“But you weren’t.”
“Can’t help what other people think. Besides, it’s only a matter of time, and she’s looking impatient.” Amanda butted her head toward Greer. She felt like she was careening down a steep hill without brakes, unable to stop, only able to steer.
“Fine,” Becky huffed out. “But, just so you know, seeing him dead isn’t going to help. You might think it will, but it won’t.”
Tendrils of anger twisted through her, squeezing, gripping, like vines to brick, working to pry the stone loose and destroy the structure. “How could you possibly know? That man took my—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. There were times she battled with who was truly to blame for the accident. If she hadn’t insisted that Kevin look at some stupid meme on her phone, maybe he’d have had a chance to react in time.
Becky put a hand on her arm. “I know.” With that, she walked back to her cruiser to resume guarding the crime scene.
Amanda clenched her jaw and worked to calm her temper. She flashed a cordial smile as she approached Greer. “Sergeant,” she greeted her. “I’m Detective Steele from Homicide with Prince William County Police Department.” She held up her badge with a shaky hand.
“Sergeant Greer,” she said stiffly, glancing past Amanda to Becky, likely curious about their interaction.
Amanda tucked her badge away and peacocked her stance. She wanted to give the absolute appearance that she belonged there. “Has the medical examiner’s office been called?”
The sergeant’s attention shifted back to her. “Yes, of course, and crime scene investigators from Forensics.”
“Mind if I—” Amanda gestured toward the room. Number ten.
“Not at all.”
Amanda stepped over an upturned running shoe just inside the doorway and stopped.
Chad Palmer was supine on the bed beside two empty handles of whiskey. A rigored hand was wrapped around one of them. His eyes were shut, but there was vomit around his nose and mouth. She turned away at the waft of stench hitting her nose, but otherwise she was unmoved. Numb, indifferent, as if she were watching a scene from outside of herself.
The man she’d villainized appeared vulnerable in death, soft, human… even harmless. A man of thirty-seven, only two years older than she. But she could never forget the evil he’d inflicted.
The black pavement is glistening from the rain, making it look like they’re driving on a blanket of a million sparkling diamonds. Fat drops pitter-patter against the windshield and the wipers squeak on every other pass.
“I spy something that is… black,” Lindsey says amid giggles.
I turn and smile at my baby girl. Her ginger curls fall as ringlets over her shoulders.
“Give me a clue,” Kevin says, keeping his attention on the road. “Is it outside?”
“Yes.” Another gaggle of laughter, the sound of a cherub.
My phone pings with a message from my sister, Kristen. I laugh and hold my phone up for Kevin to see. He starts to smile, but a blinding light is rushing straight for us.
Kevin torques the wheel, but it’s not fast enough.
A deafening crash of metal on metal as two vehicles mangle together and spin.
Absolute darkness descends.
Amanda turned her back to Palmer, her heart hammering. What did she really expect by coming here? Closure? Redemption? Debt repaid? Ridiculous.
“Steele? What the hell are you doing here?”
She blinked as her boss, Sergeant Malone, came into focus. He was in the doorway, hands on hips. He was in his fifties with a receding hairline. What hair he lacked on the top of his head, he made up for with a full beard and mustache. All of it gray, supposedly to testify to his wisdom and experience, as he would happily point out. In her favor, he was looking more concerned than pissed off by her presence.
“I was nearby.” She could still back away without inserting herself in this investigation, but something about seeing Palmer dead made her feel a modicum of control, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Small town. Everywhere is nearby.” Malone scowled and jacked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Becky. “Your being here have something to do with—”
“It has nothing to do with her.”
“Uh-huh. Detective Steele, I’d like to talk to you. Outside. Now.” Malone curled his finger, signaling for her to go with him but, when he turned, he bumped into Detective Dennis Bishop a.k.a. Cud.
He was smacking gum, as he often was, much like a cow. Hence the nickname. Except Cud was a lean, muscled brickhouse, with not an inch of flab on him. “Oh, Steele, I didn’t know—”
“She’s just about to leave.” Malone met her gaze and darted his eyes toward her car.
Sergeant Greer was speaking with Becky by her cruiser, and, given her friend’s defensive gesturing, it would seem Malone might have mentioned something to the Dumfries sergeant about Amanda’s connection to the victim. The touch of guilt she felt for showing up there and causing a problem for Becky still wasn’t enough to make her leave. It was almost like she had something to prove now; though what that might be, she didn’t quite know. “I’m not going anywhere,” she stamped out.
“No?” Malone angled his head, challenging her.
“We don’t know what happened to Palmer yet.”
“And your point?” he countered.
What was her point? Again she faced the question of whether she really wanted to get involved in the investigation, but like that out-of-control car, she didn’t feel she could stop herself. Like she’d already come too far or crossed a line just by showing up here and now she had to see it through. She gave Malone’s question some thought, then said smoothly, “If he was murdered, I’m going to have the most motivation to find the killer.”
“How do you figure that?”
Fair question as she didn’t feel sorry for the guy—not at all. So what was her motivation here? The feeling of control was something that echoed back to her. She’d had none when he’d wiped out her family; by uncovering what happened to him, in a way she’d have some power over how justice was served.
“Palmer? As in Chad Palmer?” Cud interjected, bringing his chewing to a momentary pause. “The man who—” He silenced under her glare and paled.
That was the thing with small towns; everyone knew your story. It was also something that had her going to Woodbridge to meet men. “Don’t you ever mind,” she slapped back.
“I was just going to say you made a good point… You know, with what you said.” Cud glanced at Malone, then back to her and added, “You would have motive.”
She glared at Cud, hoping he received her silent sarcastic thanks for your support, buddy. “If he was killed, there’s at least one other person with motive, because I didn’t kill him.”
“Hold up. No one’s saying you did,” Malone groaned but seemed to hesitate.
“You can’t honestly be considering assigning her the case.” Cud flailed his arm toward Amanda.
“Excuse me,” she barked. “I’m more than capable of setting aside my personal connection here.” But her internal voice was calling her out on that claim. Did she have the ability to set it aside?