply, exhaling only after he straightened, removing himself from her personal space. He continued on, in his journey around the table, ending at the whiteboard he had wheeled in earlier. He flipped the board, so his timeline faced the room. "All these people." He took a step back from the board, staring at it, taking it in. "All these lives. And not just the victims. Their families, friends. The children they might have had. . ." Karen breathing stopped for a moment when he mentioned children. Bobby noticed, but didn't let her know he did, and continued ". . .all the lives that might have been touched by these people who are now dead." He turned to her as he said this. Her breathing had returned to normal, her face once again emotionless, her eyes not giving any secrets. She met his gaze, unwaveringly. For the next few moments, they had an adult version of a playground staring contest. Bobby looked away first, retaking his seat directly across the table from Karen.
He leaned into the table, as if he was about to share a secret with her, and whispered: "You're a psychopath."
She laughed. The short burst echoed in the otherwise silent room. Still smiling with her laughter, she mimicked Bobby's posture, leaning herself into the table, putting one shoulder a little further out. Coyly, flirting, she answered his allegation. "No I'm not."
"What would you say," Bobby went on, rejecting her flirtation, "if I told you that I can prove you're Leslie Barnes?"
"And how could you do that?"
"Your finger prints match. You were fingerprinted during a third grade field trip. You forgot about that, didn't you?"
"It's obviously a clerical error. If this Leslie Barnes was eight, that must have been a long time ago. There weren't computers then, so the fingerprints had to have been transferred at some point. Obviously, someone attached the wrong name. Paperwork gets shuffled around all the time. Computer systems go down all the time. Who knows what goes on inside those little chips when that happens."
"What if . . . I can prove you weren't in Seattle when Matthew Connelly was murdered? Murdered in the bed you shared with him. That I can prove you were in Los Angles . . . that you killed him? How 'bout if I can prove you knew Andrew was coming home early, that you didn't think he was an intruder, that you SHOT HIM ON PURPOSE?" Bobby stopped his bluff, waiting for Karen to say something.
She stared at the table for a moment, and slowly looked up, meeting Bobby's stare. Instead of answering his questions, she asked one of her own. "Am I under arrest?"
It was Bobby's turn to pause. After a moment he said: "No."
Karen pushed her chair back and stood. Pulling her purse up over her shoulder, she walked to the door and opened it. In the threshold, she paused, still facing the hallway, and turned slowly to look at Bobby one more time. He held his breath. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to say something, but she suddenly changed her mind, her lips transformed into a slight, wicked smile. She turned back to the open door, and walked away.
When she arrived back at their desks, Bobby was just closing the Vaughn file. Alex handed him the coffee he said a grateful "Thanks." Each handed the other the reports they had just finished, opening the new file and began reading again.
~*~*~
Bobby sat at his makeshift desk in his dining room, the apartment around him dark, expect for the light of the computer screen, he logged on to the internet, and surfed into the IRS site through a back door created by his tree hugging friends. Highly illegal, he knew, but justified it to himself, it was for a good cause, and he couldn't wait for the red tape.
He ran a search on Samantha James, who died in Houston in 1996. According to the IRS files, Samantha filed her 1996 taxes three months after her death. Not only that, she filed her 1997 and '98 taxes as well, but under the name Samantha Connelly, a joint filing. Karen Clark wasn't the only one to have been bride after she was a corpse. Samantha James was married for three years after she died. The husbands name on the taxes was Matthew Connelly, Bobby noted that the 1998 taxes were the last joint filing, and in fact were the last filing that both Matthew Connelly and Samantha James-Connelly had ever done.
With dread in the pit of his stomach, he searched for Margaret Vaughn. As with Samantha, Margaret had filed her taxes after her death. And, in 1993, Margaret lived in Houston, the same city Samantha James lived and died. Again, same as Samantha and Karen, Margaret had married a year after she drown. Andrew and Margaret Alverton filed together '94 -'96. 1996 being the last time the IRS had heard from either one of them.
That old saying floated into Bobby's mind. I'm married, not buried. Apparently Karen, Samantha and Margaret
had been both.
Bobby closed his eyes tight against the brightness of the computer screen. All the information, all the names, dates, marriages, deaths. . . everything he had learned that day swarmed in circles in his head. Mentally silencing his information overload alarm, Bobby pulled up the Houston Chronicle website, clicked on obituaries, and found the reason Andrew Alverton never filed his taxes again. He died in 1996. The online obituary was linked to an article reporting Andrew's death. He had come home early from a trip, arriving at 3am. His wife, Margaret, thinking him an intruder, shot and killed him. The bullet had entered the center of his heart. The incident had been ruled accidental, and no charges were brought against Margaret.
