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He nodded, jotting down a few more notes. Then he closed his pad, shoving it into his pocket.
“Well, that’s all Detective Marshall wanted me to clear up with you. I’ll be sure to pass this information along to her. Thanks for your time.”
I barely acknowledged him as he turned, making his way to my front door. He was about to open it when he paused, facing me once more.
“Can I ask one more question? For my own…edification.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re left-handed, correct?”
“Yes…,” I drew out.
“Interesting.”
I widened my stance once more. “Why is that interesting?”
The corners of his mouth curved up. “According to the medical reports, forensics concluded that, based on the shape and direction of Claire’s stab wound, it was most definitely inflicted by someone who was left-handed.”
I glowered at him, fury scalding my veins. My nostrils flared, jaw ticking, every muscle in my body vibrating with a hatred I didn’t think possible. I clenched and unclenched my fists, struggling to reel in the anger dying to be unleashed on him for a second time.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I growled, the deep rumble of my voice echoing against the cathedral ceilings in my foyer, “before I break your jaw, you fucking bastard.”
He didn’t appear the least bit intimidated, his smug smile only growing.
“I’d be careful if I were you. Threatening law enforcement won’t look too good for you. Especially after your recent…difficulty.”
“Get. Out.”
He opened the door, stepping onto my front porch. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t plan any trips out of the country in the near future.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all. Consider it a…friendly piece of advice.”
“Well, here’s a friendly piece of advice for you, Detective. Go fuck yourself.” I slammed the door in his face.
