“No, I?—”
“You asked her to lie for you, and because she wanted just one damn time for someone in her family to tell her she’s worthy, she’s important, she thought there was no harm in this small lie. But after Detective Banks and I left your house, I guess she started second-guessing the favor she’d done for you. She checked your text messages, Rhonda, and then she took a photo of your call log… ya know, the one clearly showing the call you made to Josey at six-thirty-seven p.m. on the night she died. Also, something you might not be aware of, since folks twenty and up aren’t always hip with the tech, but when Scott called you that night and asked you to bring chips home from the grocery store, cell towers pinged and slapped a tidy little dot in a map for us. We know where you were, when you were there, and how long you stayed. A judge will like that.”
“No,” she whimpers. “It’s not?—”
“You heard Josey and Scott talking in his bedroom that time. I reckon you considered her a threat after that. To Scott’s reputation. To his scholarship. To the life of fame and fortune you knew was coming his way.”
“So you silenced her.” Bending low, Drake sweeps up my ball and tosses it from hand to hand. “It really is a shame, ya know? Becauseweknow you’re an abused housewife who deserved better than the man you married and the ungrateful son you birthed. Even Josey could see it, and she cared enough to talk to her mom about it. She wished for freedom for you both.”
Trembling, the woman merely slumps forward and weeps.
“You could’ve been braver,” I press on. “You could’ve gotten yourself and your daughter out of that abusive home. Instead, you stayed, and thenyou killed a girl to protect your abusers. To protect a reputation Josey never would’ve fucked with anyway, because she abhorred conflict.”
My phone dings with an incoming text, proving my wife has perfect timing. Always.
Taking it out and quickly scanning the results on my screen, I nod, because I fuckin’ knew it, but then I shake my head, because Ireallywished I was wrong.
Slipping the device away, I bring my eyes back up to the woman. “You chose wrong, Mrs. Prim. More than once. Detective Banks?” I exhale a weary sigh. “You wanna take this one? Or give it to Officer Clay, since he put a lot of these pieces together himself.”
“Yeah.” He rotates slowly and studies the mirrored wall. “Officer Clay? Could you join us, please?” Then he glances back to the rest of the Prim family. “Unfortunately for us all, being an insufferable fuckin’ asshole isn’t against the law, so that means you two are actually free to leave. Tara?”
Gulping, she brings her teary eyes up again.
“We have support in place to help you gain independence from your current living arrangements.”
“Wait…” Geoffrey looks from Drake to his daughter. “What?”
“You don’t have to go home,” he continues. “Ever. If you wish to go back to collect some things, we can have uniforms escort you the whole time.”
The door slowly opens to my right, and then Officer Clay steps in with a set of cuffs already in his hands.
“You can file for legal emancipation,” Drake adds. “Though, by the time you get in front of a judge, it’s possible you’ll have aged out anyway. Instead, it might be best if you simply focus your energies on yourself and letting our resources guide you toward adulthood.”
“Rhonda Prim?” Clay steps toward the table. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Josephine Ryan. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.”
“You were very brave, Tara.” I move closer and extend my hand. “And a damn good friend to Josey, even when being brave is scary as hell.”
Shakily, she places her hand in mine and pushes to her feet.
“Strong, smart girls stand up for each other. They hold the weak and cowardly accountable. I’m so proud of you.” I draw her around the table and away from her father, the perverted, abusive prick who hit on a girl his own daughter’s age. And away from her twin brother, the cowardly sack of shit who threw her under the bus so fast, her head is stillspinning. “We have a counselor and a legal aid lawyer already here to help you.”
She trembles and studies the floor as we walk.
“Sit with them. Listen to them.” I lead her through the door and into the bullpen, where Fletch waits, ready to do that thing he does where he switches off his cop brain and turns on his dad brain. Because all girls, whether they’re five or seventeen, are little girls worth protecting when he’s around.
“Hi Tara.” He inches forward, a kind smile on his face and a smooth sweep of his hand as he takes her from me. “My name is Detective Fletcher. I’m gonna get you set up in a room. Find you something to eat and drink. Somewhere to breathe for a sec.”
“You did good, Malone.”
I draw a deep breath and dig my hands into my pockets. Because Istillwanna smash Drake’s skull open every time I hear his voice.
It’s part of my DNA now.
And yet, “You too.” I stare at Tara’s back and watch my partner lead her away. “Fletch and I have been working together a long time now, which makes it easy for him to read me when I wanna spar and rattle a suspect. I wasn’t sure you were gonna pick up what I was putting down.”
“Took me a minute.” He comes to a stop on my left and folds his arms, the ball of his shoulder brushing against mine. “I got there in the end. Enjoyed calling you a dipshit.”
I exhale a laughing scoff. “I enjoyed calling you a fuckwit.”
