Page 44 of Sinful Justice

“She’s…” Tears roll along her cheeks, unimpeded and constant. “She picked a rose from my garden today.”

“Louisa did?” I don’t like standing over the woman… I hate the power play and feel no need to try it with her, so I move to her left and sit on the edge of the ambulance beside her. “Louisa picked a flower?”

Rebecca’s jaw quivers with heartache. “It’s her mom’s birthday.” Steeling her jaw, the woman finally brings her eyes away from the Thoma couple. “They wouldn’t have told you that, Carlene wouldn’t want to bring attention to herself, and Garry is a bastard who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“You don’t like your neighbors, Mrs. Jefferson?”

Shaking her head, she reaches up and swats away a long line of tears. “I adore my neighbors, Detective. Carlene, Louisa, Georgia, and Ayana.” Her voice breaks when a sob escapes her throat. “They’re so sweet. Those baby girls trample my garden and giggle under my kitchen window. They pick flowers, but not often, and only ever for a good reason.”

“A good reason,” Fletch parrots, “like their mother’s birthday?”

Rebecca nods. “Louisa took a rose this morning. She wore a dress with little flowers on the hem and tights beneath that, because it’s still so cold out. Her boots were burgundy,” her voice catches. “They matched the flowers on her dress. She smelled of apples, Detective, and when I asked her, she told me she and her sisters were helping their mother bake homemade apple pie for dessert.”

“And Mr. Thoma?” I hedge. My voice gentle. “What does Mr. Thoma do during the day? What did he do today?”

“He spends all his time in the shed out the back,” she whimpers. “Always screwing around with tools and stuff. He smokes out there.” Her watery eyes come to mine. “I know, because I have to be quick to collect my washing, or it smells like cigarettes. Garry is an unemployable bum, Detective. He thinks he’s superior to everyone else, especially his wife and daughters. He acts grandiose and untouchable, but he is a bum. No one will have him for long. Though, every time he’s fired, it’s their fault.”

“Never his,” Fletch murmurs. “Never taking responsibility for his own behavior.”

“Never.” Rebecca sobs. “Carlene isn’t enough for him. The food she cooks is a bother for him to leave the shed to eat. The clothes she hems, not good enough. The daughters she tends to, although Carlene doesn’t need to be reminded to raise polite, groomed children, Garry makes a sport of demanding their appearances to please him.”

Her cheeks pale as she looks to the ground. “Theyhadto wear dresses. Never pants and never shorts. Theyhadto have washed and styled hair every single day. Clean nails, clean faces. Impeccable manners, and if they ever stepped out of line, Garry would punish them harshly.”

“How so?” Fletch’s jaw tics from the rage he keeps locked up. “How would he punish them?”

“Usually with a switch from the yard,” she chokes out. “He would make them choose their own. Then he’d swat the backs of their legs.”

“Handy place to hit when they’re already wearing dresses,” I grit out. “Convenient.”

“But he never hit their faces,” Rebecca sobs quietly. Her tiny dog squeaks when she crushes it in a hug. “Never would he mess up their faces, Detective, because he thought them beautiful. Too beautiful.”

I’ve yet to look closely at Louisa’s face. I left the body to the doctors, and the scene to me and Fletch, so I can’t say with certainty who the victim favors. “Do the girls look like their mother, Mrs. Jefferson? Do they bear a resemblance to Carlene?”

Rebecca shakes her head, slowly and pointedly. “They look like their father.”

* * *

“Fucking sick.” The moment we’re done with the neighbor, Fletch and I head toward the cruiser. “He’s grooming them, punishing them, and if he’s our perp, he sexually assaulted a little girl who looks just like him.” Reaching the car, Fletch spins and pins me with a glare. “He’s fucking sick!”

“Which means we do the job. We collect the evidence. Then we have him convicted.”

“Or we take him out back and shoot him,” Fletch snarls in response. “Why the fuck should we let him sleep in that house tonight with two more little girls, Arch? If we don’t remove him, we become complicit in the things he does to them.”

“You can’t let it eat at you.” My heart thunders in my chest, but on the outside, I remain calm. Composed. Resting my hands on the roof of the car, I even my breathing and stop myself from joining my partner on his crusade of rage. “We can’t take the job so personally or it’ll kill us.”

“So we ignore the flashing neon signs and let it happen to Georgia or Ayana tomorrow?”

“No, we run the fucking case.”

I was planning to get in the car and head to the George Stanley to follow Louisa and whatever Minka might be able to tell me, but instead, I turn away and snag one of the crime scene investigators as we pass. “I need you to come with me.”

The guy almost fumbles his camera when I tug him in the direction of the house. “Detective?”

“Fletch?” I glance back to find him just two steps behind. “Back me up.”

“I’m with you.” He hurries to keep up and reaches the bottom stair of the porch just one step behind me. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna see how he reacts when we ask about the scratches on his neck and arm. We don’t need them to convict, not if his skin is under her nails. But I wanna see what he does.”

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