Pretend You Don't See Her by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

leather binder after he killed Isabelle.
                 Did
he kill her because he was afraid of what Isabelle had found in that journal?
Did he steal what he thought was the journal to make sure no one else could
read it?
                 She
turned and looked. Her briefcase was still there, under the couch; the
briefcase in which she had hidden the bloodstained pages.
                 I
have to turn them over to the police, she thought. But I believe I know a way I
can do it and still keep my promise to Isabelle.
                 At
two o’clock, Lacey was in a small office in the police station, sitting across
a conference table from Detective Ed Sloane and his assistant, Detective Nick
Mars. Detective Sloane seemed to be a little short of breath, as though he had
been hurrying. Or maybe he’s just been smoking too much, Lacey decided. There
was an open pack of cigarettes poking out of his breast pocket.
                 Nick
Mars was another story. He reminded her of a college freshman football player
she had had a crush on when she was eighteen. Mars was still in his twenties,
baby faced with full cheeks, innocent blue eyes, and an easy smile, and he was
nice. In fact, she was sure that he was being set up as the good guy in the
good guy/bad guy scenario interrogators play. Sloane would bluster and
occasionally rage; Nick Mars would soothe, his manner
always calm, solicitous.
                 Lacey
had been at the station for almost three hours, plenty of time to figure out
the scenario they had worked up for her benefit. As she was trying to describe
Curtis Caldwell’s face to the police artist, Sloane was clearly annoyed that
she wasn’t being more specific.
                 “He
didn’t have any scars or birthmarks or tattoos,” she had explained to the
artist. “At least none that I could see. All I can
tell you is that he had a thin face, pale blue eyes, tanned skin, and sandy
hair. There was nothing distinguishing about his features. They were in
proportion—except for his lips, maybe. They were a little thin.”
                 But
when she saw the artist’s sketch, she had said, hesitantly, “It isn’t really
the way he looked.”
                 “Then
how did he look?” Sloane had snapped.
                 “Take
it easy, Ed. Lacey’s had a pretty rough time.” Nick Mars had given her a reassuring
smile.
                 After
the artist had failed to come up with a sketch she felt resembled the man she
had seen, Lacey had been shown endless mug shots. However, none of them
resembled the man she knew as Curtis Caldwell, another fact that clearly upset
Sloane.
                 Now
Sloane finally pulled out a cigarette and lit up, a clear sign of exasperation.
“Okay, Ms. Farrell,” he said brusquely, “we need to go over your story.”
                 “Lacey, how about a cup of coffee?” Mars asked.
                 “Yes,
thank you.” She smiled gratefully at him, then warned
herself again: Watch out. Remember—good guy/ bad guy. It was clear Detective
Sloane had something new on his agenda.
                 “Ms.
Farrell, I’d just like to review a few things about this crime. You were pretty
upset when you dialed 911 last night.”
                 Lacey
raised her eyebrows. “With good reason,” she said, nodding.
                 “Absolutely. And I’d say you were virtually in shock when we
talked with you after we got there.”
                 “I
guess I was.” In truth, most of what had happened last evening was a haze to her.
                 “I
didn’t escort you to the door when you left, but I understand you had the
presence of mind to remember that you’d left your briefcase in the hall closet
next to the door of the Waring apartment.”
                 “I
remembered it as I passed the closet,