Page 5 of Justice Delayed

Ruby’s eyes glittered as she drove the knife home. “Yes, my niece. The one who killed my one-year-old son.”

ChapterThree

“Killed your son?” Brogan stopped writing in his notebook to gape at the older woman. His gaze traveled to Melender, who clutched the squeegee and spray bottle. Clearly, she’d been caught off guard by the woman showing up at her place of employment and accusing her of murder.

“That’s right.” The cleaner’s accuser narrowed her eyes. “For a reporter, you don’t know much, do you?”

The woman had mistakenly assumed he knew about the death, but Brogan couldn’t recall anyone named Melender Harman connected with the killing of a toddler since he’d been at theHerald. He scrambled for a response that would mollify the woman in hopes of eliciting more information.

“I’ve been out of this area covering other stories for a while and only returned last year. Why don’t you fill me in on some of the details?”

Her lips thinned, but she complied. “Then allow me to catch you up.” Sarcasm clung to every word like kudzu on a roadside sign. “I’m Ruby Harman Thompson. My husband is Quentin Thompson of Thompson Energy.”

That explained the expensive air the woman wore like an invisible mink coat.

Mrs. Thompson continued, “Nineteen years ago, my brother’s only child—Melender Harman—killed my son Jesse.”

A cold case. Brogan frowned. It seemed unlikely the police would let the murder of a toddler go unsolved for nearly two decades. Before Brogan could question Mrs. Thompson, an older man with silver-streaked hair and wire-rimmed glasses hurried into the store.

“Ruby!” He stopped short at the sight of the four of them standing near the windows.

“Quentin.” Mrs. Thompson pointed a finger at Melender. “The person who killed my baby is being called a heroine.” Mrs. Thompson started crying, sobs shaking her thin shoulders. “In the name of God, why won’t she tell me where my baby is so I can bring him home!”

Mr. Thompson pulled his wife into his arms, his hand rubbing her back. “Now, Ruby. Calm down.” The man barely gave Brogan and Seth a second glance and only flicked his gaze to Melender for a split second before refocusing on his wife. “This isn’t the time or the place for this.”

“I don’t care. I had to let her know we haven’t forgotten what she did.”

“I know, my dear.” The older man cradled his wife as if she were a piece of porcelain.

“Mr. Thompson? I’m Brogan Gilmore with theNorthern Virginia Herald.” Brogan spoke quickly, sensing that Thompson was about to bolt with his wife. “May I call you at a more convenient time to speak to you and your wife about this matter?”

“Please, Quentin,” Mrs. Thompson said as she pushed away from her husband. “Say you’ll speak to him. We have to get the truth out about what she did.”

He barely glanced Brogan’s way as he answered. “Call my office on Monday.”

Brogan jotted the date in his notebook, biting back the flood of questions that threatened to trip off his tongue.

“It’s very late.” Mr. Thompson spoke softly to his wife. “Let’s go home.”

At his words, Mrs. Thompson frowned. “I’m not ready to go yet.”

“Come along, my dear.” Mr. Thompson guided her to the door with a firm hand on her back.

Mrs. Thompson started to argue, but her husband leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Then the older woman turned to spear Brogan with a glance. “Mr. Gilmore, I expect your next story to have the truth about this person. People need to know she’s not heroic at all.”

As the Thompsons left the store, Brogan nodded to acknowledge her words. Already, his fingers itched to get to his computer to search for what had happened to little Jesse Thompson.

Beside him, Seth blew out a breath. “Wow, that was kind of wild. And here I thought this would be a rather humdrum assignment.” He leaned closer to Brogan. “Want me to snap a few pics of her working?”

Brogan had nearly forgotten Melender’s presence. He could have sworn he’d seen tears in her eyes when Mrs. Thompson accused her of killing Jesse, but now she ran her squeegee down a window as if nothing had happened. Until he knew more, he would be careful not to antagonize Melender. If there was a bigger story here, he needed to make sure he would have access to the key players.

“She doesn’t want her photo taken.”

Seth fiddled with his camera lens. “What if we didn’t show her face?”

Brogan considered it. “Let me ask.” He walked a few steps toward Melender. “Ms. Harman?”

Melender wiped down the squeegee with a rag, keeping her head down. “I’m working.”

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