Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
“Yes, ma’am.” Morasco, far as she could tell, was his partner’s opposite. Where Baus was short, meaty, and florid, Morasco was tall and sinewy, with a pale cast to his olive skin. Where Morasco was polite and laconic, Baus seemed to be in love with the sound of his own voice. Morasco wore a wedding ring and spoke frequently of his private investigator wife, while Baus seemed like a guy who hadn’t gotten laid in at least half a decade and hated all women as a result. Morasco seemed intelligent. Baus . . . did not. Maybe it was all just an act. A good cop/bad cop kind of thing. Robin hoped so, for Morasco’s sake.
Morasco said, “We’ve looked into the accounts you received the tweets, texts, and emails from. No red flags yet.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You’d actually be surprised at how many of them are bots from foreign countries and twelve-year-old boys.”
“Oh.”
“It’s funny, you know, the things that get us worked up into a lather and keep us up at night. It’s words on a screen. And when you pull away the curtain, and you look at who or what is actually typing those words . . . Go onto one of those private threads with all those frustrated teenagers on it. Tell ’em you’re a cop. It’s like turning on a light and watching the cockroaches scatter.”
“She shouldn’t impersonate a police officer,” Baus said.
“I wasn’t literally telling her to do that.”
“The lady might not have known you were kidding.”
“Oh my God,” Robin whispered. She wondered if Baus was some kind of punishment from the police chief. Maybe Morasco had shown up late for work one too many times.
“Anyway,” Morasco said. “We’ll let you know if any of these trolls turns out to be a potential suspect.”
Baus said, “Tell us about your parents’ marriage.”
Robin blinked. “Excuse me?”
Morasco gave him a sharp look and took out a notepad. “Your dad was a forensic psychiatrist, right?”
“Yes.”
“About how long ago did he go into private practice?”
“Ten years, I think. Maybe more.”
“After you left home, though.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why he quit his job at Wards Island?”