On the LA Times site, Bobby found an obit for Matthew Connelly, and another link pulled up an eerily similar article. Matthew had been murdered as he slept. Shot twice in the head. Police suspected his wife, Samantha, but she had been in Seattle at the time, for the funeral of an old friend. The airline and hotel confirmed Samantha was in the state of Washington the night her husband was killed in California.
~*~*~
Bobby was at his desk early the next morning. His first two calls had been to the Houston and Los Angles Police Departments, requesting reports and files on the husbands deaths. The LAPD told him the Connelly murder was still an open case, all possible suspects had an alibi. Houston put him off, saying the death had been ruled accidental, and further investigation wasn't needed. Bobby eventually won them over, and they agreed to fax what they had. While waiting for the faxes, Bobby called the FAA, and got a list of flights from Seattle to Los Angles for the night Connelly was murdered. With the third airline he called, he got what he wanted. Samantha Connelly may have been in Seattle when her husband was killed, but Margaret Alverton had landed in LA from Seattle two hours before the time established time of death. She'd also flown back to Seattle the next morning.
Alex arrived a half hour later, carrying the fax from LA she'd been handed in the hall. Bobby was just finishing reading the case file Houston had faxed in. He handed the Houston fax to Alex, taking the LA fax from her at the same time. As she pulled off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair, she listened to Bobby as he explained what he'd learned, and what he suspected. Alex knew she was a smart woman, and a good cop, but she had difficulty following what Bobby was telling her. To many names, to many dates. To many lives. Bobby finally took her into the small meeting room near the desks, and used the white board to create a timeline, retelling each story as he wrote it down.
Margaret Vaughn dies February 1992
Records show Margaret Vaughn working in Houston April 1992
Margaret marries Andrew Alverton Jan 1993
Lives as Margaret Alverton 1993-1996
A. Alverton dies June 1996
Samantha James June 1996
Samantha James begins working in Atlanta July 1996
Samantha marries Matthew Connelly Dec 1996
Lives as Samantha Connelly 1996-1998
M. Connelly dies March 1998
Karen Clark dies March 1998
Karen Clark arrives in NYC March 1998
Karen Clark marries Stephen Morris April 1998
Married April 98-Oct 98
Lives as Karen Morris 1998-2000
S. Morris dies Oct 1998
Marries Martin Wharton Jan 2000
Lives as Karen Wharton 2000-present
M. Wharton dies Oct 2002
"My God." Alex muttered, understanding the magnitude of what Bobby had just lain out. "Hang on." She said and left the room quickly. Grabbing a file off her desk, she jogged walked back, closing the door behind her. Laying the file on the table, she opened it, searching for what she remembered, Bobby hovering over her shoulder. Alex found what she was looking for and pointed to it as she spoke. "Leslie Barnes, the 18 year old kidnap victim-"
"Whose prints were on Karen Clark-Morris-Wharton's lipstick." Bobby interjected.
"Yeah, she 'died' in 1987. If the first record we can find of . . .whoever this woman is, is in 1992, what was she doing for 5 years?"
Bobby took a deep breath, contemplating the possibilities.
~*~*~
ADA Ron Carver had been called and asked to come in to listen to the theory. They gathered in Capitan Deakins office, Carver taking one of the two chairs in front of the captain's desk.
"Morris married her after knowing her for only a month?" Deakins asked
"We called Joel Decker, Morris's old friend," Alex explained. "He told us Morris met Karen in a chat room in November of '97. They had an online affair until she shows up here in March of '98."
"Right after the real Karen Clark died." Carver interjected.
"If she used Karen Clarks name four months before she killed her . . ." Deakins studied the timeline Bobby had created.
"She already had her picked out, and was already planning to kill her husband." Alex answered. Bobby had become silent after he explained everything to Deakins and Carver, sitting on the corner of a small table in the corner of the office.
"Insurance?" Deakins asked.
"None that we could find."
"Not on any of them?" Carver looked incredulous.
"Morris did have a policy, but his mother was beneficiary."
"Family money? Jewels? If, this is the same woman, why the hell did she kill all her husbands?" Carver stressed the 'if' as he said it.
