“All right,” Slater says, “let’s review.”
He’s standing in front of an old-fashioned chalkboard in a conference room at headquarters. Draper is there, as well as the two detectives assigned to monitor the Gypsy Rose hotline: Detective Denny Smith, who is on desk duty following an excessive force charge, and Detective Lane Schaub, who has been in plainclothes for even less time than Draper. They sit on metal folding chairs, laptops open on their knees.
“First, we’ve got the missing money,” Slater says.
He writes $4,000 in yellow chalk in the top left corner of the board, then turns back to the group.
“That safe still bothers me,” he says. “Only someone close to her would’ve had access.”
“Would she really have given the combination to her kid?” Smith asks.
“Probably not, but we found it written in a notebook at the bottom of Dee Dee’s underwear drawer. Gypsy might have known where to look.”
“So…you think the girl had an accomplice instead of a kidnapper?” Schaub asks.
“I’m just floating ideas,” Slater says.
“No way she did it herself,” Smith says. “Mommy had three hundred pounds on her.”
“Maybe she paid someone,” Schaub offers.
“Four thousand is a little short for murder,” Draper says. “On top of which, Gypsy would have needed that money to live.”
“If the money was even stolen,” Smith says. “For all we know, Dee Dee spent it herself. Which would explain why you found the safe open: no need to lock it if there’s nothing inside.”
“You’re right,” Slater agrees. “We don’t know anything for sure. All we have are hints. The money’s gone, the meds are all accounted for. What scenario allows both those things to be true? No matter how many times I play it out, I keep coming back to Gypsy.”
“I don’t know, Brian,” Draper says. “By all accounts, the girl’s a little slow. It’s hard to see her as a mastermind.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. But maybe she set something in motion without realizing it. Socially, she grew up in a very small world. She probably doesn’t have a strong grasp of boundaries. Chances are she’s been lonely her whole life. Maybe she was blowing off steam online and said too much to the wrong person.”
“Like her Secret Sam,” Schaub says.
“He’s a possibility.”
“If he even exists,” Smith says.
“But no one we talked to described Gypsy as angry,” Draper says. “If anything, they describe her as surprisingly happy.”
“She and her mother were together every minute of every day. You ever spend that much time with someone and not want to kill them?”
“Thanks, partner,” Draper chides.
“Don’t worry,” Smith says. “That’s his divorce talking.”
“Everyone swears Dee Dee and Gypsy were soul mates…like they lived for each other,” Schaub says.
“I wonder,” Slater says. “I watched that Anne-Marie footage a dozen times. There was something staged about it, like they were performing a mother-daughter skit for the thousandth time.”
“The TV people probably gave them a script to work from,” Draper says.
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. There was something simmering. You can see little glimpses of it when they think the camera isn’t on them. Gypsy looks checked out, which is understandable, but there’s something forced about Dee Dee…like she’s trying too hard to disguise her own rage.”
“Kids’ll do that to you,” Smith says.
Draper, thinking of her partner’s estranged daughter, throws Smith a biting stare.
“You want us to talk to the neighbors again?” Schaub asks.
“Can’t hurt, but any relationships Dee Dee and Gypsy had here were new. We need to go further back.”
“New Orleans?” Draper asks.
“That’s what I’m thinking. Who knew them there? It’s easy enough to keep up a façade for a few months, maybe even a few years. But time tells.”
“I’ll call NOPD,” Draper says. “Ask them to canvas.”
“Have them check on her doctors, too. Gypsy’s medical records may have washed away, but the doctors didn’t.”
Smith lets out a sarcastic yawn: Dee Dee’s murder would have been his case to solve if he hadn’t put a suspected arsonist in the hospital. “This is all great, but how about some hard evidence? We get the autopsy back yet?”
“We have a preliminary report,” Slater says. “Her attacker caught her by surprise. No defensive wounds. No foreign DNA under her fingernails.”
“Any prints in the house?”
“One of Anne-Marie’s cameramen has a DUI on his record. Otherwise, nothing.”
Schaub sits up straighter, raises her hand like school is in session.
“Yes?” Slater asks.
“I know this’ll sound crazy, but what if Pastor Mike has Gypsy? What if he killed Dee Dee?”
Slater and Draper smile. Smith sniggers.
“No, really,” Schaub says. “Think about it. Who in Springfield is closer to them? Maybe Gypsy confided to him. Maybe he fell in love with her. Maybe he thought God could make her walk again.”
“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Smith says. “The guy made her his church’s charity poster child. He’d have to be some kind of stupid to turn around and butcher her mother.”
“Or some kind of obsessed,” Schaub counters. “It happens, you know.”
Draper’s computer makes a loud pinging sound. She leans closer to the screen.
“Oh my God,” she says. “You aren’t going to believe this.”
“What is it?” Slater asks.
“A new Facebook post.”
They gather around, read over her shoulder. Gypsy’s avatar shows her dressed in a Cinderella outfit and flashing a fiendish grin. The post, sent from Gypsy’s account, reads: “I SLASHED THAT FAT PIG AND RAPED HER SWEET INNOCENT DAUGHTER…HER SCREAM WAS SO LOUD LOL.”