his truck leapt away from the police station parking lot.
“No,” Becca agreed. Her head was full of too much information, but what kept ringing through her ears was Detective Sandler’s last remark.
And maybe a little afternoon delight.
It brought to mind images of all the afternoons and days and nights she’d spent in bed with Hudson, and the fact that she still hadn’t had her period.
Hudson was cutting through traffic on his way back to Becca’s. The sun was rising over a bank of clouds, the promise of a clear day. He followed two motorcyclists riding side by side. “Renee and Scott really were little more than acquaintances.”
“What if she found out something in Deception Bay, or maybe Lincoln City, that tied him to the other murders and he thought he had to get rid of her…”
“You believe that?” he demanded.
“Not really. The police always have a way of rattling me.”
Hudson grunted. “Renee was after a story. It had nothing to do with Scott.”
“But everything to do with Jessie.” Becca’s stomach suddenly nosedived and she sucked in air in a hurry. “Would you mind pulling into the Safeway? I could use a soda.”
“Feeling sick again?”
“Kinda.”
As he nosed into a parking spot, she grabbed hold of the door handle, her knuckles showing white. She hesitated a moment, getting her bearings.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he said, half joking.
Becca’s hairsbreadth too long hesitation was answer enough. Hudson stared at her. “Are you? Are you pregnant?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“I thought you were on the pill,” he said blankly.
“I wasn’t even thinking about it. I haven’t used birth control since my marriage. I just…” She didn’t know how to explain. She could scarcely explain it to herself.
“But you aren’t sure yet.”
“No. It’s just conjecture. I’ve been meaning to get a pregnancy test, but a lot’s been happening. Maybe I’m not. I mean, maybe I’m just feeling nauseous.” She looked away. “I’m afraid to find out. Afraid it might not be true,” she admitted in a rush.
“You want to be pregnant?”
“Yes.” She was emphatic. “Yes, I’ve wanted a child forever. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t think about it. I was going on emotion…wanting you…” She heard the note of excitement and pleading in her voice and had to turn away. If he didn’t want this, she would understand. She would. She would make herself.
“Well…” he said slowly.
“Well,” she repeated.
“I guess we’d better find out, then.”
She couldn’t read him. “You’re okay with this?”
“I’m just—taking it in.”
She heard something in his voice then, a note of wonder. “Yeah?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said, watching him closely.
A kid, he thought.
He might actually have a kid.
To raise on the farm where he himself had grown up. He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t even considered it, but now that the chance for fatherhood was facing him, he felt a surprising buoyancy, a lifting of his spirit. “A kid,” he said aloud. “Our kid.”
“Well, it’s not for sure yet. My periods don’t exactly run like clockwork.”
“They sell those tests here, don’t they?” He indicated the grocery store.
“They have a pharmacy department.” She reached for her door handle and looked back, an anxious smile touching the corners of her mouth. “What if it’s true?”
“What if it is,” he replied, smiling, and Becca, full of emotion, slid back across the seat and hugged and kissed him for all she was worth until she felt his chest rumble with laughter and his arms squeeze her back hard.
Scott Pascal’s interrogation was taking place in a bare narrow room with two rectangular tables surrounded by eight metal chairs. As expected, Pascal had lawyered up. Mac and Gretchen had arrived at the station, half expecting the interview to be over, but Pascal’s lawyer had been delayed, so they got to witness the full proceedings from behind the two-way glass window. The invitation had been extended because their case was linked to the arson/homicide at the restaurant. An assistant DA and another officer rounded out their group of four as they watched the interrogation which, of course, was also being recorded.
The guy was sweating, looking nervous and continuously listening to his lawyer before answering. But he was having trouble explaining why his car had been spotted parked in a shopping center lot three blocks away, courtesy of a security camera, during the time of the explosion. Another traffic camera had caught Scott nearly running a red light, and an employee who had left her car at Blue Note to have some drinks with a friend had come forward saying she’d seen Scott enter through the kitchen as she was driving away. The fact that the fire inspector had claimed the fire was caused by arson only added to Pascal’s troubles.
The fucker was nailed.
He knew it.
The cops knew it.
And his tight-assed lawyer knew it.
When the evidence was laid in front of him, Scott collapsed and put his head on the table.
“If I could have a minute alone with my client,” the lawyer said.
On their side of the glass, the ADA, a sharp-dressed black man with clipped hair and rimless glasses, nodded. “He’s gonna want to cop a plea.”
“About time,” McNally said. Finally a break in the case. “When he does, see what he knows. He set the fire and killed his partner. I want to know about the other dead bodies. I think he killed Mitch Bellotti to keep him from talking.”
“We’ve got it covered,” the ADA said, “and we’ll find out if he knows anything about the Jezebel Brentwood case.”
Mac doubted that Pascal would admit to killing the girl, but it was a start.
Finally, the case was pulling together. Except for Renee Trudeau. Pascal had been in Portland on the day her Camry had been forced through the guardrail and off the cliff into the Pacific Ocean.
But he could have an accomplice. Or, as Mac was coming to suspect, there might be a second killer.
From inside the room, Scott’s lawyer