Alex shook her head. They didn't know. No insurance, no family money, all of the marriages had racked up debt, not riches. There was no reason Alex could think of for these men to have been killed. She also wasn't entirely convinced this was done by the same woman, the woman they'd met as Karen Wharton.
"Do you have any actual evidence this is the same woman?" Carver asked, standing at looking over to Bobby.
Slowly, Bobby shook his head. "I want to bring her in anyway."
"On what grounds?"
Suddenly animated again, agitated, Bobby, stood, and began pacing. "The prints on the lipstick. If she confesses she's Leslie Barnes, I can make her fall on the rest of them."
Carver sighed deeply, crossing one arm just above his belt and resting the other arm on it. Two of his fingers pulled gently at his ear as he thought over the legal ramifications. "Ok." he said after a few minutes. "But if she asks for a lawyer - If she even says the word lawyer - the questioning stops. She's not under arrest." He laid his hand out flat, slicing the air horizontally, emphasizing the 'not'.
Bobby nodded in agreement with the terms.
~*~*~
Thinking she'd be less suspicious, less on guard, they didn't go pick her up. Instead Alex called, told her they'd found something in her husbands background, something they needed to speak to her about. She agreed to come down to their office.
While they waited for her arrival, Bobby was busy printing and copying; phoning to request more faxes from other cities departments. When he'd gotten everything he wanted, he gathered up all he'd collected, and a roll of scotch tape and disappeared into the interrogation room. He came out twenty minutes later, quickly scanned the room for Karen, and when he didn't see her, wheeled the whiteboard from Deakins office into the interrogation room as well.
Back at his desk moments later, he had just enough time to readjust his tie as Karen walked in.
"Mrs. Wharton." Bobby called as he stood raising his arm in a half 'over here' wave.
She smiled when she saw him, and made her way through the traffic of cops and criminals.
"Detective . . .Goren, wasn't it?" She held out her hand.
Bobby nodded and shook her hand, smiling at her. "We just have a few things we'd like to discuss with you about your husband. Uh.. . . " he glanced around at the activity that surrounded them and looked at Alex. "Maybe we should go in there" he pointed vaguely toward the interrogation room, "for a little privacy." He turned to Karen and smiled.
~*~*~
Just inside the door of the interrogation room, Bobby stepped to the side, and turned, as if out of politeness, back toward Karen. He was really watching for her reaction, nearly savoring the moment. Karen was three steps behind Bobby, Alex a step behind her.
Karen stepped through the doorway, smiling slightly at Bobby, and then as everyone does when they walk into an unfamiliar room, she turned her head, surveying her surroundings. Her scrutiny didn't last long; her attention was immediately drawn to the wall straight in front of her. All the printing and copying Bobby had done, were pictures of all the people he considered to be Karen's victims. He'd taped them to the wall, in timeline order, beginning with her parents and ending with an 8x10 of a smiling Martin Wharton.
Bobby watched her reaction, her eyes widening as she took in the entire wall, realizing. He was right. He knew it. Up until that instant, he wasn't positive, but in that second, he knew he was right. He continued to watch as her eyes moved down the line, pausing for a moment on each picture, she was looking with mere curiosity, nothing else. No regret. Recognition only showing for the last two photos, Morris and Wharton. The two husbands she was married to as Karen. And even then, as she stared at those last two photos, there was no sign of emotion. Not the tears of bereaved widow, not even sadness over the lives that might have been. Bobby glanced at Alex, who still stood in the open doorway, behind Karen. Alex returned his look, she was now convinced too.
"Margaret?" Bobby prompted, using the name she'd spent the most time as since shedding herself of the name her parents gave her. She turned to him, in response. He had her.
"Who's Margaret?" She asked, cocking her head to one side.
Bobby smiled. Big, broad, genuine. She was smart, he liked smart.
Instead of answering her question, he held out his arm, gesturing to the chair that faced the two way mirror. "Please, have a seat."
She did, settling herself into the chair, even glancing at her reflection in the mirror, and smoothing her hair. Bobby took the seat directly in front of her, blocking her view of herself. She smiled at him; she was enjoying this too, feeling simultaneously like the cat and the mouse. "What is it that you found, and how can I help you with it?"
She asked as Alex settled into the seat at the end of the table nearest the door.
"We think you killed your husband." Bobby stated flatly, watching her eyes.
