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Wincing, she rubbed between her collarbones. “I’m okay, but I did not know that he had that much strength. He certainly doesn’t look it.”
Sam shrugged. “When he’s having an episode…”
Roxanne patted his arm. “I know. It’s my job to know. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about him.”
It was Sam’s turn to wince when he checked the time. “I have to go. I have sessions soon and I’m going to be late.”
“You go ahead. I’ll take it from here. Thank you, Dr. Reeves.”
He took one last look at Benny. “He’s a good man. The kindest.”
“I know. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He never does.”
“I’ll come back and see him tomorrow. Will you tell him that when he wakes up?”
“Of course.”
Sam took a step back, then turned for the door. When he left, he spoke to the officer. “He’s asleep now. They’ll take him to the nursing ward for observation.”
The officer frowned. “The detectives never got to talk to him.”
“They can when he wakes up. He wouldn’t have been a good witness in that state, anyway. Have a good afternoon, or as good as you can under these circumstances. I have to run.”
And Sam did, literally, jogging through Shady Oaks until he was outdoors and continuing until he reached his RAV4. He’d had this one for six months, his old vehicle having been damaged beyond repair. But this new RAV4 was the same color as his old SUV. Sam liked consistency.
For the second time in less than an hour, Sam slid behind the wheel and checked his phone. No word from Kit. He was tempted to text her again, to tell her about his conversation with Benny Dreyfus, but he could do that later.
Kit wasn’t going to be happy about the delay in interviewing Benny. But Kit didn’t get everything she wanted. Neither of us does.
With a sigh, Sam tossed his phone to the passenger seat and headed toward downtown. His clients needed him and he had to be ready to listen.
Shady Oaks Retirement Village
Scripps Ranch, San Diego, California
Monday, November 7, 12:15 p.m.
Devon Jones set her cell phone on the table when Kit and Connor entered the interview room. She folded her hands, her guilty expression as bright as a neon sign. “I wasn’t talking to anyone about what I saw,” she blurted out. “I swear. I was watching videos. Cats in boxes.”
Lordy, she was young. Kit didn’t think she looked even eighteen. Was that the source of the girl’s guilty expression? Watching cats in boxes? Honey, this world is gonna chew you up and spit you out. On the surface, it didn’t seem possible that she could be involved in Mr. Flynn’s death. But if she was, Kit would see justice done, no matter how young the woman was.
Taking a seat at the table, Kit smiled, hoping to put the woman at ease. “I’m Detective McKittrick and this is my partner, Detective Robinson. What’s your name?”
“Devon Jones.”
“How old are you?” she asked gently.
“Eighteen, ma’am. Last week.”
Connor’s brows went up. “How long have you worked here?”
“A year, almost. You only have to be sixteen,” she added defensively. “I got my CNA right out of high school. I did a dual enrollment program when I was a senior.” She looked between them, visibly tensing. “Sorry. That wasn’t what you asked.”
“It’s okay,” Kit soothed. “Why cats in boxes?”
Devon smiled shyly. “They’re cute and they make me feel better when I’ve had a rotten day. Today was…”
“A rotten day,” Kit murmured. “Tell us what happened.”
