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“How long did it take to arrive on scene from when you took the call?”
The officer is younger than us. Smaller, though not by a lot. “Can’t’ve been more than a minute, Detective. We were already close, so we hit the lights and came in hot.”
“Did you see anyone leaving the park? Anyone running? Speeding cars?”
“No, Detective. Though I’m still kinda new, and I was focusing on not hitting anything with the car. So I can’t say for sure that no one was around.”
“It’s fine. We all start new at some point.” I look to the car. “We’re gonna get her statement. Hang close if you want, but don’t interrupt. Your name?”
“Brady Clay, sir. Officer out of Midtown.”
“Midtown caught the other vigilante case, yeah?” Fletcher sets his hands on his hips and studies the officer. “How’s that coming along?”
“Not my case, Detective. My LT caught it, but last I heard, he was coming up on dead ends and brick walls. You guys have the first?”
“Yeah.” I step away from Clay and move to the rear door of the cruiser. “Let’s get this one done. Then maybe we can swing by your station and compare notes.”
Opening the door, I make my movements slow, keep my expression neutral as I wait for Delia Monroe’s red-rimmed gaze to come to mine. In her lap, a fat little pug watches me with protruding eyes and his tongue lolling to the side—he’s not one to protect.
“Mrs. Monroe?”
“She’s dead. Right?” The woman hugs her dog and works hard to firm her quivering lips. “That girl. I didn’t touch her, because I couldn’t… I should’ve…” She buries her face against her dog’s neck. “I couldn’t even touch her to check for her pulse. But I saw her fall down. I saw her…” She pulls back and touches her chest. “She couldn’t breathe. So I called 911, and now—”
“It’s good you didn’t touch her, Mrs. Monroe.” Lowering into a crouch, I rest my elbow on the door handle and try to soften my expression. “It’s important her body and the scene remain untouched. That way, people like me and the medical examiner can get in and do our jobs.”
“Medical examin—” She stops. Breathes. Then nods. “I knew she was dead already. But still, I hoped she would be okay.”
“I have to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Monroe. I know you’ve already answered some, but I need to ask you more.”
“You can call me Delia.” Her blue eyes search mine in desperation. Desperate for a redo on tonight. Desperate to not have Lana fall dead right in front of her. “Please call me Delia. The formalities make this so much scarier.”
“Okay.” Reaching into my coat pocket, I take out a recorder and extend my hand so she can see. “I’d like to record this interview. Is that okay?”
Nodding, she brings a hand up to wipe beneath her nose. “It’s okay. I want to help her… I want to make this better for her.”
“Your cooperation will help her a lot, Delia.” Hitting record, I set the device on the end of my knee. “First, can you tell me exactly where you were when you initially saw the victim? I want to get a layout of the scene.”
Sniffling, she swallows down her grief and points toward the western side of the park. “I was walking Winston and heading in this direction.” Pointing east, she adds, “I live that way. Just half a mile away. Winston and I circle the park twice a day. It keeps me fit, and it gets him out of the house.”
“Alright. Where were you standing when you first noticed something was off?”
“About a hundred feet over there,” she points to the west again. “You see that store down there? The ice cream place?”
When I look over and spot it, she adds, “Pretty much in line with that store. But I was on the park side. On the sidewalk.”
“Okay. And what did you see? What made you realize something wasn’t okay?”
“She was screaming. And she was choking.” Delia’s tear-filled eyes spill over so lines mark her cheeks. “The poor girl was screaming, so I ran toward her.”
“That was very brave of you.” Fletch leans in closer and works on his kindest smile.
If she saw him the way I see him, she’d notice the lipstick on his collar and the grief in his eyes. But his sorrow spans further than a dead girl in the middle of the park.
“Can you tell us what was happening around the park while you ran, Mrs. Monroe?” he asks gently. “Did a car skid away? Did anyone else show up?”
She sniffles back a long line of booger and wipes her palm beneath her eye. “The man who hurt her…”
My heart thunders in my chest.
