Font Size:  

“Kind of as you’d expect.” She told him briefly about meeting Sean Ingles, the architect, at the main offices; connecting with Clark Russo and Neil Vledich at the Lake Chinook home construction site, then with Henry Woodworth at the RiverEast apartment building; talking by phone to Nadine Gretz, who was apparently Henry’s girlfriend; and finally meeting up with Owen DeWitt at the Rib-I steak house and bar. Her mind tripped on her conversations with Nadine Gretz and Owen DeWitt, both of whom had accused Kristina of having an affair, but she didn’t say anything to Lang about their comments. Not yet. Not until she had a little more time to think about it.

But she did say, “I’d like to see the physical evidence from the Donatella crime scene again.”

Lang’s brows lifted. “Care to share?”

“I want to see where they found blood traces, or anything else.” Like semen, maybe, on the wall. Owen DeWitt’s smirking voice echoed in her ears. “He had her up against the wall. Banging her like crazy, and she was . . . man . . . in ecstasy. Head thrown back and first making these little kittenlike sounds and then screamin’! She was riding him and lovin’ it.”

Kristina’s dead.

The thought hit her again like a bullet. Aching pain in her soul. While she was thinking and talking about the case, she could almost forget. That was what she needed to do. Keep her mind busy.

“I can get you the report,” Lang sai

d, bringing her back to the present.

“No. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I can’t just sit around and think, Lang.”

“Okay,” he said slowly.

“Okay,” she agreed. Then, before he could come up with some further reason for her to stay away from the station, she steered him out of the room and said, “I was just heading to the cafeteria. Do you know that you need even more calories when you’re breast-feeding than when you’re pregnant? It takes a lot of energy to manufacture milk.”

“You’re breast-feeding?”

“For the moment,” she said, pushing the niggling worry about how Hale would react to the back of her mind.

“You want a wheelchair?” he asked, seeing the careful way she moved.

“Not on your life.”

His grandfather wasn’t in the kitchen when Hale let himself into his house, and he yelled loudly, “Hello!”

“I’m at my desk!” Declan called back, and when Hale walked down the hall and entered the office, he found him busily writing on a yellow notepad.

Declan looked up and blinked rapidly. “What happened to you?”

Hale made a strangled sound that was meant to be a laugh. “I hardly know where to start.”

“Well, then, let me go first. Somebody’s been around here. I keep hearing them in the house.”

Hale nodded. He wasn’t going to argue with Declan; he just didn’t have the energy. But his grandfather wasn’t as sharp as he used to be, and this wasn’t the first time he’d been certain there was someone in his house. Hale had made the distinct error of suggesting that maybe Declan should move to assisted living and had been told clearly and colorfully where he could stick that idea. Declan, for being a gentleman around women, was salty enough when there were just men around.

“He says he’s my son,” Declan said, at which Hale, who had been feeling dozy and unfocused, snapped to attention.

“Someone actually talked to you?”

“Felt more like a dream, actually.” He waved a hand, as if hearing how that sounded. “Ach. I’m getting the two things confused. Someone’s definitely been walking around the house. Sneaking around.”

“I’ll take a look.” Hale pushed himself to his feet with the arms of the chair.

“Be careful.” Declan suddenly looked concerned.

Hale did a cursory inspection of the house, but there was no one inside. Then he walked around the home’s perimeter, but there were no footsteps in the snow apart from his own. He came back inside, stamping snow from his boots.

“I don’t see any signs of trespass,” he said, retaking the chair across from Declan’s desk, practically falling into it.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like