Page 86 of Sinful Justice

ARCHER

“You and Carlene argued, didn’t you?” I press my hands to the steel table separating me from Thoma and his lawyer. “Neighbors have already confirmed they heard shouting.”

“I didn’t kill my wife.” Garry Thoma is, by all accounts, emotional about his wife’s passing. More emotional than he was over his daughter’s. “I didn’t touch her.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I slam my palm against the tabletop and scare Thoma in his seat. “We have you on the scene, Garry. We have witness reports that prove you’d been fighting all morning. We have the M.E.’s account that says a man’s hands wrapped around Carlene’s arms—hands similar in size to yours, Garry.”

“I didn’t hurt my wife.”

“Those same handprints, I suspect, once the medical examiners get a swing at them, will match those marking Louisa’s face and neck.”

“I didn’t hurt my wife!”

“But you did hurt your daughter?” I drop into the chair opposite Garry and lean closer. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Restrain yourself, Detective Malone.” Terrance Dulane, Garry’s lawyer—sent straight from the mayor’s office—sits in serene calmness. He smiles for me and twines his fingers together atop a manilla folder. “You’re crossing into harassment territory, and I can assure you, the mayor won’t be pleased to find out his city employees operate with such a lack of…” He wrinkles his nose like he tastes something unpleasant. “Tact.”

“My tact inside this room has nothing to do with the guy paying our salaries, counselor.” I glance back to Garry. “We have handprints, Thoma. We have DNA being processed by the labs today. We have a call in to Judge Ruth, and now that we have you here in this room, I suspect that warrant will be granted sooner rather than later.”

Finally, Dulane appears somewhat concerned. “For what purpose, Detective?”

“Detective Fletcher and I have reason to believe there’s a diary inside your client’s home. A diary that will finger Louisa’s abuser, and later, her murderer.” I lean closer and sneer, “Did you know she was systematically abused? Not just on Monday. Not just on her last day. But constant, creepy advances. Relentless punishment if she didn’t do as her abuser asked of her?”

I shake my head and eye the lawyer fidgeting on Thoma’s left. “Of course you know.” I bring my attention back to Garry. “You knew. But what you didn’t know is that she wrote about it. She wrote in detail, she wrote about wanting to protect her sisters from the same fate, and now, even in her death, she’ll be her own hero.

“Today’s homicide was tragic, Garry. It was unnecessary and cruel, especially now that your daughters will be left alone in this world, but your lapse in judgment and inability to control your emotions will guarantee that warrant is in my hands within the hour.”

I smirk when his red-rimmed eyes come up to mine. “Sixty minutes. And then this is all done.”

“That means you have an hour to come clean.” Fletch sits on the corner of the table and forces a grin. “One single hour to give us your side in all this. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Carlene threatened you. Or maybe you’re a pencil dick piece of shit rapist who was on the verge of being exposed. Regardless, Thoma, unless you speak to us, we can’t throw our weight behind you when the DA arrives to discuss deals.”

Fletch peeks across at me. “We could get him maybe twenty-five behind bars, right?”

“Better than life,” I agree. “And it’s sure as hell better than the chair.”

“Detectives.” Dulane’s face is hard like stone. “You know full well we do not have the death penalty in this state. What you are doing is harassment and intimidation—neither of which I’ll allow to continue.”

“I didn’t kill my wife,” Garry cries so big fat crocodile tears slide along his pockmarked cheeks. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Someone did.” Pushing up from my chair, I throw down a file of photos I took from Minka’s office. On top, pictures of Louisa’s mangled body sit on gory show. Beneath those, if either man cares to look, will be pictures Aubree already sent to my email and Fletch printed out on the way in here.

“Someone killed your wife and daughter, Mr. Thoma. Two different nights. Two different causes of death. But both share a similar sick sense of passion. Of vindictiveness. And ya wanna know what else they have in common?” I shove my chair in and lean closer. “You. You were there both times. You have no alibi for either crime. And when we get that diary, we’ll have motive. You raped that little girl.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did, over and over. You dogged her steps and turned her life into a living hell. She was ten!”

“I didn’t kill my daughter!”

“She was braver than you’ll ever know. And the reason we know about this diary?” I push up tall and take a step back. “Your wife gave us a page. Right under your nose. Right inside the home you ruled with an iron fist and the end of a bloody broomstick. Louisa got her bravery from her mother, Garry. And both of them stood up and told somebody what a sick motherfucker you are.”

“I didn’t kill them!”

“Detectives.” Dulane shoves up so his chair scrapes along the floor. “I want the room with my client.”

“You can have it.” Turning away, I snag the recorder from the table and place my thumb over the button. “End of interview. Fletch?”

“Yup.” Slowly, he drags his murderous eyes away from Garry and over to the door.

---