No One Needs to Know by Kevin O'Brien Page A

one she dreaded: Exactly how well did you know the deceased?
    “Yeah, that’s fine, go for it,” he said into the phone. “Over and out.” He hung up, and then reached over for the recorder again. “Sorry about that.”
    Laurie straightened in the hard-backed chair. “Thank you for having them deliver the cakes,” she said. “But I—well, I couldn’t help overhearing that part about me not coming to work today. Does that mean you’ll be keeping me here?”
    “Oh, no, don’t worry—”
    “I mean, my shift doesn’t start until four. And there’s Joey—”
    He gave a wave of dismissal. “We should have this wrapped up before lunchtime. No, I just figured you were in no shape to be cooking John Wayne burgers today. In fact, it’s going to be a little while before things get back to normal for you and Joey. You won’t be able to stay at your place for at least another couple of days. It’s a crime scene now. I’ll make sure you get anything out of there you might need, within reason. I recommend the Hampton Inn—if you can’t find a friend to stay with for the duration.”
    All Laurie could think was that she didn’t have to go to jail or be separated from Joey—at least not yet. Nodding, she let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
    Eberhard adjusted something on the tape recorder. “So, before Tad started stalking you, he’d been a customer at the diner eighteen or nineteen months ago. To your knowledge, was he ever inside your apartment before the incident early this morning?”
    She hesitated. “Yes. I—I had car trouble one night—back in November, the year before last—and he drove me home. I invited him inside . . .”
    Eberhard nibbled on his cinnamon stick and frowned at her. “What for?” he asked. “A glass of water? Cup of coffee?” He paused. “A game of Parcheesi?”
    Laurie gripped the chair’s armrests. She figured Ryder was going to tell them the whole story anyway—or at least, his version of it. If she didn’t tell the truth now, it could end up biting her in the ass later on. She took a deep breath. “He spent the night.”
    Eberhard’s mouth twisted to one side. “Did he crash on the living room couch or . . . ?”
    “We slept together—in the guest room bed.”
    “Was this a one-shot deal or a long-term thing?”
    Laurie sighed. “I really don’t see what this has to do with—”
    “I’m trying to determine how well he knew the inside of the apartment, Laurie.”
    She nodded. “I’m sorry, of course. He was in the apartment on several occasions, maybe eight—or nine. We . . .” Laurie trailed off. The cop didn’t need to know that she and Tad had had sex only three times. “I—I stopped seeing him when Brian came home for a surprise visit during Thanksgiving week.”
    “Some surprise,” the detective murmured. Then he cleared his throat. “And you didn’t see McBride again?
    “Not intentionally,” Laurie replied. She explained about his vigils outside the diner, and the graffiti on the restaurant’s front window. “I was working full-time in the kitchen by Christmas, and if he came to the diner after that, I didn’t see him,” she said.
    Laurie remembered that once in a while she’d get an order for the Kevin Bacon waffle and the Samantha Eggar scramble, and her stomach would automatically clench. But then she’d peek out the pass-through window, and realize it wasn’t him.
    “I didn’t see or hear from him again until I was about six months pregnant,” she told the detective. She nervously fingered the Burger King bag on the table at her side. She figured she had to tell Eberhard about the paternity issue. After all, it was the main reason Tad wouldn’t leave her alone.
    “I didn’t realize he’d been watching me,” she explained. “But I guess he had been, because he called me one night after work. He said, ‘That’s my baby you’re carrying, isn’t it?’ I told him that he was mistaken. But the truth is once I found out