Pallorino trailed her fingertips over the spines of the books on the bookshelf. “All alphabetically arranged,” she said. “And nearly all of them hardcover. Gracie obviously liked to read.”
Lorna Drummond cleared her throat and nodded. “She loves ... I mean, she loved her books. Took really good care of them. Could swallow a whole tome in a day—mostly big fantasy books, which she reread often.”
“Did you buy these for her?”
“No, she bought them herself.”
Pallorino went to the iPad, opened the cover. “It’s one of the newer ones with fingerprint ID.” She glanced at Lorna Drummond. “We’re going to need to take these electronic devices into evidence—”
“Why? Why do you need them?”
“Personal records including phone calls, emails, addresses, voicemails, contact lists, calendar entries, and websites that she visited could all be vitally important. They could tell us what Gracie was doing, where she was going, how she might have encountered the person who decided to hurt her.” Pallorino opened and closed desk drawers, then went over to the closet and slid open the mirrored door.
She moved the hangers, taking note of the victim’s clothing. “Your daughter liked designer clothes, Mrs.Drummond. There are some really high-end labels in here, price tags still on a few.” She looked over her shoulder. “Where did she get all these clothes?”
“I ... I don’t know. Online shopping mostly?”
“She was only sixteen—did you authorize use of a credit card?”
“No. I ... I don’t know how. She had a job. She bought things.”
“You never asked her about her clothes?”
“Not really.”
“And the iPad, laptop—she buy those, too?”
Maddocks noted that Drummond was beginning to look panicked, rubbing her arm.
“You said she just worked the one shift a week at the Blue Badger?” Pallorino said.
“Yes.”
“You sure Gracie wasn’t getting money from somewhere other than her work at the bakery?”
“Look, I don’t see why you people need to be in here anyway. This is my daughter’s space.Herprivacy. Shouldn’t you be out there looking for her killer, not in here going through her closets and judging me as a mother?”
Pallorino’s eyes softened as she turned to the victim’s mother. “I’m sorry, Mrs.Drummond. I know how tough this is.” Her voice gentled—her whole persona seemed to morph in front of Maddocks’s eyes. A chameleon. Most good detectives were shape-shifters, could mix with anyone, from high society to scum on the street. But who, he wondered, was the real Angie Pallorino when she was home? The babe in the club? The cold and dispassionate cop? The accomplished female detective—a calculating interrogator trying to squeeze the most out of her subjects to meet her own ends?
“I know you said that she hasn’t seen her father in a while, but is there a chance he, or someone else, might have authorized a credit card for her? Without her telling you?”
“No. No ...” Lorna Drummond buried her face in her hands and scrubbed her skin hard. “I don’t know. I ... I don’t.” She looked up, complexion raw and blotchy. “Gracie worked hard. I work hard. I got her through school. She got good grades. She went to church on Sundays. She could sing like an angel. She’s ... she was a good, decent girl.”
“Things are not always what they seem, Mrs.Drummond. There are most likely things you don’t know about your daughter.” Pallorino paused. “We all have our secrets.”
“So that’s what you do—come into people’s bedrooms, peel their lives apart? Expose their secrets?”
“Come, why don’t we sit down for a bit?” Pallorino seated herself on Gracie’s bed, and Lorna Drummond reluctantly lowered herself onto the edge beside her. Maddocks took the opportunity to go study the photographs on the mirror.
“When did you first notice these nice things appearing?” Pallorino said, her voice calm, soothing. “The fancy clothes, the laptop, iPad?”
“Slowly, I think. Six to eight months ago, maybe. Or ... less. Certainly it was after she started working at the Badger.”
“Which was when?”
“Just over a year ago now.”
“Did you notice any other changes in Gracie around that six- to eight-month time frame, in her appearance, her mood?”
