Thread of Truth, стр. 16

“Really.” I held up a hand. “It's okay.”

She studied me. “Then can I ask you a question?”

It was my turn to hesitate.

She waited.

I inclined my head with the slightest of nods.

“Your daughter,” she said. “Is she doing okay?”

“She’s graduating from UCSD in just a couple weeks,” I told her. “She's doing very well. We're lucky.”

Swanson smiled. “That's great to hear.” The smiled dimmed for a moment. “And...how are you?”

“I'm fine.”

She adjusted the backpack again. “I...when I read about what happened after you got her back... Your daughter, I mean. I...” She shook her head. “I sound like a lunatic. I'm sorry.”

“Just ask me what you want to ask me,” I said. “I've heard it all.”

“When I read what happened to your wife, I didn't believe it,” she said.

I kept my expression and tone neutral. “It was tough for everyone.”

“No,” Swanson said, shaking her head. “I mean I literally didn't believe the story I read. It didn't feel right to me. So, I've always wondered.”

I was wrong. I hadn't heard it all. I wasn't sure what to tell her. The story that was public was that Lauren had gone to Minneapolis, then to Chicago for work. She'd then gone on a sightseeing boat and drowned by accident.

That, of course, was not in any way what happened. A man named John Anchor murdered her and I, in turn, killed him.

I'd always known there were holes in the story, but no one had ever been brazen enough to ask me about it to my face.

She held up a hand, saving me from struggling to come up with an answer. “I'm sorry. My big mouth. I'll shut up now.”

“It's alright,” I told her.

“I was doing my Master's in criminal justice when you found your daughter,” she said, apparently deciding against shutting up. “Our professor mentioned it and I dove into everything I could find about it. I couldn't believe you hadn't given up. It was amazing. It is amazing.”

“I think my daughter deserves most of the credit,” I said. “She's had a lot to deal with and she's a pretty amazing person.”

“I would think so,” Swanson said, then shook her head. “I'm sorry. I said I'd shut up and then I did the exact opposite.”

I smiled. She meant well.

“It's okay,” I said. “It's part of our lives now. Can't change that.”

She looked away for a moment, thinking something over.

“What?”

She turned back to me. “What what?”

“You're thinking about asking me something,” I said. “Just ask.”

“How do you know that?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Was I wrong?”

“No,” she said. “But it's freaky. Like you got in my head.”

“Just a lot of experience reading people, I guess.”

She shook her head. “Wow.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “Don't apologize. Not your fault you're psychic.”

I laughed. “Trust me, I'm not.”

She chuckled. “Okay. Here's what I was going to ask.” She swung the backpack around and unzipped the front pocket. She pulled out a small card and held it out to me. “I've always had an interest in missing persons. It's the thing I care most about. It's why I got into police work and worked my way to detective. If you would ever consider talking to me about some of your experiences, I would love to sit down with you.”

I didn’t reach for the card right away. “I don't know.”

“I don't just mean about your daughter,” she said quickly. She extended it further, practically thrusting it into my hand. “About any of your experiences looking for people and finding them. I would love to pick your brain. Any time. Coffee, lunch, dinner, whenever.”

I held the card up for a moment then slid it into my pocket. “Okay. I'll think about it.”

“That'd be great,” she said. “Thank you.” She nodded toward the building. “I need to get inside. Sorry to have held you up.”

“You didn't,” I said. “It was nice talking to you, Detective.”

“It's Sutton,” she said, heading toward the building.

“Sutton?” I repeated. “I thought it was Swanson?”

“Swanson's my last name,” she said. “Sutton's my first.”

“Sutton Swanson? Really?”

“Call me and I'll tell you all about it,” she said, grinning.