Sorry about the long hiatus. Not proud of it.:( Life and writer's block and other crappy situations got in the way.

Warning! Somewhat disturbing imagery ahead.

Chapter 14

Lilly jerked out of the unknown grasp and whirled around, her heart thumping in her ears, ready to fight tooth and nail if she had to. There was just no way in hell she was letting a petty prank call become tomorrow's headline.

But it was only Jason Bailey. His long, skinny frame, unkempt as ever, shook in the paltry amount of clothing he wore and his face bobbed insecurely overhead.

"What do you want?" snapped Lilly short-temperedly, taking a cautious step back. Not that she was afraid, but why take chances? Past experience had taught her this kid had no problem lashing out whenever he felt like it. He'd already knocked her flat once and she wasn't exactly dying for it to happen again.

Intimidating was the last thing he looked this time, however. His gait was faintly unstable and his eyes were red-rimmed, as if near tears. A halo of assorted smells surrounded him, making it impossible to identify what substance he was on. Probably a mishmash of several. "There's sumpin I didn't tell you before," he slurred. "'Bout my mom."

"And why tell me now?" Lilly demanded suspiciously, vaguely aware of the hot dog vendor keeping a sharp eye on them from across the street.

"Anything wrong, Miss Lilly?" he called out.

"No, Mickey. Don't worry about it. I got it," she waved back. "Okay, so tell me if you're going to."

The kid sighed morosely, glaring down at his dilapidated sneakers. "I know the guy she was seeing."

"You do?" Lilly's voice was tinged with disbelief. "Well, who?"

"I dunno who. But I know where he worked. Down the street at Kemp's garage. My mom was always going there—the filthy slut. She took my sister in a stroller. I'm pretty sure that's where she went that day she never came back."

This took a while to make its way into the depths of Lilly's mind. Accountable? Not by a long shot. Even so, it was still better than anything they'd got so far—an angle worth looking into. Gazing up into his narcotized, beat-up, half-starved face, she was suddenly overcome by a sharp, agonizing sort of pity—painful shame that a perfectly good kid's life could have come to this.

"Sit down," she sighed, mentally shutting away the image of her wristwatch pointing to two past the hour. "I gotta tell you something. About your dad. And that knife you saw."

"I have nothing to say," Alice O'Donohue declared defiantly. "I know my rights and I don't have to talk to you. I'm not a suspect."

"Well, your niece is," Jeffries sensibly pointed out. "Maybe you should talk and spare her the pain of going through all this."

"The pain of going through what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know." Vera was losing his patience. "You told your niece she was a slut. So you must know something. Why don't you just spill it? You could get yourself off the hook easy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alice persisted stubbornly, her frizzled hair obscuring her face. "I'd never say anything like that."

Jeffries and Vera exchanged an exasperated look. What was the point of all this denial? They'd both heard her. She wasn't about to convince them they were both loopy. How long was she planning to keep up this charade?

Stillman tapped on the two-way, his way of telling them to can it. "That's enough. Let's wait for Lil. She'll be back any minute."

But half an hour later Vera was still pacing around like a caged animal, staring at the suspects through the two-way mirrors and trying not to snap at everything that moved. Where the hell was she? On Stillman's orders he had the interrogations on hold. The aunt was surly as ever, bony arms crossed over chest, refusing to cooperate and threatening a lawsuit. The girl just sniveled and moaned and made no sense. Jeffries had tried and Valens had tried—and they'd both upset her so much Stillman had ordered no one else but Lilly come near her. So where was she?

"Lunch," Valens had helpfully supplied.

It didn't take Rush an hour to eat lunch. She munched down on those hot dogs like there was no tomorrow. Something else was wrong. And damned if he was gonna wait around for the bad news…

His body practically deflated with relief when he saw her come sailing down the hall, safe and sound, a haughty smile on her face.

"Where the hell were you?" he fumed. No point letting her see how worried he'd been. She'd be better off thinking they were just annoyed. "We've got this O'Donohue flake waiting here for you. She's good for nothin'. Stillman won't let us question her."

"I was talking to a witness," Lilly answered breezily. "We may just have another lead on our hands. Jason Bailey remembers where his mom's lover worked."

