Page 43 of Sinful Justice

“Yes.”

“And, can I confirm, the shed is a different space than the garage? Detached or attached to the home?”

“Detached,” he says gruffly. “Out the back.”

“Great.” I pretend to write that down too. “Is there any reason you can think of that your daughter would come outside in this weather?” I look around us, to the snow sticking to the grass, and to the moon that desperately tries to break past the clouds. “It’s freezing out, Mr. Thoma. She’s wearing a nightgown. No shoes, no hat, no coat.”

On my left, Mrs. Thoma’s body weakens. Her shoulders slump and her chest caves. But in front of me, her husband does the opposite. Being questioned pisses him off, and with every inquiry, he grows angrier, larger, like he thinks standing taller will intimidate a couple of cops away from their investigation.

“Could she have been coming out to meet someone?” I look to the wife. “I know she’s only ten, but maybe she has a neighborhood friend she might like to sneak out to see?”

Mrs. Thoma shakes her head and cries.

“Could she have come looking for her father?” I look back at him. “Could she have come outside to search for you?”

“No,” he snarls. “She was told to stay inside. She knows not to come out into the cold. And whoever did that to her…” He steps closer, growing angrier. “Whoever violated her like that, and the blood…” His nostrils flare. “You better catch them before I do. Otherwise, I’ll kill ‘em with my own hands.”

Nodding, I glance down for a show of solemnity, then I offer my hand again and wait for him to take it. “Leave that up to us, Mr. Thoma. You’re needed here now, with your wife and daughters.” Dropping his hand, I look to Mrs. Thoma and feel bad for her.

She’s married to a killer. An abuser. A pedophile and a rapist.

My job now is to prove it.

“I’ve only just begun my investigation, Mrs. Thoma, but please trust me to do this right. I’ll be back tomorrow to discuss this some more. But in the meantime,” I look to her husband, “take care of one another. Be there for each other.”

Taking two business cards from my pocket, I offer one to each of the Thomas. “If there’s anything you remember, any detail you think I should know, please call me any time, day or night.” Stepping back, I paste on a fake smile for the husband. Then I look to Fletch and start walking. “Neighbor found the body?”

“Rebecca Jefferson.” He speaks, knowing Mr. and Mrs. Thoma can still hear us. “She was letting her dog out to pee before bedtime, when she thought she saw a disturbance in the bushes. She wandered over and found what she found. Screamed blue murder and called it in on her cell phone. She didn’t leave Louisa’s side until the cruisers arrived on scene. Mrs. Thoma apparently heard her and came out. When uniforms and paramedics arrived on scene, the women had to be dragged away.”

The moment we’re far enough from the Thomas, Fletch circles on me and sneers, “He stepped out of the house while we were talking to his wife.”

“Yep.”

“He didn’t evenlookat his daughter, and even if he had, Minka covered her.”

“Uh huh.”

“So how the fuck did he know she’d been violated? Or that there was blood?”

“Exactly.”

Taking a detour before getting to the neighbor, I head back toward Minka and Aubree. The moment we’re close enough that the scent of her shampoo invades my lungs and her perfume makes my nose twitch, Minka’s shoulders come up defensively. If I can smell her, then no doubt, she knows I’m near too.

With her camera in hand, Minka turns, and still she jolts, even knowing I was near, when our eyes meet.

“I need you to get the samples under Louisa’s nails as soon as possible.”

Her gaze, darker than I’ve seen it, searches mine. “You know who did it?”

“I can’t say until my medical examiner does her job and gets me her reports. I need to know whose skin and blood is under her nails. But yeah,” I grit my teeth and glance back to watch the asshole Thoma stand over his poor wife. He’s talkingather, demanding her compliance, maybe. Her silence, even. “I know who did it. I know he doesn’t wanna be questioned. And they have more daughters than this one.” I look back to Louisa’s broken body lying in the snow. “We have to move fast, or there might be more.”

“Okay.” She turns to Aubree and drops her camera in the shared bag. “We’ve documented the scene as best we can. Let’s get transport in. We’ll move her in-house and run those labs.” She glances back to me. “I’ll work it tonight and have the answers to you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

Turning, I head toward the second ambulance and slow in front of the devastated neighbor. She cuddles a small, ugly, fluffy dog in her lap and crushes him in her steely grip. But though Fletch and I step forward, her eyes stay plastered on the other ambulance, thirty feet from where we stand.

“Mrs. Jefferson?” I fold a little lower and try to bring the woman’s attention to me. “Hello. My name is Detective Archer Malone.” I don’t offer my hand; she doesn’t want to release the dog, and I have no desire to bring her more discomfort. “This is Detective Charlie Fletcher. We’re the leads working on Louisa’s case. I’m going to record this conversation. Is that okay with you?”

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