Christine felt puzzled. “But how did he know I needed help?”

“He said he got a phone call from you, that you were upset or something?” Detective Wallace smiled sympathetically. “He was worried you were going to have an accident, driving distracted. We were already on our way when the 911 call came in from the doctor’s wife.” Detective Wallace pulled out a skinny notepad, and so did the two detectives behind him. “So, Christine, why don’t you tell us exactly what happened, in your own words?”

Christine told him what had happened, starting with the vigil and ending with the hospital, and answered all of his questions. She managed to stay in emotional control, tearing up only when she remembered Joan’s frantic attempt to get to the driver’s seat and even Dom’s getting hit by the truck, a horrific sight that would be seared into her brain for a long time. After Christine had finished her statement, Detective Wallace helped her to her feet and walked her to the waiting room, where he took his leave.

Griff rose unsteadily. “Good to see you’re in one piece,” he said, his lips parting in the beginnings of a relieved smile.

Christine entered the waiting room, crossed to him, and opened her arms. “I’m going to hug you, ready or not.”

“No, no.”

“Yes, yes.” Christine gave him a big hug, and Griff emitted a soft little grunt. He felt soft, warm, and cuddly in his airplane-propeller bow tie and his rumpled seersucker suit, with a black umbrella hooked over his forearm. He smelled like cedar chips and pencil lead, and as she released him, his hooded eyes twinkled behind his smudgy tortoiseshell glasses.

“What was that for?”

“Thanks for waiting for me.”

“What choice did I have?”

“Thanks for calling 911, too.”

“What was I supposed to do? Who else will work for free?”

“Ha.” Christine felt her smile widen. “What does this mean for Zachary? Do they let him out?”

“Not yet. It takes time. They just started their investigation of Gagliardi.” Griff leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But the D.A. told me confidentially that Gagliardi is definitely the doer. They seized his computer and found photos of Robinbrecht, McLeane, and Allen-Bogen, taken postmortem.”

“You mean, dead?” Christine asked, disgusted.

“Yes.” Griff frowned. “It’s not uncommon for serial killers to take pictures or trophies.”

“What about his wife, did she know?”

“Evidently not. They have no kids.”

“So why was he in the hospitals in the first place?”

“He brokers corporate insurance, mostly for health care systems. He calls on hospital administrators. That’s how he finds his victims. If you hadn’t stopped him, he’d still be killing.” Griff’s half smile returned, and Christine had to admit she was starting to feel satisfied, if not happy.

“I think somebody has to say ‘good job,’ don’t you?”

“Good job.” Griff’s smile broadened, begrudgingly.

“Thanks.” Christine warmed, knowing it was the best she’d get, and it was more than enough. She hadn’t done it for Griff or even Zachary. She’d done it for herself and her baby. “So when does Zachary go free?”

“A day or two, after the government gets through with its red tape.”

“So do we go tell him?”

“First, let’s stop in at the office. I have someone you should meet.”

“Who?” Christine took his arm, and Griff waddled beside her as they left the waiting room.

“You’ll see. By the way, there are reporters outside. Should we tell them I bite?”

“They’ll figure that out.” Christine realized she’d have to come clean to Griff about who she was when they got back to the office. She wanted him to know the truth. “So are you going to make a statement?”

“No, I’ll tell them ‘no comment.’” Griff looked over at her. “Besides, I don’t know if you caught the bad guy. Or the bad guy caught you.”

“A little of both.” Christine managed a smile as they made their way slowly down the hall. “You helped.”

“No I didn’t.” Griff shook his head.

“Yes you did. You showed me I could do it.” Christine had always said that teachers could do anything, and now she knew it was true.

“Let’s take our time, going out. It’s still raining. They’ll get wet.”

“Good idea.” Christine smiled.

“You know, I made a decision. I’m not ready to retire.”

“Good. Don’t.” Christine could see a throng of reporters through the glass exit doors, firing camera flashes in the rain.

“I’m going to get bunion surgery, then get back in business. I’ve got a lot of life left in me. That’s what you showed me.”

“Good.” Christine felt warmed. “But you need a new suit.”

“Nah. All I need is a bulletin board.” Griff laughed at his own joke.

Christine joined him, laughing, as they strolled out, arm in arm.

Chapter Fifty-three

Griff entered his office ahead of Christine, who was tired, hungry, achy, and not completely delighted to see a woman sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. The woman had chin-length red hair, and was slim and pretty in a white V-neck T-shirt and hip yoga pants. She had been scrolling through her phone, but she leapt to her feet with an excited smile when they came in.

“Tanya Spencer, meet Christine Nilsson.” Griff eased into his desk chair with a tiny grunt. “And vice versa. From the Latin.”

“Christine, my God, are you okay?” Tanya beamed at Christine, her admiration plain. “It’s amazing, what you did today! You’re a hero!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, but thanks.” Christine crossed the room and extended a hand, then stopped herself because it was covered with Band-Aids. “Tanya, I’d shake, but maybe that’s a bad idea.”

“Totally, of course, you are a hero! You could have been killed!”

“Luckily, I wasn’t.” Christine sat down, realizing who Tanya was, because her red hair was the tip-off. Tanya must have been Zachary’s new girlfriend, who had paid half of his retainer.