God, she hoped he was right.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Fowler said. He looked to Chance.
He stood, thrust out his hand. “Chance Rader from the Colby Agency. I’m a private investigator working with Ms. Harris. Our agency is also handling her defense going forward.”
Fowler blinked as if his brain hadn’t decided what to spit out in response to the information. After another second or two of hesitation, he shook Chance’s hand. The man looked at least a decade older than the last time Rory had seen him. Maybe her case had taken a toll on him. Or maybe the fact that he hadn’t done the job as he should have was hanging over his head like a black cloud.
“If you’ll follow me,” he said without tacking on the please.
Rory rose to her feet, only just realizing she was still seated, and walked alongside Chance. She supposed having to reinvestigate a case was never fun. Never looked good for the detective in charge either. She considered the holes he’d left unaccounted for. The claim that no other prints were found when her brother had been in the cottage and left the food basket. The obliviousness to the fact that it had rained that night. Did they even bother looking for footprints around the house? Certainly none were submitted as evidence. And what about the Taser? Pete had been tased, and no one seemed to have noticed.
Anger bolstered her determination. It was time someone actually tried to find the truth. She and Chance shouldn’t have to do it alone. The police had an obligation to at least attempt to do so.
Fowler led them to a room she recognized instantly—the interview room where he had first raked her over the coals.
She stalled at the door. Chance leaned closer. “You okay?”
Big breath. Focus.“Sure.” She forced herself to follow the path the detective had taken.
He, of course, sat on the side of the table with his back to the large mirror on the wall. There was a brown folder lying on the table in front of him. As she and Chance took seats on the other side, she wondered who was watching and listening in that observation booth. At the ceiling in the corner beyond that mirror was a camera for the purpose of recording interviews. The red dot indicated it was recording right now.
Didn’t matter. She was telling the truth, and she had Chance. As well as the Colby Agency.
Fowler opened the folder, and Rory strained her eyes in an attempt to see what was written on the pages. No luck. The angle prevented her from seeing clearly enough to read the words.
“I just have a few things I want to go over with you, Ms. Harris,” Fowler announced.
“All right.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She could just imagine how this was going to go.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re going back through our previous investigation and looking for anything we may have missed.” He gave her a pointed look. “Not that we expect to find anything, but we will do what’s required of us.”
She said nothing. Hadn’t been a question anyway.
He pursed his lips for a moment, studied her closely. “You’ve had a good deal of vandalism at your house on Tupelo Pike since your release.”
That one wasn’t a question either. More confusing, she had no idea what his statements so far had to do with her being here.
“It seems to have calmed down now,” Chance said when she didn’t respond.
His answer was so much better than anything she could have thought to say. Likethat’s right, and why aren’t you doing something about it?
“As for the fibers found and not entered into evidence,” Fowler said, making Rory sit up and take closer notice, “we’re prepared to hand-deliver a sample to the lab of your choice.”
“The agency will contact you right away with a location,” Chance cut in.
Fowler nodded his understanding. Chance was already texting someone on his phone. Likely Jamie Colby to let her know about this news.
“What is it?” she asked, her nerves going all jittery. “The fibers. I’m sure your lab results speculate as to what the fibers are and where it came from.”
“Carpet,” Fowler said. “A polyester carpet. Green and blue in color.”
Carpet.Rory sifted through the images in her mind for any rugs in the White Cottage. None were green or contained any green as far as she could remember.
“Did the fibers match any in the cottage?” Chance asked.
Fowler shook his head. “The rugs at the crime scene were a shorter nap, and they were wool, not a synthetic.”
Fury flamed in Rory’s belly. “We had no greenish carpet in our home,” she snapped. “Where else would it have come from if not the intruders?”
