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“Hi there, my name is Detective Adelaide Harris. I’m looking for your mother, Mrs. Washington? I spoke with her on the phone earlier.”
The boy closed the door in her face, and for a second, Harris thought the boy had ignored her. But when the sound of the scraping chain came from inside and the door opened once more, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Mama’s in the living room,” the boy said.
Harris considered that her formal invitation. She pulled open the screen door and stepped inside the tiny kitchen. It smelled like roast beef and mashed potatoes, and the savory scent reminded her she had yet to eat that day. But the thought of what came next was enough to make her forget her hunger.
The boy led Harris around a corner and into the living room. It was neat and tidy and stuffy and warm. The house didn’t seem to have any air conditioning, and it was late enough in the day that keeping the windows closed would be more practical than letting the heat in just for what little breeze might make its way through the rooms.
A plump woman sat on the couch fanning herself. A cane rested against her leg, and there was a wrap around her knee, partially visible just below the hem of her dress. Another boy sat next to her in a tank top and shorts. He was younger than the first boy, maybe twelve. He stared at cartoons on the TV.
When Harris walked in, the woman looked up. Her expression was unreadable.
“Mrs. Washington?”
“Yes.” Her voice was deep and even. “You’re that detective then?”
“Detective
Harris, ma’am.”
Mrs. Washington didn’t break eye contact for a long moment. Harris felt like she was being scrutinized, but she expected nothing less. This woman’s daughter had just been murdered, and she knew they didn’t have any current leads. Would she cooperate, or would she send Harris packing?
“Boys, go to your room.”
“But mama—” the young boy said.
“Don’t you talk back to me.” Mrs. Washington passed her icy stare from Harris to her son. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”
“Mama, can I—”
“Both of you,” she said. “You don’t need to hear none of this. Go.”
There was no arguing, and both boys seemed to understand that. The older one switched off the TV as they made their way to the back of the house. Harris waited until she heard a door click shut before she turned back to the woman in front of her.
“Mrs. Washington, I’m so—”
“If you’re about to tell me you’re sorry, you can turn right back around and leave.” The woman’s eyes were hard. “I don’t need your apologies, Detective Harris. I need answers.”
“Of course.” Harris gestured to an open chair. “May I?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the woman nodded and then shifted in her seat, giving Harris her full attention. She waited for the detective to make the first move.
Harris sighed. She didn’t know where to start. These things were never easy, and there was no single right way to do this. Some people wanted to be eased into the conversation, while others wanted to know every detail of how their loved one had died. Each person mourned in their own way.
“I’m here to ask you a few questions about your daughter. If we can get a clearer picture of her daily life, it could help us determine a pattern and catch the person who did this.”
“So, you still don’t know then?”
Anything other than the straight, hard truth wouldn’t go over well with this woman. “No, ma’am, we don’t. We have a few leads, but not enough viable evidence to pin this on a suspect.”
“My baby was a good kid.” Mrs. Washington’s voice wavered for the first time. “She never got into trouble. She was a hard worker. Always did well in school. Why would anyone want to do this to her?”
“This might be a strange question, but was Sage’s blood type O Negative?”
“Yeah.” Mrs. Washington’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“We think that could be one reason why she was chosen.”