"Which one?" She asked, an amused lilt in her voice.
Again, he smiled at her response. "All of them, actually. As well as some other people. And you may as well have killed you parents, considering they died of broken hearts."
"All of them?" Karen asked, her brow knitted in confusion. "There've only been two. What do you mean 'all'?"
Bobby swung his arm at the wall of photos. "All of THEM. Com'on. You know we know. Just tell us." When she only responded with a look of utter confusion, he continued. "Your mistake . . " He moved his arm, instead of pointing at the photos, he pointed at her. "Your mistake was using that numerology crap more than once. I know it must have been very effective, but surely you must have known you'd used it to often. Is that why you didn't move on after you killed Morris? You didn't want to chance using that same con one more time?"
Karen stared at him, not responding. "All of them. You killed the boyfriend you staged your kidnapping with, you killed a girl to take your place in the burned car. . .she was a hooker, wasn't she? Or a junkie? Someone no one would ever miss." Karen didn't answer his question. "You killed Margaret Vaughn, Samantha James, Karen Clark, your husbands, Andrew, Matth-"
Karen cut him off in mid sentence. "My, my, how you do go on." She said in her best Scarlet O'Hara. Bobby stopped speaking, staring at her impudence. Karen smiled at the effect she'd had on him. "You know. . ." she began again, her eyes flickering down Bobby's body, "every other man I've rendered speechless . . ." she paused for effect "Eventually proposed." Smiling at her own teasing, she brought her arms up to rest on the table top, propping her head onto one of her hands.
Bobby stood suddenly, the legs of his chair loudly scraping the cement floor. He walked the length of his side of the table, turning gradually behind Alex, coming up so he stood at Karen's back, looming over her. He stood silently for a moment, making her feel his presence. Then he bent down, so his mouth was at her ear. "I like breathing." He whispered to her. Karen sucked in her breath sharply, exhaling only after he straightened, removing himself from her personal space. He continued on, in his journey around the table, ending at the whiteboard he had wheeled in earlier. He flipped the board, so his timeline faced the room. "All these people." He took a step back from the board, staring at it, taking it in. "All these lives. And not just the victims. Their families, friends. The children they might have had. . ." Karen breathing stopped for a moment when he mentioned children. Bobby noticed, but didn't let her know he did, and continued ". . .all the lives that might have been touched by these people who are now dead." He turned to her as he said this. Her breathing had returned to normal, her face once again emotionless, her eyes not giving any secrets. She met his gaze, unwaveringly. For the next few moments, they had an adult version of a playground staring contest. Bobby looked away first, retaking his seat directly across the table from Karen.
He leaned into the table, as if he was about to share a secret with her, and whispered: "You're a psychopath."
She laughed. The short burst echoed in the otherwise silent room. Still smiling with her laughter, she mimicked Bobby's posture, leaning herself into the table, putting one shoulder a little further out. Coyly, flirting, she answered his allegation. "No I'm not."
"What would you say," Bobby went on, rejecting her flirtation, "if I told you that I can prove you're Leslie Barnes?"
"And how could you do that?"
"Your finger prints match. You were fingerprinted during a third grade field trip. You forgot about that, didn't you?"
"It's obviously a clerical error. If this Leslie Barnes was eight, that must have been a long time ago. There weren't computers then, so the fingerprints had to have been transferred at some point. Obviously, someone attached the wrong name. Paperwork gets shuffled around all the time. Computer systems go down all the time. Who knows what goes on inside those little chips when that happens."
"What if . . . I can prove you weren't in Seattle when Matthew Connelly was murdered? Murdered in the bed you shared with him. That I can prove you were in Los Angles . . . that you killed him? How 'bout if I can prove you knew Andrew was coming home early, that you didn't think he was an intruder, that you SHOT HIM ON PURPOSE?" Bobby stopped his bluff, waiting for Karen to say something.
She stared at the table for a moment, and slowly looked up, meeting Bobby's stare. Instead of answering his questions, she asked one of her own. "Am I under arrest?"
It was Bobby's turn to pause. After a moment he said: "No."
Karen pushed her chair back and stood. Pulling her purse up over her shoulder, she walked to the door and opened it. In the threshold, she paused, still facing the hallway, and turned slowly to look at Bobby one more time. He held his breath. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to say something, but she suddenly changed her mind, her lips transformed into a slight, wicked smile. She turned back to the open door, and walked away.