If She Knew (Kate Wise, #1)

by Blake Pierce

Kate wondered if Daryl was able to bring himself to go back home after the murder of his wife. There was no real timetable for grief; some would wait weeks before returning to the home where a loved one was killed while others had no problem with returning right away.

As she observed him closely, she noticed, just for a fraction of an instant, a flicker in his eye. It was something that made no sense. It wasn’t one of recognition. It was one of rage. It came, and then it left as soon as it did—so fast that she wasn’t even sure whether she saw it or imagined it. Suddenly, her heart started to pound wildly. No, she thought. It can’t be him. But could it? She thought suddenly of what Tate O’Brien had said about murders committed in the acts of both rage and love. Several wives were killed. Not just his. If he had killed his wife, that meant…he would have killed all of them. But why? Why kill all the wives if he only wanted his own dead? It couldn’t be, she thought. Could it?

“I spoke with your mother out front,” Kate said. “She wanted me to tell you she was going to run to the pharmacy.” She paused a beat and then added: “Are you close to your mother?” There it was again. The flicker of rage in his eyes, this time recognizable, and stronger. And that was when Kate knew for sure. Many killers she had dealt with had been oppressed by their mothers in some way or another; too many times that had been the trigger to vent their feelings.

Good, she thought. This idiot is going to brag on himself. He’s strong and easily overpowers me, but the longer he keeps me here, in this position, the better chance I have of escaping. “It wasn’t a mistake that I started with Julie. She’s a…well, she was such a tease. We were sleeping with each other. Had been for months. Taylor didn’t know, though. She was too hung up on her own little activities. And yes, I knew all about the cycling instructor. He’s slept with half the fucking neighborhood. So yeah…why not pin it on him?”

She cried out, looking around for a weapon to use. So far, she’d been burned by coffee and struck with a rolling pin. She’d be damned if she’d be insulted any further.

Daryl responded right away. He raised his hands and backed off. He took a stumbling step away and then slowly turned to face DeMarco. The fork was still in his shoulder, standing as rigid as a beam in the ground. “On your knees, hands behind your back,” DeMarco ordered. “You don’t understand,” he said as he obeyed her orders. “They were evil. They were using me. Unfaithful. Deranged. They loved to have men look at them…even at the pool, even those teenage kids…”

Duran had just read them the riot act for going into Daryl Woodward’s house two days ago. He was more aggravated about their direct disobedience than the fact that they had both been injured and had ended up nearly killing a man. Their saving grace came in a series of audio recordings on Daryl’s phone. He’d kept a record of the comings and goings of Julie and Lacy. The recordings went back over the course of over two months. He’d call them degrading names while he narrated their schedules. One particular recording had gone into great detail about a recent tryst with Julie. The description of a tattoo on her inner thigh basically sealed the case for them.

“This case proves one thing to me, Wise. The fact that you still managed to get results—even after everyone else around you was saying the case was closed—shows that, fifty-five or not, your mind is still as sharp as ever.” “Thanks…I think.”

She wondered why the thought occurred to her. And then she realized: it was a yearning for life. For real, normal life. For the chasing killers to end. And yet, as much as she yearned for it, she also yearned to be back in the action. She felt torn. A part of her was tired. But another part, the stronger part, needed the action.