Page 12 of 4th Silence
I’d heard about this from Mom just this morning. Her outrage over the contamination. “Given your familiarity, what are your thoughts about the possibility of reopening the case?”
“It’s still an open cold case. We simply haven’t had any new evidence that would warrant putting an investigator on it full-time. All the evidence collected so far has been reviewed, including by me. If I thought something was missed, I’d be all over it. I can promise you that.”
Beside me, Matt shifts, angling his body and propping a shoulder against the wall. “You mentioned the DNA. It’s been thirty years. There’s a genetic genealogy research lab we use. They have cutting-edge technology. Why not bring them in? See what they can and can’t do with what you have.”
“We’ve discussed it,” he says.
“And?”
He swings his gaze to me. “It’s expensive.” His hand immediately goes up. “From a government funding perspective. We can’t ask taxpayers to take that on. And, yes, my family has money. We’ve discussed it, though my mother has concerns about giving my aunt and uncle false hope.”
Oh. Puh-lease. False hope, my butt. Mary Hartman, matriarch of the famed Hartman clan, wants to avoid the very thing my mother has just done.
Media frenzy.
Reporters hanging out at the Hartman gate and annoying the snooty neighbors who want to keep the riffraff out.
“You have to agree,” I say, “the lack of closure on this case is a stain on not only the police department but the DA’s office as well. Not to mention getting justice for your cousin.”
My sister reaches for me, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. She wants me to back off. To tone it down.
Catch more flies with honey.
I’ve always hated that saying.
Still, she might be right here. Alienating a Deputy DA, not to mention a family member of the victim, might not be my best approach.
I shake off my thoughts. “Sorry,” I blurt. “I’m tired, and these unsolved cases, particularly ones involving children, get me riled.”
Alex’s dark eyes meet my gaze. “No apology necessary. I completely understand. Doing what I do, it’s hard to stomach.”
“What about the panic room?” Matt asks. “What was the deal with that?”
Alex shifts to Matt. “It was a safety measure. My mother’s idea, in case we had an emergency. There’s an underground tunnel that connects to a cottage on the property. Say, in case of a fire or an intruder, we had an escape.”
How very Clue-like.
Charlie makes a slow circle with her hand. “So, it could be used as a safe room or an escape route?”
“Right. Though we’ve never had to use it.”
An underground tunnel? Was that really necessary? I mean, these people were rich, but it wasn’t as if the president was in residence.
“Forgive me,” I say, “but it seems kind of …”
“Extreme?” Alex adds helpfully with a faint chuckle. “It is. It was. At the time, my family was receiving threats due to Hartman Enterprises’ financial issues and necessary layoffs. As Charlie knows, there are many unstable individuals out there. Our security team proposed the safe room idea, and my mother implemented it.”
“But the project was still under construction then?”
“It was. After the murder, my mother was more determined than ever. At the time of Tiff’s death, it had been dug out but not finished.”
“So,” Charlie says, “someone could have walked through it and reached the house?”
“As I recall, the actual opening connecting the tunnel to the panic room hadn’t been completed. They wouldn’t have been able to access the house that way.”
Alex pauses, clears his throat, and for just a second, he presses his lips together. It’s barely visible, but his prosecutorial mask, that refined demeanor, finally slips. The conversation, all this talk about his dead cousin, is catching up with him. Crumbling his emotional walls.
Like me, he was a child forced to deal with tragedy, and that never leaves you.
