Page 6 of Bad Mother

“Okay,” Kat said. “I’m glad you walked in when you did. Lucky timing on our part. Thanks, Ollie.”

Ollie nodded, shooting a quick glance at Sienna.

“Hi, Ollie,” Sienna said. “I’m Sienna Walker, by the way. I just started. Thank you for your help. If anything else comes to you about the cards, let us know, okay?”

He bobbed his head, beginning to push the garbage can toward the door. “Yeah, I will. No problem.” He ducked out the door, and it closed with a soft click behind him.

Kat was writing something on the pad of paper in front of her. “We need to find out all the places in town where those cards are sold and see who bought a deck recently. Hell, maybe the perp used a credit card. Wouldn’tthatbe a lucky break? What do you say we make a trip to the Emerald Isle after we meet with the bus driver? It seems like a good place to... you okay?” she asked when she looked up at Sienna.

Sienna forced a smile. “Of course. Yeah, that sounds like a good place to start. I’m just a little disappointed. I thought we might have a rare deck of cards that would serve as a bigger lead.” And despite her being thrown off kilter for a moment there, what she’d said was true.

The door opened again, and Sergeant Dahlen walked in, a briefcase in hand, wearing a suit in a shade of pale gray blue that looked madejust for her. They all greeted each other, and she set her briefcase on the table before taking a seat.

“Tell us Art had something for us to go on,” Kat said.

“He still has several tests to run, but he took receipt of the body as soon as she came in early this morning and was able to do an initial report,” Ingrid said, pulling her briefcase toward her and removing a brown accordion file folder. She unlooped the string holding it closed as she spoke. “First, cause of death was definitely strangulation. Art’s best guess is some type of cord, as there were no rope fibers and it was thin but not as sharp as a wire.” Sienna saw that Kat was taking notes, but she had never been a notetaker, unless it was information she knew she wouldn’t have access to later and might forget or mix up the particulars. But some people wrote everything down. Her ex-partner, Garrod, had been that way too. At the thought of the man she’d partnered with for five years, a heaviness entered her chest. She missed him. He’d been a friend, a sort of uncle figure, and she’d become close with his family too.

She wondered how many surrogate families life would force her to say goodbye to before she was ready. And simultaneously felt a swirl of gratitude that she’d been gifted even one. She gave herself an internal shake. Her mind had only wandered for a few seconds, but she owed the victim her complete focus on this case. And time was of the essence. The first few days after a murder were crucial as far as solving the crime. AndGod, she wanted to solve the crime, not just for the poor woman who’d lost her life but because she was bound and determined to prove her worth to this department after what had happened at the last.

Ingrid removed a stapled stack of papers—the initial ME report, presumably—and began flipping through them, reading the details that might be relevant. “Art did find something odd in her clothing. I’ll show you that after I go over the particulars of the autopsy so you’re both in the loop about that.” She paused, glancing at the paper and tapping the table with one french-polished fingernail. “She’d eaten recently. Steak, potatoes, and green beans. A more thorough toxicology report will becoming soon. But she had inhaled chloroform. There were traces in her lungs and also on her nose and mouth.”

“The killer drugged her.”

Ingrid gave a slight nod, continuing to read from the report. “She had bruising on her wrists and her ankles where she’d struggled against the duct tape, but other than that, no injuries, sexual or otherwise.”

“So it could have been a woman who bound her to the chair and strangled her,” Sienna said.

“Yeah, but it’d have to be one strong-ass lady to have carried her up the slope where she was found,” Kat pointed out.

“How much did the victim weigh?” Sienna asked, thinking of the petite woman she’d seen earlier that morning.

“One hundred sixteen pounds,” Ingrid said after flipping a page on the report.

“Slight, then,” Sienna said. “And the chair couldn’t have weighed more than a couple pounds.”

“Kat’s correct—it would have to be a strong woman,” Ingrid said, “but I don’t think we can be certain about gender at this point.”

“Although,” Kat pointed out, “strangulation generally indicates a personal connection to the victim. Anger. Jealousy. And the steak dinner? It could have been a date.”

“Could be,” their sergeant agreed. “But even so, it wasn’t necessarily the person she went on a date with that killed her.”

Kat made a clicking sound and tapped the point of her pen on the pad. She told Ingrid about Ollie and the design on the cards.

“It’s a specific place to start, at least,” Ingrid said. “But those cards could be sold in hundreds of places in the city.” She pulled an evidence bag holding a piece of paper from her briefcase and handed it to Sienna, who set it between her and Kat. It was a piece of notebook paper that was creased as though it had once been folded in quarters. It was filled with writing, the penmanship neat and tidy.

“That was found in the waistband of the victim’s skirt,” Ingrid said.

Sienna leaned forward, as did Kat, smoothing the plastic covering the paper, and they began to read.

I was thirteen when my mother killed my father. She had to; there was really no other choice. You see, the man was a hateful bastard who didn’t deserve to call himself Father. My mother had given him some amount of leeway, being that he had spent much of my life on the road, working as a salesman, and we didn’t have to put up with him on a regular basis. And though neither of us appreciated his volatile presence or loathsome personality, wedidappreciate the paycheck he dropped off before he, again, bent his tall frame into his car and drove out of town. He must have exhibited some measure of likability at some point because he’d turned Mother’s head, but whatever qualities had originally lured her in, she never explained. In any case, I’d steer clear of him when he was home, lest he get it in his mind I had slighted him in some way and take out his aggression using his belt or his fists or, once, a cat-shaped doorstop that resulted in the complete loss of my hearing in one ear and a headache that lasted more than a month.

Mother fumed after that one, and though she didn’t say a word, I could tell she was plotting his demise.

“Cat got your tongue, Danny Boy?” she would say when we were alone and I was particularly quiet.

“No, Mother,” I would reply, sharing a secret smile. “But he did a number on my ear.” And then we would laugh and laugh because, though we hadn’t spoken of it, we both knew Father wasn’t long for theworld and that Mother was going to give him his just deserts at the first opportunity. She didn’t need to say a word. I had seen it clearly in her eyes.

Kat finished seconds before Sienna and sat back in her chair. Confused, Sienna looked up at Ingrid once she’d finished reading. “Is this from the killer?”

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