"What!" Vera exploded. "That little thug? He actually had useful information he kept from us? Why I oughta—"

"Get me a cup off coffee," Lilly finished for him. "I gave the kid my hot dog and I'm hungry. Can't talk to this girl on an empty stomach."

It was chilly in the observation room as Stillman monitored Lilly's interrogation, not without certain fatherly satisfaction. He couldn't help feeling akin to this woman, though they were far from blood relatives and he couldn't even pride himself on having trained her from a rookie. She'd fallen well-recommended into his hands some years before, and he had never regretted it since. Younger than everyone on the squad but Scotty, the only female, she had a way about her that not only earned respect, it also elicited trust and confidence. Victims and perpetrators alike ended up cracking at her perseverance. When all else failed, Stillman knew he could always count on Lilly.

Somehow her technique didn't seem to be having the desired effect this time, though. With infinite patience she had gone time after time through the usual round of questions with Regan. But the girl was just too much of a wreck. The faintest allusion to the babies would send her into gales of tears—no emotional stability whatsoever. Not even enough to make up a decent lie.

If Lilly was getting frustrated—as anyone probably would have by now—she didn't show it. If anything, her voice seemed to grow softer and more disarming than ever. So low, in fact, he completely missed her next words. And right away he regretted it, because they seemed to draw a reaction from Regan at last.

A startled look came over her swollen features as she gulped in mid-sob, "You did?"

"That's right," Lilly returned conspiratorially, leaning forward in her chair and twirling her hair in mock disinterest. "Just a few minutes ago. So you don't have to worry. We'll make sure she gets what she deserves."

Regan's expression could only be described as panicky. "Why?"

Lilly shrugged. "We know what she did. She killed your babies. So she deserves punishment. The death penalty."

"The death penalty?"

"Or life imprisonment," continued Lilly unsympathetically. "You take your pick. She's our main suspect, and you know how it goes—someone has to be the scapegoat."

Stillman gritted his teeth. Easy on the dangerous comments, Lil. Don't forget we've got a walking lawsuit in the next room.

For a minute Regan's face crumpled and Stillman held his breath, readying himself for yet another outburst.

"It's not like you think," she said instead, her tone so unexpectedly grave and quiet it had the staggering effect of a bombshell in the interrogation room. Stillman suddenly found not only himself but also Vera, Jeffries and Scotty with their noses pressed breathlessly to the glass.

"Tell me," Lilly urged. "Tell me how it was. Help me understand."

And so the story began at last, and such a bizarre story that it was, Regan's somber words forming a hazy sort of picture in Stillman's mind, almost like an old home movie playing itself, strangely tragic and poignant.

Regan's family was Roman Catholic, the very strictest kind. She'd been brought up in a religious all-girls' private school, educated to have a career, marry and have a family—all this in the most rigorous virtue, of course. But somewhere along the line things had become skewed. 'Irresistible' had come, and for a while there was a boyfriend—and then 'irresistible' had gone, leaving something behind. A present—a legacy. A baby. And now no one could know.

Not even Sarah had known at first. Regan kept it a secret from everyone, half-hoping the problem would go away by itself if she ignored it long enough. But she had been found out—by Alice O'Donohue, her father's youngest sister and the family spinster. And it was she who had come up with The Plan—the one that would lead to all ensuing complications.

Options were discussed. Abortion was contrary to their beliefs, and since her parents would kick her out and disown her if they ever found out, keeping the baby was out of the question. Adoption was her best choice—her only choice, really. And Alice had the perfect solution for it.

"She was lonely, she wanted a baby," Regan apathetically explained. "That was our deal. She'd give me the money and cover for me, make me disappear to have it, and then she'd pretend someone had just left a baby on her doorstep. So she could adopt it. No questions asked. They'd even think she was being noble."

It was then Regan confided in Sarah for the first time. Sarah was taken aback by the situation, but respected Regan's wishes that nothing be known. So, on Alice's instructions, they drove all those miles up to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving 2002, just so Regan could have her first check-up in full anonymity.

That was when disaster struck.

