Page 82 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“I want to know what you’re doing to find the person who tried to kill my sister,” Rocco said with an edge to his voice, like he couldn’t believe the detective didn’t know why they were there.

“Tried?” the detective said slowly.

But Rocco wasn’t flustered at all. “Yeah, tried, because I don’t believe she’s dead. You haven’t found a body, have you?”

“Well, no, but ...”

“But nothing. I’m her brother. And I’m going to believe she’s alive until I see definitive proof otherwise. Like a body. And you definitely can’t rule it a suicide after only three days.”

The detective’s mouth dipped into a deep frown beneath his bushy mustache. “I understand that, Mr. Barber. And we haven’t officially ruled anything yet. But we are paying attention to the evidence and the eyewitness statements. We have scuba divers in the water, the coast guard is patrolling the shores and helicopters are searching everywhere else, but so far all that’s turned up is her dress. However, given everything we know so far … the eyewitness statements from those on the yacht, we know that she was distraught after seeing Ms. Blakely. Various other things occurred as—”

“Like what?” Rocco demanded.

“A few people said she rudely refused any interviews, and just wanted to be alone. She was reserved and distant and from what one waiter said—very drunk.”

“That’s bullshit,” Clint blurted out, causing the detective and Rocco to look at him with suspicion. He grunted and lifted one shoulder. “What I mean is, Rocco, you and I both know that Brooke isn’t a big drinker. She might have one or two glasses of champagne for an entire evening. She wouldn’t have been drunk. Sad? Yes. Upset? Probably. Her ex’s side piece was there. But drunk? I don’t believe it. And maybe she was rude because people wouldn’t leave her alone. I know after an hour in a crowd I’m a lot less nice to people. Hell, after ten minutes in a crowd, I’m done.”

Rocco snorted then nodded.

The detective grunted like he didn’t agree. “Maybe she decided to start drinking more when she saw Ms. Blakely? A form of coping with an unfavorable circumstance.”

“So?” Rocco shrugged. “Even if she was drunk, that’s not enough evidence to point you toward suicide. It’s more likely she just fell over then. I think you’re just looking for an easy way to wrap up this case. This isn't Occam's razor. We need to think zebras not horses. Just because you can’t find anyone who pushed her over, you’re leaning toward it being a suicide, doesn’t mean that it was. I know my sister and she would never take her own life. Someone pushed her. I know it. So do your job and find the person.”

The detective cleared his throat. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Barber, however given the conditions of the current, and where she fell into the water, we have to be realistic. Our team is doing everything they can, but I think you need to prepare yourself. This has evolved from a rescue mission to a recovery mission. I’m very sorry.”

“So you’re not even looking for her killer?”

“We need to find a body, first.”

“And if you don’t? The murderer gets off scot free? What the fuck?”

The detective was beginning to lose his patience. “As I said, we have testimonies from several eyewitnesses, as well as her former partner that Brooke was distraught after their breakup.”

Rocco scoffed and shook his head as he glanced around the foyer, looking for someone to appeal to and agreed with him that this detective was being a lazy son of a bitch.

His gaze landed on Clint. “I don’t know about you, Clint, but I’m distraught right now. However, I’m not thinking about hurling myself in front of a bus on the freeway or jumping off a yacht into the icy Puget Sound. You?”

Clint shook his head in solidarity with Rocco.

The detective puffed out his chest, now he reminded Clint of a big fat bird trying to intimidate a younger, more attractive and more viral male. “Mr. Barber, I assure you we are doing everything—”

“No, you’re fucking not,” Rocco exclaimed, raising his voice enough to make the woman behind the Plexiglass look up. The detective remained calm. “My sister is missing. She is missing. You have no body, and can’t legally declare her dead for seven years without a body. So she is missing. And you fat fucks are doing what you always do, which is not fucking enough. God forbid you miss a fucking meal to actually look for any clues regarding my sister and who might have tried to kill her.”

The detective’s cool veneer finally shattered. His nostrils flared, and his complexion grew ruddy. “Mr. Barber!”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on out here?” came a smooth male voice.

Clint glanced at the side door the detective had come through to find another police officer, this one younger—probably late thirties—in full uniform, and with a head of thick red hair. His badge said Sgt. I. Fox.

“This is Brooke Barker’s brother,” the detective gritted out. “Says we’re not doing enough with her case.”

Sergeant Fox slapped a big palm on the detective’s shoulder. “You’re at the end of your shift, Marv?”

The detective grunted and nodded. He did have some pretty dark smudges beneath his eyes, and the lines on his face looked particularly deep, even for a man who was probably in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. This guy had seen some shit during his career. No doubt about it.

“Vince just put on a new pot of coffee, and I picked up some pastries from Lilac and Lavender. They’re in the breakroom. Go grab something. We don’t want your insulin level to drop again. That was scary. Poor Nancy was so upset when we called her from the hospital. And we don’t want to upset your wife again, do we?”

The detective grunted once again. “Woman worries too damn much,” he murmured as he fixed Rocco with a steely glare, then took off back through the door.

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