Page 62 of Sinful Sorrow

“So why shout in the first place?” He drags his focus up. “Just to hear yourself talk?”

“Basically.” I circle to the passenger door and yank it open. “She scares the shit out of me, Fletch. Always putting herself in danger. And powerful friends become powerful because of the risks and threats they face. Mixing those friendships doubles the risk.”

“Also doubles the protection.” He heads to the driver’s side and slides in behind the wheel. “By that theory, Delicious gains security alongside the power.”

“Still scares me.” I pull my door shut and check my email when my phone dings with an alert. Minka’s reports arrive, lists of names, dates, time stamps, and tidbits of information that has my brows rising on my forehead. “Let’s bring Kallie in for a talk. I wanna get her side of the story now that we’ve been fed a version that isn’t all sunshine and best friends. Then we’ve gotta pull Mrs. Wallace back in.” Sighing, I set my phone on my lap and look across to my partner. “She bought a buck hunting knife last month.”

MINKA

Iwalk into the detectives’ station, just a few blocks from my building, and step onto the escalator that cuts though the middle of the multi-story structure, spearing into the sky and taking up almost as much real estate as the hospital not so far away.

Police bustle around me. Some heading down, and others, up. Some wear uniforms, and others get to be more comfortable on the job, in jeans and shirts. Some choose to wear a tie, others, a full suit.

Personalities and self-importance shine from each cop. And those who have a perp in cuffs telegraph to everyone nearby who they are by how they treat their suspect. Some are treated with respect. Others, shoved and bullied. Cussed at. Or completely ignored when being asked a question.

I keep to myself and move to the side when others wish to walk faster than me. Then, when I step off the escalator in the homicide division, I look left, then right, and consider which direction I should go.

Ultimately, I suppose I probably should have called Archer and asked to stop by.

In reality, I know his answer would have been no. So I choose right and stop with a kind smile when I find a familiar face. “Officer Clay? Hi.”

“Chief Medical Examiner Mayet.” He turns from his colleague, mid-sentence, and gulps, so his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He looks past me, then around. Like he’s expecting Archer to jump out and attack. “How are you, Chief? Do you need something?”

“I was hoping you could tell me where Detectives Malone and Fletcher were. I have information that may help with their current case. But Detective Malone hasn’t been contactable by phone for the last hour.”

“He’s in an interview.” Clay glances at his friend and tips his chin. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Then back to me. “I can lead the way, Chief.”

“Thank you.” I fall into step beside the man, though god knows, he was certainly a boy not that long ago. He’s young. Early twenties, at a stretch. He’s not nearly as young as Cato, but if I didn’t know better, I could place them side by side and almost assume they were the same age.

That’s what life experience does to a boy, I suppose.

“Are you up to date on the Detectives’ current case, Officer Clay?”

“The haunted house?” He holds a door for me and follows behind once I pass through. “Only the pertinent. It’s not my case, and they haven’t requested assistance until today. So I’ve only caught the bridge notes.”

“What assistance did they require today?”

He looks at me again. Curious. Suspicious. But I am the chief medical examiner, which means, in the most technical sense, I have a right to know. Add in that I’m Archer’s wife, and Clay is too afraid to deny me information. “I picked Ms. Redmon up from her home and brought her in to be interviewed.”

“Ms. Redmon is Kallie? The best friend?”

“Yes, Chief. Additionally, I was sent out after that to bring Mrs. Wallace in. The detectives had follow-up questions. That’s Mr. Wallace.” He lowers his voice and nods toward a man sitting on a bench seat. Stricken and exhausted, his entire body slumps and his clothes simply hang. While right beside him, I study the youngest Wallace girl. Heather. Her wild hair and penetrating eyes as they swing from one point of interest to another. He’s broken, and she’s inquisitive. He’s devastated, and she… well, she’s a little too interested in the goings on of a homicide bullpen. “Mr. Wallace has been here almost exclusively since his daughter’s murder,” Clay continues. “He refuses to leave, even when threatened with a citation for loitering.”

“Is he getting into trouble for defying orders?”

“Nah.” He opens another door and lets me through. “A few of my colleagues have attempted to goose him along, purely for his own good. A bed, a shower, fresh clothes. All the things a person needs to feel half human. But most of the force are parents, Chief. No one is gonna ticket him for being here.”

“Are Archer and Fletch aware they’re here?”

“Yes, Chief. They’re monitoring them and sending coffee and food every few hours. Just enough to sustain the pair. We’d rather they went home, but if Wallace insists…”

“Not much you can do about it.” We emerge into a long hallway of doors on each side. “Have you heard what’s happening with Mrs. Wallace?”

“No, Chief. I’m not privy to that information. Her middle daughter has come along too, since the woman seems entirely incapable of holding herself together.”

“Does Mr. Wallace know his wife and middle daughter are here?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. Detective Malone had me bring them up via the loading dock.”

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