Mind Games

* * *

A few days later, on a hazy Saturday afternoon, the detectives knocked at the door. When Lucy saw them, her heart sank. She had to remind herself Thea’s courage had opened this door, and she had no right to close it.

“Ms. Lannigan,” Musk began. “We’d like to speak with you and Thea. A follow-up on information she provided.”

“Yes.” Lucy opened the screen door. “She’s twelve. She’s only twelve.”

“Ma’am.”

Howard put a hand on his partner’s arm to stop him.

“Phil and I drove down on our own time. We took personal time for this, Ms. Lannigan, because it is personal. And part of why we’re here is to thank her for contacting me.”

“It’s Lucy,” she said, and sighed. “Come on back. She’s out on the porch working on her drawing. Rem’s over at a friend’s, and that’s probably for the best. I’ve got fresh lemonade.”

“That’d be welcome.”

When the back screen opened, Thea studied the sketch on her pad. “I think this one’s better.” Then looked up. Stood up.

“You came. Did he kill that man?”

“Jerome Foster’s on suicide watch,” Howard told her. “It’s the best we can do there, right now. Thea, I want to thank you for calling me. You didn’t have to take that on.”

“Yes, I did.” She looked over as Lucy came out with a tray. “Grammie.”

“Let me take that for you.” Musk took the tray with the pitcher of lemonade and glasses, the plate of shortbread cookies.

“You did what was right, Thea. The detectives drove all this way on their own time to thank you for it.”

“And because we think you deserve to know what we know because of it, and what’s being done. Okay if we sit?” Howard asked her.

“Yeah. Yes. It was Bryn Mawr. I looked it up.”

“That’s right. Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. James and Deborah Cohen. About a year ago. It’s still an open case. That means—”

“You didn’t know who did it,” Thea finished. “He did it. Ray Riggs.”

“That’s right. We couldn’t trace the gun he used to kill your parents because it wasn’t registered. With the information you gave us, we could do a little digging, and we’ve confirmed Deborah Cohen had a weapon of that make and model, unregistered. Her brother got it for her at a gun sale. It was never recovered, and initially not reported as missing.”

Musk cleared his throat, accepted the glass Lucy offered.

“New Albany, Ohio,” Musk said. “Stuart and Marsha Wheeling, another open case. The, ah, investigators concluded the killer climbed a trellis onto a second-story balcony and entered the unlocked doors to the main bedroom. Eighteen months ago.”

“He killed the woman first because the man was old. He used a hammer on her. He meant to just knock her out, but he hit her too hard and couldn’t stop.”

Saying nothing, Lucy sat next to Thea on the swing, took her hand.

“Because he used different methods, different methods of entry, he took time to do considerable property damage in the Cohen home, the cases weren’t linked.”

Musk looked at his partner, who nodded.

“Now, due to a high-confidence tip from an anonymous source, those cases are getting a closer look with Riggs as the prime suspect. I want you to know we’ll never use your name as that source.”

Relief, the flood of it, had Lucy closing her eyes.

“He knows. Riggs knows I saw, with my parents. He knows I told you everything.”

“You said he has what you have.”