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Fletch steps onto the porch one foot in front of me, and though reporters try to follow us up, it takes only one look from a steely-eyed detective to remind them they’re trespassing and about to find themselves put away for a standard twenty-four-hour hold.
When they back up, Fletch knocks on the door with a fast one-two-three, then he moves back so we stand shoulder to shoulder while we wait and the family inside moves about. Deep voices boom, and sad sniffles follow. Running feet patter on the internal stairs, then a shadow falls across the tinted glass panels in the door.
“Garry,” I murmur under my breath. “Get ready.”
“Yup.”
Fletch pastes on a pleasant, unassuming face as the locks snick and the handle twists, but when it opens, the face that greets us doesn’t belong to Garry at all. “Mayor Tribble?”
“Is there a reason you’re harassing a grieving family, gentlemen?”
“Er…” I step forward and lower my voice, not because I care to shield the mayor from the media, but because if the media spins shit and blasts this asshole on the news while he’s talking to us, Fletch and I are the ones who’ll pay for it. “Mayor. Your niece’s death was not accidental. We’re following up on a homicide case. We trust you understand that.”
“What I understand, Detectives, is that there’s a time and a place for everything, and this, right now, is neither. You will call my assistant and book an appropriate time to speak with the family. They are grieving.”
“Of course they are,” Fletch snarls. “Do they not want us to do our best to bring justice for what happened to Louisa? The longer we leave this, the harder it will be to find those answers. We know you know this, Mayor.”
“Brantley.” Carlene’s voice trickles through the door, then her hand presses to his forearm. Slipping through the gap between the portly man and the door, Carlene studies us with puffy red eyes and brings a scrunched tissue to her nose with the other hand. “Detectives?”
“Mrs. Thoma.” I reach forward and wait for her to take her hand from the mayor and place it in mine. “I know this is a terrible time for you. But we need to speak to you and Garry again. Is that okay?”
“No—”
“Yes,” Carlene cuts in. “I need my baby to have peace.” She squeezes her fingers around mine and sniffles. “She can’t go in peace until we know.”
“You will need legal representation,” Tribble glowers.
At that, Carlene looks up at her cousin-in-law and frowns. “Why? We’re not suspects, Brantley. We’re the victims. We need closure.”
Moving back, Tribble takes Carlene with him until they’re inside the house and her hand falls away from mine, then he slams the door and hurriedly says things I can’t decipher through the wood.
Looking across to Fletch, our eyes meet, and a thousand messages pass between us.
Less than a minute ticks by before the door swings wide again, and Tribble’s arrogant smile pulses forward on waves that shoot straight to my gut.
“I’ll go first.” Carlene fakes a smile not at all like Tribble’s, then moves to the side and waves us in. “Would you join me in Louisa’s bedroom? It’s private. Possibly the only private room in this house right now, while everyone is here.”
“Okay.”
I break our standoff and take a step forward. Just a beat behind me, Fletcher follows us through the main foyer and to the bottom of the stairs. Before I can start up, Tribble’s hand wraps around my wrist and stops me in my tracks.
My eyes whip to his, and though I remain impassive—a skill I learned before I was old enough to kiss girls—Tribble’s glare still attempts to burn. “Mayor?”
“I trust you’ll be respectful, Detective. Not only is this a terrible time for our family, but the media wishes to stomp on anyone with power.”
Fucking asshole.
The fact the mayor and my superiors don’t know the family I hail from means they think they can call into question my integrity. It means they think they can try me. But my willpower and desire not to put a man down is the only reason they keep their tongues and their ability to shoot off at the mouth.
“I don’t discussanyactive case with the media, Mayor. Never have, and I won’t start now.”
“Detective Malone?” Carlene stops at the top of the stairs and turns back to wait for us. “I can’t leave my daughters for long, so could we do this? I have guests. It’s an awful time for me to leave them.”
“Of course.”
I shake off the mayor’s hand and turn to make my way up the stairs with Fletch close behind. Carlene leads us to the left, and two doors down, into a frilly bedroom decorated in pink and lace. A set of bunks rest against one wall, and opposite that, a single bed sits butted into the corner. The bunks have dolls littering them, and more childish toys, whereas the single bed has a slightly more mature look.
As the oldest, I suspect Louisa slept there, while the two younger girls share the bunks.
