On the screen, a still image undoes the work all four of us thought we’d achieved, because there’s no way in hell whoever was driving Josey’s car the night she was murdered is a dude.
Frustrated, Fletch stalks to the one-way mirror and studies Tara Prim on the other side. She lays with her chest and face slumped onto the steel table, weeping in the quiet, her face swollen and red from the tears she’s been crying… for days, I suppose.
Since a life was taken.
“She just dropped it all on you?” He turns back to face me. “Regurgitated everything?”
“Like word vomit.” I cling to my phone, my fingers wrapped securely around the device while I wait… wait… wait for the DNA rapid test results we requested.
It would be embarrassing to jump the gun now that we’re so close to the finish line, so I bide my time instead and keep waiting.
“She was worried that being seventeen meant anything she told me would be inadmissible in court. I offered her a lawyer a hundred times, offered her parental support a hundred times more.” I set my hands in my pockets and shrug. “She was worried she’d chicken out if she didn’t saywhat she needed to say, which sounded an awful lot like dubious consent and possible coercion to me, so I pulled Fabian in, too. He’s calling it good. We’re in the clear.”
“And now?”
“Now, we’re waiting for her parents to arrive.” I cast my eyes across to Drake, his back pressed to the far wall and one foot raised to rest against the stucco. He focuses only on Clay, his mouth shut—good—and his eyes on the kid—also good.
“Where is my daughter?” Geoffrey Prim’s booming voice blasts throughout the bullpen so loud that even Tara hears him. She shoots up in her chair, her back turning ramrod straight and her hand coming up to furiously swipe beneath her nose.
“Guess he’s here.” I wander to the door and crack it open just an inch. “I wasn’t sure if he’d wipe his hands of her since she’sjust a girl,or if his need for an unblemished reputation around town would make it impossible to walk away.”
“Looks like we have our answer.” Fletch comes to a stop on my right and peeks through the gap at not just Geoffrey Prim standing at the mouth of the bullpen, his chest puffed wide, his legs spread like he’s about to mount a horse, and his hands perched on his hips. But Scott came too, father-and-son matching Superman poses, while behind them, less intrusive, Rhonda Prim follows. “It would look bad for the future-famous star quarterback to have these skeletons in his family’s closet, so they’ve circled the wagons. They’ll probably call the mayor and demand a public apology from the department, too.”
“I hope they hold their breath waiting.” I glance back at Drake and lift my chin.Since he’s primary too, and Fabian will get pissy if I lock him out now. “Let’s go.” I clap Fletch’s shoulder and spare a fast glance for Clay. “Watch this, kid. You’re about to see the masters at work.”
“We’ll see,” Fletch snickers. “All I’ve seen the past week are a couple of bickering biddies who don’t quite know how to get their emotions under control. It’s okay to feel big feelings, Arch.” He mocks me with dancing eyes. “My five-year-old gets emotional after a long day in the heat, too. She always says sorry if her big feelings spill over and splash on her friends.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I draw the door open and stride into the bullpen, stopping a full twenty-five feet from the interview room we’re keeping Tara in. “Mr. Prim. Mrs. Prim.” I look at the third and dip my chin. “Scott. Thanks for coming down.”
“We understand this is a difficult time,” Drake murmurs.
“A difficult time!?” Geoffrey snarls. “Difficult? You’ve arrested my daughter for a crime she never committed!”
“Sir, we?—”
“I’m gonna have your badges for this! Both of you!”
“Tara came to us.” I bring my voice down and pretend I don’t notice Fabian’s beady stare from his office doorway. Gesturing to the far side of the bullpen, I step around and make room for the trio. “Detective Banks and I were hoping you could chat with us for a minute. We have a few questions?—”
“Take us to her,” Scott growls.
“We think it would be best if we had a minute with each of you first,” Drake tries. “Separately. Procedure means we?—”
“Procedure means I don’t give a fuck,” he bites out. “Procedure means you dipshits are gonna lose your jobs before today is done, and the mayor himself is gonna make a formal apology.”
Oop. Called it.
“My sister’s a dumb bitch. But she didn’t kill anyone. She probably got confused and admitted to things she doesn’t even understand.”
“We explained everything very clearly.” Again, I gesture toward the interview rooms on the opposite side of the bullpen. “We made sure she understood.”
“She’s seventeen!” Geoffrey snarls. “Shecan’tunderstand, which means every single thing youthinkshe said will be struck from the record anyway.”
Who are you? Judge fuckin’ Judy?
“The law is clear,” Scott sneers. “I looked into it. You didn’t have the right to question a minor without her parents present. She had a legal right to a lawyer, which you also didn’t give her.”
“Ah, actually…” Drake grits his teeth. “Tara waived her right to counsel.”
