Freak by Jennifer Hillier Page A

murderer—”
    “We don’t know that yet,” Sheila said.
    He stopped and turned, his face growing redder. “Excuse me? We don’t know that? Since when don’t we know that?”
    She clutched the pillow tighter. “You need to hear me out. I know what I’m doing.”
    “All evidence to the contrary.”
    “Morris, please.” Sheila reached over and put a hand on his arm, her go-to technique for calming him down. Thankfully, it worked. His breathing slowed slightly. “Just listen for a minute.”
    “Talk.”
    Sheila chose her words carefully. “If there’s a chance I can help solve these new murders, then I need to try, okay? I know more about Ethan and Abby’s relationship than anybody else. I can get her to talk to me, I know I can.” She took a deep breath. “You know what I went through with Ethan. You know he blamed all the murders back then on her.”
    “And you said you believed him.”
    “Because I did at the time. I’d been in his basement for three weeks, thinking I was going to die. Believing what he said about Abby gave me hope, because it meant that if she was the murderer, then Ethan wasn’t . Which meant that maybe, just maybe, I’d survive.”
    She didn’t want to think about it now, but it was impossible to keep the images out of her head. A lot had happened in Ethan’s basement. Awful things, terrible things, things she hadn’t told anybody about, not the cops, not her therapist, not even Morris. Especially not Morris. And she never would.
    “But let’s be honest here.” Sheila’s voice quivered. “Ethan was a sociopath. Looking back now, he lied about absolutely everything. Why wouldn’t he lie about Abby, too?”
    Morris didn’t speak. Sheila could tell by his face—brows furrowed in concentration, jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead—that he was processing what she was saying.
    “The bodies were all found in Ethan’s basement,” she said quietly. “He had a kill room. He had all the tools to . . . dispose of them. And considering what he did to me . . .” She swallowedand took a second to gather her thoughts. “I don’t know what Abby’s involvement was in those murders last year, but I no longer believe anything Ethan said to me. I’m not saying she didn’t do them, but I can no longer say for certain that she did. It’s up to the prosecuting attorney to figure that out. What I do know is that women are being murdered now . And if there’s any way I can help . . .” She allowed her voice to trail off.
    She had explained her reasons as best she could. Morris was either on board, or he wasn’t. There was nothing left she could say.
    An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Then finally, he said, “And there’s no one else?”
    A wave of relief passed over her. “No,” Sheila said, letting out a breath. “Nobody who could get to her like I could.”
    Morris continued to pace, something he did when he was working out a complicated problem. His executive assistant liked to complain that he had wear patterns on the carpet in his office. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but this whole thing is a big fat steaming pile of cow dung. And you’re stepping right in it. She’s using Jerry. She’s going to use you, too.”
    “Maybe so, but I can handle it. So can Jerry. You have to trust us. You have to trust me.”
    Morris’s jaw worked.
    “What’s really bothering you about this?” Sheila asked softly. “Talk to me.”
    He stopped pacing and sat down beside her on the bed. “Okay, here’s the thing. Whenever I’m doing a deal, the one thing I’ve learned is to always be one hundred percent aware of what’s in it for the other guy. It’s easy to focus on what we want—hell, you’re a psychologist, you know this is what people do. We see the world through our own filters. We focus on our own needs.”
    “Yes, that’s human nature.”
    “But it’s dangerous to see the world this way. It’s dangerous to focus on what we want, and not give any thought to what