“And if Bryn does recant and cooperate?”
“Then given the extenuating circumstances I doubt there’ll be any further charges. The judge might declare her a material witness, but even if he should, she’d be released from custody. But I gather from my face-to-faces with Mrs. Darby, and from what you say, that convincing her won’t be easy.”
“Not as long as she believes Bobby is guilty.”
“Do you believe he is?”
“No, but it is possible. If I could talk to him … but I don’t suppose there’s any way you can make that happen?”
“Not with Robert Darby in his present state of mind.”
Runyon said, “What about me talking to Bryn without the conversation being monitored? Or the three of us in private?”
“I’ll talk to Farley and Crabtree, but they have every reason to stand on protocol. If you’re allowed to see her, I’m afraid it will have to be with an official audience. Of course, I can consult with her alone and try to persuade her.”
“No offense, but I stand a better chance of getting through to her and finding out what she knows. How soon can you arrange the meeting?”
“Tonight, if they’re agreeable.”
* * *
Runyon brewed another cup of tea while he waited for Dragovich to call back. Too strong, bitter; he dumped it out. For the first time in a long time, since the rock-bottom night shortly after Colleen’s death when he’d sat with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and his .357 Magnum in the other, he felt like having a drink of hard liquor. There was none in the apartment, but even if there had been, he wouldn’t have given in to the momentary craving. He’d never been much of a drinking man, and Angela’s alcoholism and his near suicide had turned him dry except for an occasional beer. Booze for a man like him was a problem, not a problem solver.
It was fifteen minutes before his cell vibrated again. And only the first part of what Dragovich had to tell him was what he wanted to hear.
“Preliminary reports on the fingerprints have come in,” the attorney said. “You’re off the hook and so is Robert Darby.”
“ID match?”
“None yet. It’s possible whoever wielded the knife was never fingerprinted. They’re still checking.”
So it could still be Bobby. Wasn’t likely Darby would’ve consented to the boy being printed, even if Crabtree and Farley had thought to suggest it; later, if it became necessary to Bryn’s defense, Dragovich could get a court order to compel the father to allow it. The fact that a child’s fingers were small didn’t necessarily mean anything, either. Plenty of adults had hands and fingers not much larger than a nine-year-old’s. You could get an ID match from bloody partials, but without a full clear latent and a comparison source, the lab techs would make the same assumption as the investigating officers: the prints belonged to an adult.
Runyon asked, “When do we get to talk to Bryn?”
“The best I could do is tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
Damn. “Delaying tactic?”
“Partly. If I know the DA, his intention is to keep her segregated to give her time to think over her position now that she’s been caught in her lie. He also wants an ADA present during the interview. Neither his office nor the police are in any hurry—there are still forty-eight hours left before Mrs. Darby is scheduled for arraignment. I suggest you and I meet beforehand for a strategy conference. Eight thirty in the community room, third floor at Eight-fifty Bryant?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Is there anything else we need to discuss tonight?”
“Bryn’s son. I don’t suppose Darby returned your call?”
“He did, as a matter of fact. Professional courtesy.”
“How’s the boy?”
“Well enough physically, but he still won’t talk about the alleged abuse or what, if anything, he may know about Francine Whalen’s death.”
“Who’s taking care of him?”
“A nurse Darby hired. He seems to be in good hands.”
No, he wasn’t. Runyon found that out twenty minutes later.
When the doorbell rang, he almost didn’t answer it. The only people who came around while he was home were solicitors and, once, one of his neighbors looking to borrow something. But the bell kept up an insistent ringing, and when Runyon finally responded he found himself face-to-face with Robert Darby. A distraught and angry Robert Darby.
“Have you seen him?” Darby said. “Is he here with you?”
“Who? You don’t mean Bobby—”
“Damn right I mean Bobby. He ran away this afternoon and I’ve looked everywhere else. If you’re hiding him, Runyon, I swear to God I’ll make you wish you were never born.”