"Let's go for a drive," said Kathryn Dance.
"Me?" Boling asked.
She smiled.
"No. Better if it's just Michael and me."
Chapter 68
Oh. Hi, Mrs. Dance. I mean, Agent Dance."
"Hello, Trish. This is Detective O'Neil with the Monterey County Sheriff's Office."
Nervous. Naturally.
"Hi."
The detective nodded down to her. "Hello, Trish. I'm sorry about your mother."
"Yeah. Thanks. It's, you know, tough."
"I'm sure it is."
The three stood on the front porch of one of the nicest houses Dance had ever s
een. Easily seven thousand square feet. Stone and glass and chrome. A Beverly Hills house, a Malibu house. A rich producer's or movie star's house.
Dance asked, "Is your father home?"
"No. He's taking my aunt and uncle to the airport. But he could be back soon."
A conspiratorial smile. "We won't be long. I know he's not a big fan of mine. Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?"
"You want to come in?"
"Thank you."
They walked into the entryway--bigger than Dance's living room and kitchen combined--and then entered a study. Sumptuous leather and metal furniture. The couch alone could have been traded in for a new Pathfinder. They all sat.
"Uhm, the thing is, I didn't tell my father we talked, you and me," the girl said.
"We'll play along." Dance gave a smile. "If he comes back."
Relief flooded the girl's eyes. "Thanks. Like, really."
"Sure."
"I heard he did the same thing at the Bay View Center."
O'Neil said, "And the hospital, the fire in the elevator."
"Why's he doing it?"
They, of course, demurred on the suspected motive. Dance said, "We don't know. There doesn't seem to be any clear reason. Now, Trish, I'm sorry to ask but I need to know a little more about your mother's death. Some of the facts. Are you up for that?"
She was still. She took a deep breath and then nodded. "If it'll help you catch this asshole."
"I hope it will."