"James? I'm sure you caught that."
No answer, but I swore I could hear him seething.
Gabriel continued, "Tell him that dropping the charges suggests they had merit, and that he was coerced into withdrawing them. I will get them dismissed instead. The only question is whether he wishes to go public with them."
"Hell, yes, I'm going public," James said as I put the phone on speaker.
"Excellent. I will save you the trouble and place the calls myself."
"So you can lie to the press?"
"No, so I can tell the truth. About the harassment my client and employee is receiving at the hands of her ex, and how my attempt at a private discussion, following a documented late-night call from him, resulted in a physical altercation. I regret what occurred, but I would strongly suggest that the other party seek counseling, as he presents an obvious danger to others, most alarmingly the ex-fiancee who is struggling to rebuild her life after the tragic revelations of the past two months." He paused. "How does that sound?"
"If you--"
"If you run with your story, they will contact me for a quote, and that is the one I will give. Now, it's late. Or early, as the case may be. Good day, Mr. Morgan."
I hung up.
CHAPTER SIXTY
I went in to work with Gabriel. I didn't have an official shift, but I'd sent out some feelers, building those victim profiles for my parents' case, and I hoped one of them might have paid off in the form of a possible interview. Calls would come to Lydia. I didn't even get a chance to ask her about them. As soon as we walked in, she stood, motioning that she needed to speak to me. Gabriel continued on to his office.
Once the door closed behind him, Lydia picked up an envelope off her desk. "This came for you."
It was a letter-sized white envelope. On the front, it read OLIVIA TAYLOR-JONES in careful block letters. As soon as I saw those letters, I went still. I saw that handwriting, and I flashed to a Christmas gift label. My name on it, in the same printed letters. TO EDEN. LOVE DADDY.
"Todd," I whispered.
My gaze shot to the return address on the back, which confirmed it. Lydia caught my elbow, and I realized it was shaking. She nodded toward the meeting room door. I let her usher me inside. I made my way blindly to the table, dropped the letter on it, and sat there staring at it.
"I could call Gabriel in, if you'd like," she said. When I shook my head vehemently, she said, "That's what I thought. Not exactly Mr. Empathy. He means well . . ." She trailed off, then checked that the door was closed before sitting beside me.
"Todd's probably telling me why he won't see me," I said, indicating the envelope. "He doesn't think it's wise. Or he just doesn't want to, after all these years."
I thought of what Gabriel had said, that Todd had kept looking for me long after Pamela had given up. Now that I'd turned up, had he realized he wasn't going to get that fantasy reunion with his little girl? That I wasn't his little girl anymore, but a grown woman, a stranger?
I remembered going to a state fair with my adoptive dad when I was eight. It was magical--all bright lights and whirling rides and delicious treats. I'd returned at eighteen and wished I hadn't--the lights had been garish, the rides dilapidated, the treats seeming to guarantee food poisoning. Memories forever tainted. Is that what Todd feared?
"That might not be why he's writing," Lydia said.
I nodded and dropped the envelope, unopened, into my bag. "I'll read it later."
"If you want to talk about it . . ."
I smiled wanly. "Thanks. I might take you up on that. Not a lot . . ." I trailed off. Not a lot of people I can talk to about it these days. That sounded sad. Pathetic, even. The truth was that I'd never had a lot of people I could unload on. I was the shoulder to cry on. I'd never needed that myself, because I'd always had it, with my dad. Then he was gone, and . . .
And no one was there to replace him, and maybe I was looking for that in Todd. Which was the worst possible thing I could do. Not because he was a convicted serial killer, but because it wasn't fair to Todd. Expecting him to take the role of my beloved dad would be like him expecting me to take that of his two-year-old daughter.
"I'll let you know what it says tomorrow," I said. "If he doesn't want to see me, you can stop trying."
"If you want to talk before that . . ."
I smiled at her, more genuine now. "Thanks."
--
With the arrival of that letter, my enthusiasm for work soured. There were no calls on my leads, and I wasn't sure I'd have set up an interview even if I could. I finished what I could do, and at eleven I was rapping on Gabriel's office door.