Page 28 of Sinful Sorrow

“Then we went next door and chatted to Daniel Morgan,” Archer continues. “He was fast to get his family represented and hardly responsive when we had questions.”

I narrow my eyes and consider. “He thinks Mason had something to do with Naomi’s murder?”

“Muscle memory, Delicious. I don’t think he thinks Mason is guilty. I don’t think he particularly cares, in the sense that his actions would have been the same, no matter what. His priority was to shield his family. And seeing as how we’re dancing in his domain right now, he knew what to do, and how to do it, quickly.”

“So you got nothing from him?” Aubree questions. “Silence?”

“He softened a little. We’re not best friends or anything. But we established we were there to help find justice for Naomi, and we reiterated we didn’t think Mason was involved.”

“Which is true,” Archer adds. “Of all the people we’ve talked to so far, including my own brother whose observations were entirely objective, everyone vouches that Mason wouldn’t have hurt her. I’m not pointing fingers toward the dad-to-be at this point.”

“Which brings us back to… sweet fuck all,” Fletch grumbles. “Our vic has no enemies. Her boyfriend wasn’t sneaking around with other chicks. And she wasn’t cheating on him, which means he was happy, and there were no bitter women slinking along the side. Connor, the one with the knife, was known to everyone else, but there’s no motive there. And our own personal observations lean toward him being someone else’s pawn.”

“Is it possible Naomi wasn’t the target?” I sit back in my seat and steeple my fingers. “A knife is plopped down, and a teen picks it up. Who’s to say Connor would stab the right person?”

“It’s a possibility,” Archer agrees. “One we’ll look into. Naomi’s sister mentioned Kallie was sometimes dabbling in the school drama, so it could stem from there. But she and Brent have been together almost as long as Mason and Naomi. So again, rules out jealousy and bitterness amongst their peers. The guys have been friends since they were kids, likewise, the girls. The four of them have been tight for a long time. Naomi’s sister was only two grades behind the others, and she couldn’t pinpoint any issues or rivalries. She was more focused on the Morgans being snobby tools.”

“Which, we concur,” Fletch finishes. “They are snobby tools. But being a wealthy dickhead doesn’t make you a killer. Daniel and Dora Morgan were both home at Naomi’s time of death. Patricia Wallace was, too. Gordon Wallace was in transit, but he arrived at work on time. And his colleagues all report he was acting normal prior to us getting there. He was unaware anything was going down.”

“So there’s no one?” I push. Push. Push. “Absolutely no one you can think who might have motive?”

“The only big changes in their lives were college and the baby,” Aubree inserts. “Everything else was the same, right? Boyfriends and girlfriends. Friendships. Relationships. No one changed addresses. None of the four were living on campus, since they didn’t have to. Three of the four were self-funded with wealthy-ish, comfortable families. Naomi caught a scholarship, which brought them all back to the same level. Both guys got onto the basketball team they were aiming for, and the girls were doing their social thing. No one’s parents divorced. There were no changes on that front, and even Gordon’s extra job: that wasn’t new, right? He’s been working at the store for a year already.”

“The baby,” I ponder. “And the scholarship. Those are your motivations, assuming we rule out a different intended victim. If Naomi was the target all along, then those are two massive motivational factors in a non-wealthy family’s life. Babies cost money. And free college is not something one should give up.”

“But no one suffers if she loses her scholarship except Naomi herself,” Archer reasons. “And no one else was going to be responsible for the baby, except Naomi. This wasn’t suicide, so…”

“We have to widen the net.” Fletch’s phone rings, drawing his curious focus and a hand to dig deep into his pocket. Clutching the device, he yanks it out again and checks the screen. “I gotta…” Not entirely sure, he stumbles over his words. “Uh… I-I probably need to take this. But let’s keep thinking about Naomi. Who else was affected by that pregnancy? Who suffered if Naomi attended class? Or if she didn’t attend class?”

Accepting the mystery call, he brings the phone to his ear and pushes off my desk to move toward the door. “This is Charlie Fletcher.”

Not detective?

“So you shouted at the mayor,” Aubs quips as Fletch moves through the door and stops at her desk, sitting down and running a hand through his hair. “Real mature, Chief. Now he’ll never give us more money in the budget.”

“Ugh.” I slump back in my chair and resume the very action the mayor interrupted when he walked in here. I press my thumbs to my eyes and count stars. “Shut up about it. I don’t like dealing with him.”

“You don’t like dealing with people in general.” Archer’s voice floats into my ears. I know where he stands, which way he faces, and the fact that he’s still cranky about the vigilante thing, purely by the tone of his voice. “You’re socially inept, Chief. Perhaps you need a babysitter whenever dealing with the media and politics.”

“Blah blah blah.” Eight stars. Nine. Ten. “Zip it.”

FLETCH

After taking the call from hell and declaring an hour of personal time, I stride into the hospital alone. My daughter is still at school, and Archer begrudgingly respects my space.

For an extremely limited time.

After that, if I don’t check in, he’ll sic the women on me. And we both know that’s a far more effective threat than the others he has at his disposal: Guns. Mafia. Vigilante killer in his pocket.

I head to the elevator without asking for directions, then stepping out again on the third floor, I emerge into a busy ward filled to the brim with medical personnel doing their best to keep shit under control in a city bursting with bullshit.

It’s mine and Archer’s job to roll in after a crime has been committed and solve a murder. But that doesn’t change the fact that the crime was, in fact, committed. That people have been hurt. That lives have been destroyed, and families have been torn apart.

As homicide detectives, we’re already too late.

As medical examiners, Minka and Aubs are already too late.

But as a trauma surgeon, or an ER nurse, maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll show up in time and make a positive change in a victim’s life.

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