Page 27 of Little Shattered Dreams

“You said you became a detective to help people. What other reasons led you to this line of work?”

I felt a lump in my throat, expanding and shifting as time passed. The answer to his question, the raw honesty of it all was right there within me, and yet I was hesitant to utter it.

But I did.

“I became a detective because my father was a detective,” I said. “Ever since I was a girl the only thing I ever wanted was to be like him.”

“Why?”

“It’s like I told you before,” I said, “he was a great man.”

“At what age did you decide you would follow in your father’s footsteps?”

With my eyes still closed, memories flooded in. All the times I had woken earlier than everyone else in the family, before the sun ever came up. It was hard to drag myself out of bed, out from under the coziness of my covers. But my father was an early riser. I knew I’d find him in the kitchen reading the morning paper, as he ate a plate of eggs and sipped on a cup of coffee. He never sat for long. Ten minutes, twenty if I was lucky. But it was my time, and what made it even more special is the fact we were alone together. It was just us.

Karl squeezed my hands. “Permit me to ask you one last time, why did you become a detective?”

Before I had the chance to rein myself in, I was spilling my soul to a man I barely knew. “There’s something about being a detective that makes me feel bonded to my father, even though he’s gone. It keeps the memory of him alive. It reminds me of all the memories I had with him before he died. Memories I’d do anything to preserve. In some strange way, I feel like I’m carrying a piece of him around with me, a piece of his legacy I’m carrying on, a piece I wouldn’t have otherwise.

A single tear ran down my face, and I broke contact with Karl, wiping it away.

This is not happening.

This is not happening.

This is not happening.

Except it was happening, and I couldn't deny it.

CHAPTER12

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Karl asked.

“It wasn’t easy,” I said.

“How do you feel now?”

“Ready to talk about Quinn.”

“And we will, but first I wanted to congratulate you on your breakthrough today. It was a big step, and I do understand it wasn’t easy for you.”

In an effort to divert the conversation away from me, I said, “How many sessions did you have with Quinn before she died?”

“Two. One the first day, and one the second.”

“Grace told me Quinn had been having nightmares about being murdered.”

He shook his head, his expression grim. “I gave Grace that information in confidence.”

“Why does it matter now? Quinn is dead. If Quinn told you something that can help me figure out why she was murdered, don’t you think it would be better to tell me about it?”

“Whether she’s alive or dead, it doesn’t change the fact that she confided in me. I don’t feel right discussing our conversations with you or anyone.”

“Keeping someone’s confidence is important, but Quinn’s daughter deserves to know why her mother was taken from her. Unless you’re a licensed therapist, I see no reason why you shouldn’t share what you know with me.”

Karl looked me in the eye.

He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to—his silence told me everything.

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