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His shoulder slams against mine as we both approach at the same time, but I take a step back and let him go first. Then together, we storm through the station and past our colleagues, through the ‘pit’, where all detectives are stuffed together, desk to desk, sardines in a can, while twenty feet from where I sit, my lieutenant parks his ass in an office no bigger than a janitor’s closet.
“I don’t know how someone does that.” Fletch blows past our desks and keeps going until he hits a set of escalators that are switched off more often than they’re on. “How does someone hurt a little girl like that, Arch?”
“Detectives?”
I swing around at that deep voice and stop myself barely short of snarling when my eyes lock on to those of the mayor.
“Where is Garry Thoma?”
“He’s with his lawyer.” The moment Fletch twists around with too much venom in his eyes, I step in front and block him from having us both removed from the case… and potentially our careers. “Interview room three.”
“And where are you going?” He takes a single step forward. “Are you done with him? Is he free to go?”
“Your cousin is our primary suspect in this case, Mayor Tribble—”
I reach into my pocket when my phone trills. “The media might become a problem for you, Mayor, but we’re not going easy on this. We have a warrant to collect.”
Turning away, I bring the phone to my ear. “Detective Malone.”
“Hey.” Though I expect to hear a different voice,anyvoice, it’s Minka’s that comes through the line. “We have a problem.”
“What?” I snag Fletch’s sleeve and pull him toward the doors that lead to the parking garage. “What’s wrong?”
“The DNA under Louisa’s nails… doesn’t belong to Garry.”
“What? Who the fuck does it belong to?”
“Not Garry. And not Carlene, since I checked, and it’s not her own. We’ve missed a step somewhere.”
“Shit. Alright.”
The line beeps, letting me know another call is coming in.
“I gotta go. I’ll call you back in a bit. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
That call ends, so I accept the next.
“Detective Malone.”
“Your warrant is live,” Lieutenant Fabian—the janitor’s closet lieutenant—speaks quickly. “You have access to the Thoma home, Garry Thoma is inside my precinct, and the mayor just walked by my office. Move your asses and get it done. I’ll keep the mayor here.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. Can you email me the warrant?”
“Already done. Go, go, go.”
* * *
Fletcher and I arrive back at the Thoma house a mere four hours after we last left it. Crime scene investigators have come and gone. Coroners—as in Minka and Aubree—have the body, and all the looky-loos have meandered away.
However, as I bring the cruiser to a screeching stop at the curb and leave the lights circling on the roof, I climb out of the car only to look across the yard and spot the infamous Rebecca Jefferson, the all-seeing neighbor, standing in her living room window.
She sees all. If we don’t find the diary today, the hawk-eyed Mrs. Jefferson will be our next stop for a follow-up interview.
“Make this quick,” I murmur for Fletch. “Make it thorough, and let’s finish this shit.”
“I’m gonna start in her bedroom,” he announces as we approach the front door. “Most logical hiding place for a little girl.”
