“This way, Officer.” He led her to the living room.
Cindy took in the house’s layout from what she could see. The rowhouse was boxy and far from open concept. There was one way in and out of the room and two decent-sized windows overlooking the street. She sat in a chair that faced the doorway, perched on the front part of the cushion, ready to act if it became necessary.
She pulled out her notepad and clicked her pen. She noted the date and time and Russell’s name, date of birth, and address. “You said you haven’t seen your nephew since he was a kid.When was that exactly?” To hell if she wasn’t going to be extremely thorough. Not when assisting today could make her dream come true.
Russell sat on the couch, rested his right arm on the top of it, and crossed his legs at his ankles. “It was at Suz’s funeral.”
Cindy scribbled that down. “And that was the last time?”
“It was.”
“Not even at your sister Teresa’s funeral?”
“I never made it. Not long after Suz passed, I started volunteering for relief work around the world. I was in Haiti when T died, and her funeral was put together rather fast by one of her friends. I just got back to the States yesterday.”
While all that sounded honorable, his charitable efforts only accounted for so much. “All right, but how could you walk away from your nephew after his mother’s death?”
“He was never alone. His grandparents were long gone by then, but T swept in and took care of him. It worked. I mean, T never got married or had kids. This was her shot.”
Cindy took offense, not being a mother herself. For now her focus was on her career but she figured one day she’d find the right man and have a kid or two. Or she might go modern, skip the relationship, go in vitro fertilization, and become a single mother. Nothing wrong with that either. But that was assuming she physically could have children. Some women couldn’t, no fault of their own. That might have been the case for Teresa. “I’m sure she still would have appreciated some help.”
“You don’t understand my family. We were never what you’d call close. I’m six years older than T. I was out of the house when she was a teenager. We lived in different worlds. Why are you so interested in Ryan anyhow?”
Cindy wrote down that Teresa had raised Ryan, then said, “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Crawford. All I can tell you right now is that the MPD is interested in him, as well as inSusan’s case.” There was no way she was crossing a line and informing him about the crisis incident.
Russell’s forehead scrunched up. “What case? You mean her car accident? There wasn’t anything to investigate. It was straightforward. It was winter, and the roads were crap from an earlier snowfall. She slid into a pole. End of story. Nothing much mysterious about that. Why is this coming up now?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you.” Discretion was necessary to protect the investigation, and she intended on safeguarding it.
“Uh-huh. And why do I feel that Ryan and a request to reopen thecaseare connected?”
“I can’t say.” She’d mostly tapped out this resource, except for one remote possibility. It was a tidbit that Coleman had shared about Ryan. Or more like one enigma about him. “Do you know the situation with Ryan’s father? Who he was?” Her mind ran wild with another theory. Had that man resurfaced after all these years wanting to avenge Susan’s death? Some people can’t shake grief and move forward. The easiest path some see is to lay blame on others. And the way she saw it, whoever was inside the Hanson home must hold the family responsible for the crash.
“No clue. I’m telling you, I wasn’t around much. When I was younger, I got into trouble. Not legal trouble, mind you, but booze and drugs. I cleaned up my act, hence aid relief, but by then I was far removed from my family. Out of touch, as I believe they say these days.” He smiled.
Based on Russell’s own words, he wouldn’t know if there was a connection between his sister Susan and the Hanson family. Cindy made some final notes and shut her book, clicked her pen and put both in her uniform pocket.
On the way out, she handed Russell her card and told him to call if he heard from his nephew. But as Cindy turned her back to the rowhouse, her instinct was screaming at her. The hostage taker must think there was more to Susan’s accident than simplypoor road conditions. And if there was, would they even be able to prove that after all this time?
SEVEN
11:40 AM
Homicide Branch, Metropolitan Police Department
Detective Eric Birch was buried preparing for a trial appearance. As the arresting officer in the case, defense counsel had called on him to testify.More like to interrogate on the stand…Eric had been in this place before, and, so far, his track record was impeccable. That’s because he did his best to color within the lines of the law, even ones that some officers saw as wavy. And there was no way he planned to be discredited this time around either. Not when a bastard who killed his girlfriend by stabbing her seven times could walk. There was too much at stake. It’s why he’d make doubly sure everyiwas dotted andtcrossed.
Pratchett especially had a reputation for trying to tear apart any cop who graced the stand. But what instilled more confidence in Eric was this was the lawyer’s fallback MO when he lacked a solid defense. It was easier for him to chip away at the foundation of a case than defend a client who was blatantly guilty.
“Birch, I need you to do something.” Sergeant Medina came into Eric’s space. It wasn’t much, a desk in the middle of the bull pen he shared with other detectives.
Eric could argue he was already doing something, but that line wouldn’t work on Medina. “Whatever you like, boss.”
“Don’t be cute. Got a call from Lieutenant Coleman.”
Eric listened while Medina laid it all out. Another assist on a hostage situation. The second one in as many months. “On the scale of Founders?”
“No, but I guess Coleman figures you’re the best man for the job. I didn’t get into why he thought that.”
