Ira squeezed his wife’s hand, released it, got to his feet.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, my wife and I are very sorry to learn there’s been another, even more tragic incident.”
“Yes, sir. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”
“It’s difficult.”
“Understood. We’ll do what we can to make it less so.”
“Please sit down. Can we offer you anything?”
“Please don’t bother.” Eve and Peabody took chairs facing the sofa. “My partner and I have familiarized ourselves with the details of the investigation into what happened to you. We’re coordinating with Detectives Olsen and Tredway.”
“Are you sure it was him?” Lori Brinkman’s voice was like silk, smooth and soft. “Are you sure?”
“All evidence at this point indicates that, yes. The details of this latest attack are too similar to yours, to the Patricks’， to believe otherwise.”
“But he killed someone. He could have killed us. We were helpless. He killed the husband. He could have killed Ira.”
“He didn’t.” Ira took her hand again. “I’m right here.”
“He kept hitting him, even when Ira gave him the combinations, kept hitting him even when I … I said what he told me to say. I thought he would kill us both.” She closed her eyes, breathed in. “But he didn’t. I know it wasn’t our fault. I’ve gotten through that part.”
“No, nothing that happened was your fault.”
“But it happened to us. At first you ask why—why did this happen to us? Then you realize, and try to accept, there is no why.” Lori leaned her head to Ira’s shoulder. “An evil person does evil things. There is no why.”
“There can be enough of a why, though it makes no rational sense, to help us find him.”
“Enough of a why?” Ira echoed.
“Why the Patricks, why you, why the Strazzas? Married couples, childless married couples, who live in single-resident homes in good neighborhoods.”
“Three makes a pattern,” Lori stated. “I write screenplays.”
“My information is you’re a lawyer.”
“Yes. I write on the side—under other names. It’s more than a hobby, less than a job. In any case, I’ve script doctored several thrillers. Three makes a pattern. We’re … a type.”
“We believe there’s a pattern, yes, and that helps us. We believe he selected you as he did the others. And that he’s done with you,” Eve added when she saw fear leap into Lori’s eyes. “If he continues the pattern, he’s already selected his next victims. You may be able to help us stop him.”
“We agreed to talk to you,” Ira said, “because we would do anything, anything to stop him, to know he’s locked away. I wanted to kill him. I’ve never been a violent man, but I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. I’ve dreamed of it, of getting free, and beating him to death right there, in our bedroom.”
Even as he said it, Ira’s eyes glittered with retribution.
“He struck Lori, again and again, raped her, again and again. And he watched me while he raped her. Grinned at me. I could do nothing.”
“He wanted to humiliate you, Mr. Brinkman,” Peabody told him. “As much as he wanted anything, he wanted that. He’s a coward, and he’s weak, that’s why he threatened your wife. He threatened her to disable you.”
“He used me to hurt Ira, used Ira to hurt me. Yes, he’s a coward, but you haven’t stopped him.”
“We’re adding details that may help us do that.”
Lori looked back at Eve. “You said selected. He selected us. What do we represent to him?”
“We’re working on that. You had no connection with the Patricks before this?”
“No—at least we didn’t know them,” Ira qualified.
“I recently learned I’d script doctored a screenplay, one that had been shelved. On Screen acquired the option when the previous one expired.”
“When was this?” Eve asked.
“It was just last month, early last month. I haven’t met or discussed it as yet with the producers. The last thing on my mind the last months has been the fun, and that’s what this is for me. We met with the Patricks, with Neville and Rosa a few weeks ago. Nikki—Detective Olsen—arranged it when I asked if we could. It helped, just talking, the four of us.”