He put it in a little square box like a ring would come in, and wrapped it himself with a piece of colored paper he found in a kitchen drawer where his mother kept greeting cards and stuff like that.

He hid it in his coat pocket so his mother wouldn’t see it before she left, on account of she would have been REALLY mad at him. It wouldn’t matter to her that it was something she had thrown out herself. She had decided Miss Navarre was her enemy, and if he didn’t think the same thing, then HE was the enemy too.

Nobody knew how complicated his life was because of his mother. Although, he thought Miss Navarre would understand if he told her.

He watched from the upstairs hall window as his mother drove away for her dinner meeting. A few minutes later his father called up the stairs.

“Hey, Sport, are you ready to go?”

And a million butterflies took flight in Tommy’s stomach.

Chapter 72

72

“They had to restrain and sedate her,” Mendez said. “She was so combative there was a chance of her disconnecting the respirator. She has too much swelling in her throat from the strangulation. The doctor doesn’t think she would get enough oxygen on her own.”

“Jesus,” Dixon whispered, shaking his head. “Restraints. I’m sure Jane was happy about that.”

“No, but she got it. She and the girl’s mother are going to take turns sitting with her. They aren’t going to risk her waking up alone or with a stranger again.”

“I guess we should just be relieved she’s out of the coma,” Dixon said. “But how the hell are we supposed to get answers from her if she can’t hear the questions?”

Mendez shrugged.

They had taken over a corner of the family waiting area down the hall from the ICU—Mendez and Hicks, Dixon and Vince.

“So she’s out right now?” Vince asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to take a quick look at her, if that’s possible. I want to see if she has the same pattern of cutting wounds as Lisa Warwick. If the pattern is consistent, then it means something specific to the offender. If we can figure out what it means, it could lead us somewhere.”

“Have at it,” Dixon said. “If you can get past guard dog Jane.”

Leone left the room. Mendez wanted to follow him, to pick his brain as he gathered details from looking at the victim, but there was still an issue to discuss with Dixon.

“Why didn’t you tell us Miss Thomas had complained to you about her clients being stopped for traffic violations?” he asked.

Dixon looked at him, taken a little off guard by the question, as if the subject was something he filed away long ago.

“There was nothing to it,” he said.