Free The Darkness Gathers by Lisa Unger Page B

story of bookshelves stocked with what looked to be hundreds of leather-bound editions.
    “Possibly,” the detective replied, getting up and moving toward the desk, closing the distance she had placed between them. As he removed the tape from his pocket, Lydia noticed for the first time that he held the tape player she had seen in his office in the crook of his arm, concealed under his suit jacket. “Miss Strong received this tape in the mail. It was sent by an anonymous party. I wanted to play this for you and see if you can offer us some insight.”
    “I’d be happy to.” She smiled up at him and shifted in her chair. Lydia was having trouble figuring Jenna Quinn out. She was putting on a show, probably the same lady-of-the-manor one she put on every day. Lydia could see by the way her eyes darted about, and by the way she kept smoothing her skirt, that she was nervous, uncomfortable. But the true essence of her personality was buried under a carefully constructed facade. Maybe even Jenna didn’t know the real woman under the shell of cosmetics and expensive clothes.
    The detective placed his RadioShack tape player on the desk. All three of them had their eyes on her as the tape played. Jenna sat as still and perfectly coiffed as a mannequin. When the tape ended, there was an expectant silence.
    “That’s not my daughter,” said Jenna finally.
    “Are you sure, Mrs. Quinn?”
    “I think I know the sound of my own child’s voice, Detective,” she answered primly. She turned a cold gaze on Lydia, who matched it and was gratified to see Jenna shrink back just slightly before she asked, “Where did you get this tape?”
    “When she speaks in Albanian, what’s she saying?” asked the detective, ignoring her question.
    “It’s hard to understand,” said Jenna, looking at the floor. “I don’t know.”
    “Come on, Mrs. Quinn. Give us a break,” he said, his tone more coaxing than exasperated.
    She was silent for a second. And then she said, “The girl talks of her mother. She says her mother is weak and foolish, always pulled this way and that by the men, always believing their lies.”
    “That’s harsh,” said the detective, wincing dramatically. “Any truth to that, Mrs. Quinn?”
    “As I said, that’s not my daughter. I am just translating the words of this strange girl for you, as you asked,” she said, indignant. “Where did that tape come from?”
    “The detective told you that I received it in the mail from an anonymous party,” said Lydia from her perch on the couch.
    “We thought it might have come from your answering machine, Mrs. Quinn.”
    “We don’t have an answering machine. We have voice mail. There is a tap and a trace on our phone. If Tatiana called here, your men would have heard it. Isn’t that so, Detective?”
    “Well, who else might she have called if she needed help?”
    “How should I know?” she snapped, her Eastern European accent insinuating itself more strongly now. “Don’t you see? Tatiana hated me and she hated her stepfather. She kept everything from us … her thoughts, her feelings, her friends. She ran away, and she won’t come back until she wants something.”
    There was something oddly desperate in Jenna’s outburst. For a second, Lydia saw a flicker of honest emotion in Jenna’s cold blue eyes.
    “Have you lost hope, Mrs. Quinn?” Lydia asked, trying to understand the woman in front of her. “Is that why you are so angry?”
    “I lost hope a long time ago, Ms. Strong. In everything. Is there anything else?”
    “This note,” said the detective, handing it to her. “What can you tell us about this?”
    Her face remained expressionless as she read the note, but Lydia saw her chest rise and fall slightly and thought she detected a shake in her hand.
    “This means nothing to me,” she said, her voice angry and bitter. “Another false lead, Detective. If there’s nothing else, I’d like you to leave.”
    “Do you recognize the