Page 12 of Vicious Hearts

Twenty-four hours later…

Roxy

My cell phone starts ringing as I hit the bell again. A female officer comes to the desk and sighs when she sees me.

"Wanna get that?" she asks.

"Get Hillard. I know he's here. I saw him arrive."

She looks me up and down before turning her back and heading into the bullpen. She crosses the floor and raps on the door of a small office.

I snatch the phone from my pocket and answer it.

“Hi, Moira.”

"Rox, you're out! Why didn't you tell me?"

Moira Coffey is one of the trustees at Always Home, and she's like a mom to me. Her husband, Senator Coffey, was shot dead by Leo after the senator got mixed up in something that wasn't his business. Not to say he didn't deserve it—Coffey was a pedophile, known to hold horrible little parties for his dodgy friends. His wife and young son, Eddie, were taken hostage while all the craziness went down but released unharmed shortly after it was over.

Moira knew nothing about her husband's activities. She was mortified when the truth came out, and she's now a staunch advocate of victims' rights, giving her patronage to children's charities across the nation.

"I was home last night, but I went straight to bed. I only woke up an hour ago."

"Jesus. I'm sorry I didn't know. Oliver had me shredding old files for what felt like an eternity."

Ah yes. The scourge of the annual 'big tidy.'

My manager Oliver is the type never to stop something once he starts. So if he wants to reorganize the filing system, we're doing it until it's done. The fact that he technically works for Moira makes no difference—he can strong-arm her into anything. I think she likes to feel useful.

"Rather you than me,” I say. “Will you tell him I will be back next week? I need to sort some stuff out."

"What happened? The hospital wouldn't tell us anything. We weren't even allowed to see you."

"I got mugged on the walk home from work. They stitched me up, but I had a fit, so they kept me asleep while they checked me over. I'm fine now. Just a little bit achy."

I rehearsed this little speech a few times to ensure I could keep my voice level and not trip over any of the words.

I glance up to see Detective Hillard walking toward me. I'm surprised he didn't put up more of a fight. He flips the flap on the desk and beckons me through.

"Gotta go, Moira. Let Ali know I'm okay and tell Oliver I'll come by the office later."

I put my phone back in my pocket and extend my hand to Hillard. He looks at it and turns away, throwing the words over his shoulder.

"Come through, Roxanne, and stop the bullshit."

* * *

Detective Tate Hillard isn't my biggest fan.

Since I finished my counseling course, I've been working towards criminology and forensic psych credits. That's why I'm allowed to volunteer as an advocate for prisoners and psych hospital inmates, and that's how I met Simon Farraday.

I didn't believe Farraday was The Dollmaker. He's too disorganized, too scatter-gun. Despite his calm and cooperative demeanor throughout the trial, his poor mental health was cited as the reason for his sickening actions. No motive ever emerged, and he never volunteered one.

The jury was dazzled by Farraday's graphic taped confession but outside the courtroom, there were rumblings about gaps in the prosecution's case. It made no difference—he was found legally insane and couldn't be sentenced to death. Arguably an indeterminate period in a psych hospital is worse, and many said that was the hell he deserved.

When the family liaison work ended, his wife Lois took her child and moved out of the area under witness protection, swearing never to return. I went to give Farraday the news in person because she asked me to, and he took it hard. Really hard. He was on suicide watch for a fortnight, and shit got weird. Rambling, crying, talking to nothing. He pulled out his eyelashes, worried they were 'picking up signals.' Farraday's lawyer tried to speak with him, but he was never lucid enough to instruct, which is where I came in.

Farraday appointed me to assist him, as is his right. Hillard can't reasonably refuse to engage with me, but he's a master of malicious compliance, and I neverquiteget what I want. I've been needling him for months, asking for files, evidence reviews, and transcripts. It's a colossal waste of everybody's time.

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