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We sit with Brown for three hours. An extended time, really, considering he didn’t ask for a lawyer, or even a toilet break. In the end, he asked for nothing but a discussion with the prosecutor’s office and a chance to stay a free man—although, he may needanothername change.
“A doctor for hire,” Fletch spits out. Steering the car across the city, he moves us in the direction of Henry Wade’s home.
We’re going to deliver the news of Holly’s murder—thirty-six years past due.
“Dude’s a whack job who wouldn’t know the difference between a Type B personality and a fucking anal bleach.” Shaking his head, he glances across at me. “Holly was a healthy, normal, happy woman, Arch. And then the people she was supposed to be able to trust made her crazy.”
“Sometimes it takes a minute for justice to swing around and catch up. But if we look hard enough, hopefully we can bring the truth to light.”
“Poetic,” he huffs, pulling the car to a stop outside Henry’s home.
It’s just me and Fletch. And really, my injured shoulder means I can’t do shit if Henry or his adult sons, or anyone else in the house, wants to get pissy about what we’ve come to do. Still, knowing we’ve come to make an arrest, we arrive without backup.
“She was twenty-three years old, Arch. Just married. Pregnant. She was an activist for anyone weaker than her. She could’ve changed the world if given half the chance.”
“I know.”
“That future was stolen from her,” he growls. “And her killer got to live the next thirty-six years like she never mattered.”
“She mattered.”
Unsnapping my seatbelt and pushing out of the car, I glance across to the Wades’ beautiful home. I see the curtains jerk at the far end of the front room, but I don’t let on that I see.
“Holly was buried in a shitty box, with the rest of the world thinking she took her own life.” We start toward the house. “Now, she’ll be remembered as a woman who was on the way to becoming a mom. A friend to the bullied, and a hero to those who needed one. She didn’t put herself under that truck. And it was because ofyourinability to choose a new partner that led us here. Her truth will be known because of you.”
He snorts under his breath, only to cover his mouth with his hand.
It’s not polite to laugh on the way to an arrest.
Moving to the front porch and up to the door, I keep my distance while Fletch knocks. Once. Twice. A third deep thud before he moves back to wait on my left.
“Is the name you wrote on that slip of paper yesterday gonna match what we know today?” he murmurs. “Did you get it right?”
“Mmhm.” I keep my voice down too. “Yours?”
Arrogant, he scoffs. “Of course.”
The door slowly opens to reveal a little girl in a red plaid dress, and beside her, the always loyal Moby the dog.
“Hello?” Her voice is sweet, a little more mature than Mia’s.
“Hi there.” Daddy-mode on, Fletch crouches to get on her level. “Is there an adult home with you today?”
“My grandma and grandpa are here.” She opens the house wide for a pair of strangers to waltz on through. “Do you wanna come in?”
“Uh, actually,” straightening up, Fletch chuckles. “Maybe go tell an adult we’re here. It’s not safe to let strangers into your home.”
“Julia?” Henry’s voice comes next. Searching, somewhat afraid. Then the man himself comes to a startled, skidding stop at the door. “Oh.” Shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts, he mutters, “It’s you again.”
He looks down at the little girl and presses a hand to her shoulder. “Julia. You don’t open the door unless Grandma or I am with you. It’s not safe.”
“I had Moby with me,” she argues. “And they’re friendly anyway. They said what you said.”
“What?”
“That I shouldn’t invite someone in without you or Grandma helping. Come on, Moby.” She takes the dog by the collar and walks back to the gut of the house. “Let’s get some juice.”
