The Whispering Room

Mitchell came back over to have a quick word with Evangeline. “We’re wrapping things up,” he said. “But I don’t think you and J.D. should stay here until you get these locks changed. Why don’t you two bunk over at my place tonight. Lorraine won’t mind.”

“Thanks, but we’ll be fine here.”

“You sure? Better safe than sorry,” he warned.

“We’ll be fine,” Evangeline insisted. “She won’t come back tonight.” But she wished she was as certain as she sounded.

She walked Mitchell out to the porch where they conversed for a few minutes with some of the other cops. When she came back into the house, Nash was standing at the bedroom door, gazing in at her son.

Nash watched as she closed the distance between them. She looked dead on her feet, and he had the strongest urge to pull her into his arms and hold her close. Where that idea came from, he had no idea, but suddenly he remembered the scent of lavender that had drifted up from her hair that day in the park.

She was tired, but he could still see a spark of defiance in her eyes, as if she’d somehow read his mind. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I heard him cry,” he said.

She brushed him to the door. Pausing for a moment on the threshold, she quickly crossed the room and stood by the edge of the bed for a long time before she finally came back out.

“He must have been dreaming.” She pulled the door behind her. “It’s been a rough night.”

“For both of you.”

“I don’t care about myself. I’m just glad…” He saw her shiver. “It’ll be daylight soon. I really don’t think we’ll have any more trouble tonight.”

“I don’t think so, either. But I’d really like to hear what this woman said to you.”

“Why? I already told you, it’s nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe I want it to be.”

She turned at that. “Why? What are you talking about?”

“Maybe I want to be involved because…I like you.”

He punctuated the confession with a little smile, but her face suddenly looked sad and distressed in the glare of all the lights she’d turned on earlier.

Nash knew he shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t reveal a dead husband’s devious past to a still-grieving widow, then turn around and hit on her. Any moron knew that.

But out on the porch the evening before, something had passed between them. A moment, nothing more, but Nash couldn’t get it out of his head. All night long, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. And when he got the call earlier, he hadn’t been able to get here quick enough, even though there was no good reason for his presence. No reason at all except he’d wanted to see her. He’d wanted to see for himself that she and her son were okay.

It was strange, this fascination he had for Evangeline Theroux. She was very different from the other women who’d passed through his life. She was tough as nails on the outside, but every once in a while, she’d slip up and the chinks in her armor would show.

It was those tiny cracks in her poise that made Nash stop worrying about things like propriety and restraint.

“Do you know anything about the concept of an evil gene?” she asked suddenly.

He was caught off guard by her abrupt question and it took him a moment to catch up. “I know there’s research being done, but no real evidence has been found that a violent gene exists. Why? What does that—as you say—have to do with the price of tea in China?”

“Thirty years ago, a woman named Mary Alice Lemay killed her three young sons because she thought they had inherited the propensity for evil from their father. Their grandfather and uncle had both been convicted on multiple counts of rape and murder, and Mary Alice believed that her husband had followed in their footsteps. She claimed she killed her little boys in order to save their eternal souls from damnation. In other words, she killed them before they had a chance to sin.”

“What’s this woman to do with you?”

“She’s nothing to me. But Paul Courtland’s mother is Mary Alice Lemay’s sister-in-law. I think the blond woman who was following Paul is his cousin. It’s possible that one of Mary Alice’s daughters is systematically exterminating all the remaining male members of the Lemay family.”

“In order to eradicate this evil gene?”

“That’s the theory.”

“Your theory?”

“No. A true-crime writer named Lena Saunders. I talked to her yesterday morning. She claimed she had information regarding Paul Courtland’s killer, so Captain Lapierre sent me over there to take her statement.”

Nash started to point out that she’d been taken off the case, but given the circumstances, he decided to withhold any comment.

“I found out tonight that Lena’s real name is Ruth Lemay. According to Ruth, her younger sister, Rebecca, helped their mother murder at least one of their brothers. And now she’s going after the male family members that are left. But Rebecca tells a different story. She says it was Ruth who assisted their mother in the killings.”

“And now you don’t know which sister to believe.”

“Or if I even believe either one of them.”

“What does your gut tell you?”