“Oh please,” she tsked. “We both know you’re always working.”
“What did you find?”
“Jeez, touchy,” she sighed. “Okay, so I’ve looked into that house you asked about, but it doesn’t belong to your suspect.”
“The house on Mulberry?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t belong to the husband either.”
“Who the hell does it belong to?” I asked.
I could hear the tapping on the keyboard as Petra hummed along with whatever pop song was popular at the moment. She may be different to most in the field, but she knew how to get the information we needed and quickly.
“It says the house belongs to Camille Delaponte.”
“Who is she?”
“It’s weird, there’s nothing here about Camille. She’s a person, sure, but she’s not connected to the suspect or victim at all.”
“There has to be a connection somewhere.”
“I’ll keep looking but so far, she’s clean.”
“No one can be that clean,” I told her. “Not if she is connected to this woman. Dig deep, Petra.”
I hung up the phone and followed her as she drove away, keeping a good distance so she didn’t catch on. She headed back to the house owned by this Camille woman and went inside.
There was just something not adding up.
And I hated puzzles.
I opened my phone and pulled up Tommy’s number.
GARRICK
Bring her in. It’s time we spoke to her about her husband.
TOMMY
On it.
I took off down the street, heading back to my apartment. I needed a clear head with this one. She wasn’t going to make this easy on us, and if Stanley’s research was accurate, this wouldn’t be her first rodeo. She would know how to fool detectives, she would know how to pull us into the direction she wanted us in.
Suddenly, I felt more alive than I had in a long time.
This may just be the case that brought me out of the darkness.
Or…maybe, it’ll be the one that dragged me further into the abyss.
Chapter Four
Maurelle
I sat down inthe interrogation room, noting the cleanliness of the table and floor. It wasn’t like the last few I’d been in where I’d just as soon vomit than sit down. I placed my bag down on the ground next to my feet, as I waited for them to take a seat. It had been almost a week since Oliver died, and they were finally getting around to having a chat with me. I knew by the looks on their faces that they considered me a serious suspect which means they’d been following me without me realizing.
It must have been the quiet one.
The one with the peppering of gray hair just over his ears and freckled throughout his dark brown hair and the stony look to his eye. He’d seen some shit in his life, I could tell just by the way he regarded me from across the table. The other younger one who I knew to be called Tommy was too impatient, he hadn’t learned the tools of his trade yet.
