Chandler told me about his long-ago short-term romance with Connie and said that she had always seemed fragile to him. Crazy — maybe. A killer — no, he didn’t see it. I told Chandler that I appreciated his help, said good-bye, and got out of the car as Tommy Oliver got back into the driver’s seat.

I was deep in thought and had just put my key into the downstairs lock when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whipped around, ready to throw a punch or lash out with a kick to the knee.

It was Joe.

I stared at Joe; no mugger could have made my heart beat faster. My brain was instantly thrown into shock and confusion. I saw Joe, my husband, the man I love.

And I was simultaneously hit with a current of revulsion.

I know I looked as though I could kill, and that must have been why Joe said, “Lindsay, it’s me, it’s me. Take it easy. Let’s talk, okay?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I have plenty to say to you, damn it. You’re all wrong about this, Linds, and you have to stop shutting me out.”

I was flooded with images of June Freundorfer looking into Joe’s face, and I felt deeply wounded all over again. I had trusted Joe with everything. I was having his baby. I was making a family with him for keeps — and then this. I had never felt so betrayed by anyone in my life. I had to get away from him. I couldn’t stand to look at him for another moment.

I put both my hands out and shoved him away. He took a step back; I turned the key and opened the door slightly. I wedged myself through the narrow space and slammed the door shut.

I darted for the elevator, and before the doors even closed, my phone started ringing. I ignored my cell and I ignored the landline that was ringing when I walked into the apartment.

Both phones went quiet, then the landline rang again, and I checked the caller ID.

I picked up the phone in the kitchen, said hello to my partner.

“Sure, Richie. I’ll meet you there.”

Chapter 94

Chapter 94

CONSTANCE KERR SAT with Conklin and me in a very small room at County Jail Number 2 on Seventh Street, only a couple of blocks from the Hall. Connie looked pitiful in her orange jumpsuit, her blondish-gray hair frizzed around her head like Frankenstein’s bride’s.

“This is a terrible place,” she said. “Horrid. The screaming. The language. It’s too much.”

I felt bad for her. I really did.

“What did you want to tell me?” Conklin asked her.

“I have to get out of here,” she said to my partner. “Tell me what I have to say to get out of here.”