It was dark outside now. The cops had spent the scant daylight hours searching Gleeson’s home and offices, while another team processed the Debbie Abbot death scene. It had taken a court order for Gleeson to submit to providing a DNA sample, but they had one now and it had been sent off to the lab to be compared to all the other samples and crime scenes.

Gleeson’s wife had been questioned and released, as had their children. Turned out Gleeson’s wife was a tax attorney who worked from home. They’d all lawyered up immediately.

Corinne Brown hadn’t woken up yet, although she’d come through surgery. The knife had narrowly missed most of the major organs and blood vessels. The wound must hurt like hell, but the surgeon didn’t think she’d be permanently damaged. She would heal. They’d found rohypnol in her blood—just like Darby. The doctors were confident Corinne would make a full recovery. It was uncertain whether or not she’d be able to remember who’d stabbed her, and what had been done to her while she’d been drugged. It was a miracle she’d escaped and been found before she’d either bled or frozen to death. An officer was guarding her as both protection and to take a statement as soon as she woke.

Signy opened her file folder without allowing the suspect or his lawyer to see the contents. Eban had coached Signy on a few techniques and he’d written down a few questions he wanted asked upfront. He believed Gleeson would relax his guard more with the female detective than with him.

Signy leaned forward and kept her voice low, intimate. “Can you tell me why you are here today?”

In Eban’s experience, this was where guilty people got their alibi out.

The lawyer shifted in his seat. Gleeson glanced at the man. “No comment.”

His usual dislike of defense attorneys reared up with fond familiarity.

“What can you tell us about Corinne Brown?” Signy asked.

Gleeson frowned and uncrossed his legs. “I left you a message on your phone. I spoke to Corinne late yesterday afternoon. She’s fine.”

Eban slowly uncrossed his legs. Keeping the action natural. Hoping to build unconscious rapport with the guy using isopraxism. Unfortunately, as a trained psychologist Gleeson might be wise to some of Eban’s tricks, although people rarely recognized when they were being used against them—even the experts.

“She called you?” Signy asked.

“Yes.” The man appeared visibly agitated. “She called me. She apologized for getting confused about when I said I was reopening the office. Swore to me she’d locked up when she left and was almost in tears telling me how sorry she was for letting me down.” He scratched his brow. “She’s in Anchorage. Call her. Talk to her.”

If Eban hadn’t seen Corinne with his own eyes he’d be convinced Gleeson was telling the truth, and he could be. It was possible someone else had held Corinne captive and stabbed her. Someone who’d forced her to call Gleeson and then decided it was time to get rid of her. Or Gleeson could have called his own phone from hers while she was tied up in Debbie Abbot’s bedroom where it appeared she’d been kept hostage.