"I thought for sure God was punishing me for my sins," Regan whispered. "Making my child deformed—a monster. Two heads, the doctor said. One body."

Stillman could picture her lying down in that examination room, having the ultrasound performed on her, staring blankly at the screen as she received the awful news. For a moment his mind flashed to his own daughter—and the flawless grandson she had produced for him. His chest tightened in spite of himself.

"So what happened then?" prompted Lilly, gently.

"I had to tell Aunt Alice. And she didn't like it."

"What did she do?"

Regan gave a great shuddering sigh. "She was weird—pretended not to hear me at first, then gave me some money and told me to get out of the house, that she never wanted to hear from me again until I'd got rid of the horrible thing. So I left."

The rest of the story was even stranger. She and Sarah had made arrangements of their own. Sarah's parents were to be out of town for spring break—roughly Regan's due date. The house would be alone and they could go to the same doctor who'd performed to ultrasound for the delivery. Or Sarah would try to deliver them herself.

Stillman couldn't help thinking of his own daughter again as Regan described those long, lonely months of hiding her belly, going to class feeling nauseous and short of breath, worrying about what would happen to her kids once they were born, lying to her parents every time they phoned or wrote. Finally spring break came—and with it no labor pains. Days passed and Sarah was frantic—her parents would come home any day now and their cover would be blown. So she gave Regan some pills. Just to hurry things up, she'd said.

What happened afterwards was less clear. All Regan could recall was waking up later that afternoon in excruciating cramps and swimming in blood and amniotic fluid. She'd called out for Sarah, who said it was time—but when she'd listened for the babies' heartbeat her face had gone all gray and still.

"There's no heartbeat," she'd said. "I can't find the heartbeat anywhere. Regan—the babies are dead."

"No! No! No! They can't be."

But they were. They weren't moving and there was no heartbeat, the pain was unbearable and Regan was bleeding out. Sarah did everything in her power to make her comfortable, but she finally had to face the fact there was only so much she could do. She had to go to the hospital.

"What?" Regan had yelped. "No—no hospitals. You promised. No hospitals."

Hospitals meant doctors and nurses and midwives, signing forms and disclosing her name. Giving birth to conjoined twins would be sure to make the papers. Huge headlines all over the country—just big enough for her parents to feast their eyes on.

"Please," Sarah had begged, practically in tears. "You have to go. You're gonna die if you don't."

But it was no use. They waited another hour for things to move along, but they didn't, no matter how hard Regan pushed. She was beginning to feel faint—her pulse was quick and her blood pressure, low. Sarah was a midwife—she had to help her. The pain was terrible, everything was terrible. It had to end sometime, this sort of agony couldn't go on forever. And she'd rather die than go to the hospital. That was when Sarah had gone for help and come back with an instrument instead—such a grotesque instrument, more like a pair of huge tongs than anything else. She was crying—she didn't want to do it. But Regan was screeching and desperate, and the blood was everywhere. There'd be three people dead in that room if someone didn't do something.

"Just get them out, Sarah. Please—just get them out."

The flashback faded slowly, and Stillman was almost surprised to find himself still in the observation room, staring through the mirror at the stony-faced girl, dully delivering the last lines of her horror story.

"All I remember is a crunching, grinding sound. And Sarah bawling. She didn't want to do it. But I begged her. I told her to press harder, to break them if she had to. I couldn't go to the hospital. I couldn't let them find out. So she did. She got them out. It wasn't her fault."

Lilly was silent for a few seconds. Her face didn't register any expression, but Stillman knew she was probably as shaken as they were. When she finally did speak up, her voice was surprisingly soothing.

"Just one more thing I gotta ask of you, Regan. Where did you get Erica Bailey's ID?"

"Who?"

"Erica Bailey. The woman whose name you used for your ultrasound in November. Did you know her?"

Regan shook her head vacantly. "Aunt Alice gave me a driver's permit to use. Said it was her friend's. I never looked at it." Her eyes had changed somehow—the hysterical light had gone out of them and they were lifeless, empty. "It's me you should give the death penalty to, you know—not Sarah. Sarah saved me. But she shouldn't have. I should be lying in that hole in the ground with my babies. I wish I were."