Page 48 of Seeking Justice

A strange sensation twisted in Jo’s stomach, a mix of unease and a sudden wave of dizziness. “What do you mean by that?” she pressed, trying to steady her voice.

Hazel’s laugh was a dry cackle that seemed to echo in the cramped space. “You were there, weren’t you?” she accused, her eyes glinting with a mix of cunning and madness.

Jo’s instincts screamed that Hazel’s grip on reality was tenuous at best. She might possess crucial information, but sifting truth from delusion appeared increasingly complex. Rising from her seat, Jo felt a wave of unsteadiness wash over her.

“Thank you for the tea, Hazel, but I really must go,” she said, her words more rushed than she intended.

“But you’re not leaving yet,” Hazel protested with a sly smile. “I haven’t gotten to the good part.”

“I have to get back to the station,” Jo insisted, her voice firm despite her spinning head. She moved toward the hallway, her steps cautious.

As she paused at the entrance of the dining room, curiosity tugged at her. She hesitated, her hand hovering near the doorframe.

“I wouldn’t go in there, dear.” Hazel’s voice floated from behind, a warning laced with an unsettling undertone.

Jo stepped into the room.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

Sam’s eyes flicked to the empty space where the Crown Vic usually sat as he pulled into the station parking lot. Jo wasn’t back yet? He felt a hint of concern as he let Lucy out and headed into the station. Lucy, trotting beside him, seemed to sense his unease, her ears perked and attentive.

As they entered the station, the smell of fresh paint greeted them. Reese, covered in a splatter of colors, was working on the hallway.

“Hey, Chief,” Reese said.

“Hi. Have you seen Jo?” Sam asked, scanning the area.

“No.” Reese stood, brushing a lock of hair from her face with her paint-streaked hand. “Haven’t seen her since she left with you earlier today.”

Sam shrugged and checked his phone. Jo must be on to something good.

They made their way into the squad room, Lucy’s nails clicking gently against the linoleum. She paused and looked up at the top of the filing cabinet where Major perched. His brilliant green eyes bore into Lucy’s with a mix of superiority and disdain.

Sam was about to continue on to his office when the door opened and Hank Madden wandered in, looking nervous. Interesting. Sam’s instincts, honed by years of experience, told him that Hank had something big on his mind.

“Mr. Madden,” Sam said. “What can I do for you?”

Hank’s gaze darted around the room and finally back to Sam. “I thought a lot after you left, and I have some information…. about April.”

“Shall we talk in my office?” Sam gestured toward his office, and Hank walked ahead. Sam followed him in and shut the door.

Sam took his place behind the desk while Hank settled into the chair in front, the uneven legs causing a slight wobble. Lucy took her spot near the window even though there wasn’t much sun left to the day. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with unspoken words.

Sam watched as Hank’s gaze shifted uneasily to the corkboard adorned with the grim tableau of the crime scene. The widening of Hank’s eyes betrayed his shock. “Is that where she was killed?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

Sam responded with a simple nod, his keen eyes fixed on Hank, observing every nuance of his reaction.

Hank’s gaze darted away from the corkboard, his throat bobbing with rapid, nervous swallows. The man’s discomfort was almost palpable, filling the small office with a tense air. Sam waited patiently, his detective instincts kicking in. There was an authenticity to Hank’s reaction that couldn’t be easily feigned. Hank hadn’t seen this crime scene before. He wasn’t the killer.

“What did you want to tell me, Hank? Something you couldn’t tell me before or something you just remembered?” Sam asked finally. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Hank fidgeted in his seat, his eyes darting everywhere but at the corkboard. “I… uh, Danika doesn’t know I’m here. She’s at work,” he stammered.

“I see.” Sam smiled to urge Hank on.

Hank sighed. “The truth is I did meet with April the night she died. But she was alive when I left her, I swear.”

Upon Hank’s admission, Sam leaned forward, his demeanor calm yet assertive. “Why did you lie about meeting her, Hank?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of scrutiny.

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