Page 62 of Sinful Justice

Once Fletch and I stop in the middle of the room, Carlene closes the door and turns with a soft expression on her face. She places her hands in the pockets of her apron and fiddles with something hidden inside. “I’m not sure what information you expect from me, Detectives. I don’t have anything more than I gave you last night.”

“You seem calmer today.” Fletch’s eyes narrow to curious slits. Last night, Carlene was a sobbing mess. Today, she’s too calm. Too collected. “Did you sleep well?”

“I haven’t slept at all, actually.”

Her cheeks warm as she wanders her daughters’ room. She fixes a pillow that rests lopsided, and closes the closet door when she passes and it sits ajar.

“I wish for us to get this interview over with so I can lay my baby to rest.” She steps closer to us, taking a doll from Louisa’s bed and hugging it to her bosom. “I want my baby back so much, Detectives. I want to rewind to this time yesterday and reset our day.”

Looking up, she meets our eyes with tears in hers. “It seems so simple. Everything changed in one day, so I want to change that day. I would start by not sending her to school. I would enjoy our day more, and maybe I would cook her favorite dinner instead of mine. I wouldn’t argue with her about her vegetables. Or her homework. Or her messy bed.”

Her breath comes out on a choked sob. “I would change everything if I could, and if I could go back a decade…” she lowers her voice, speaking so low, Fletch and I have to lean closer to understand, “I would change so much more. But it’s impossible.” She brings her tone louder again. “It’s done. All of it. And now I’ll never see my baby again. I’ll never enjoy my birthday or cook apple pie. I won’t live my life ever again, Detectives, because she’s not living hers.”

“We understand this is difficult for you, Mrs. Thoma.” Fletch folds his neck a little to catch her eyes. “We know. But we can’t bring her killer to justice without your help.”

“I want to help.” She says the words, but she sits on Louisa’s bed and clamps her lips shut. “I want to help.”

“What did Mayor Tribble say to you when he closed the door?” Quietly, Fletch kneels in front of the shaking woman. “What did he say?”

“That we need a lawyer. He said I mustdemand a lawyer, and that by talking to you without one, I put the family at risk.”

Fletch glances over his shoulder and meets my eyes. Then he looks back to Carlene and gently takes the doll from her. “Who did this to Louisa, Mrs. Thoma? Who hurt her?”

“I don’t know.”

Digging her hand back into her apron pocket, she takes out a folded piece of paper. The smallest cube, folded and folded again to be no more than an inch wide, then she takes back the doll Fletch holds and unzips the dress.

Silence envelops the room while we watch, and in the hall, the floor creaks.

Someone is eavesdropping, just as we expected they would, but as Carlene places the cube of paper inside the dress and refastens the zip, she hands the doll to Fletcher and swallows. “I don’t know who hurt my baby, Detectives. And I don’t know why you continue to ask questions when you should be outside searching for witnesses.”

“Mrs. Thoma—”

“That’s enough now.” The bedroom door swings open, revealing Garry as he barrels in. His eyes are puffy and red too, but my gut says his eyes and Carlene’s ache for entirely different reasons.

His gaze drops instantly to the doll Fletch holds, then he looks to Carlene with accusation blazing in his expression. “What are they doing with that?”

“I thought it might help them in their investigation.” Sniffling, she stands from the bed and steps closer to her husband. She wraps her arm around Garry’s rounded torso and hooks him close, then she glances back to us and firms her lips. “You need to find who did this to Louisa, Detectives. Maybe your sniffer dogs can use her doll to find evidence or something.”

“Uh… sure.” Pushing to his feet, Fletch snags an evidence baggy from the inside pocket of his coat, then he drops the doll inside and zips the plastic closed. “I want to preserve her scent as much as I can,” he murmurs. Looking to Garry, then down to Carlene, he softens his tone. “Please, would you both sit with us a little longer so we can nail down the timeline of Louisa’s night?”

“Yes, of course.” Twining her fingers with Garry’s, Carlene leads him to the door, but peeks back to us. “I need to check in on my daughters. So why don’t we go to the kitchen and have tea?”

* * *

The moment we escape the house and slide into our cruiser, I hit the gas and move us off the Thomas’ street and away from the mayor and the constant frenzy of the media.

“What the fuck did she give you?” As soon as we’re a few blocks away, I glance across to the bagged doll in Fletch’s lap. “What was that?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” He turns the bag over with gentle hands, studying the small purple dress, and beneath it, the lump that is a folded letter Mrs. Thoma purposely hid from her husband and the mayor. “A confession?” he surmises. “A clue? A fucking photograph of who did it?”

“We take it out of that bag in this car, we compromise whatever she gave us,” I warn.

“It’s a letter,” he counters. “It’s not the weapon. We don’t bury the motherfucker with whatever this is. We bury him with whatever it leads us toward.”

“Fuck.” I cut through a yellow light and head toward the precinct. “The mayor’s relationship with these people makes it all so much messier. If we screw up, we’re fucked.”

“Take it to the chief first?”

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