Sloane looked at her with something that might have been respect. "You sure? You just said you knew the victim."
"Which means I might be able to provide context about the neighborhood and the victim's routine. That could be useful." Kate met Sloane's gaze. "Unless you'd prefer to work alone."
"I work better alone, actually. But if you're offering neighborhood intel, I won't turn it down." Sloane grabbed her phone from DeMarco's desk. "We should go now. Crime scenes get compromised fast once the locals start trampling through."
Kate nodded in agreement. She already liked the way this young agent’s mind worked.
DeMarco stood as well. "Sloane, Agent Wise is coming as a consultant, not as backup. You're the lead on this."
"Understood." Sloane was already heading for the door. "You coming?" she asked Kate without looking back.
Kate exchanged a glance with DeMarco, who gave a slight shrug that seemed to say "good luck." Then Kate followed Sloane out into the hallway, wondering what exactly she'd just agreed to and whether the peace she'd found over the past six months was about to be thoroughly disrupted.
CHAPTER SIX
The drive to the Thornton home was eerie as Kate watched deeply familiar streets pass by from the passenger seat. She knew these streets by heart, had driven or walked them countless times over the past few years. Now she was navigating them to reach a murder scene, and the wrongness of that settled into her chest like a weight.
Sloane drove in silence, her attention fixed on the road. Kate appreciated that. There was nothing to say yet, not until they saw what they were dealing with. The getting-to-know-you conversation could wait.
They turned onto Birchwood Lane, and Kate felt her stomach tighten. She'd and Michael had walked down this street just two days ago, Michael trying to get the hang of his little kick scooter while giving names to each and every dog they passed. Now, patrol cars lined the curb, and yellow crime scene tape cordoned off one of the houses halfway down the block.
Sloane parked behind one of the patrol cars in front of the Thornton house and turned off the engine. She looked at Kate, her expression neutral but attentive.
"Just to be clear," Kate said before Sloane could speak, "you're running point on this. I'm here for support, nothing more."
"I understand."
"I mean it. This is your investigation. I'm just here to help if you need it. If you see me overstepping that, don’t be afraid to speak up.”
Sloane nodded. "I appreciate that. And I appreciate you coming with me." Kate wasn’t too sure, but the comment seemed a little forced. Maybe even sarcastic. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.Oh, this is going to go just great,she thought.
They got out of the car and walked toward the house. The morning sun was bright and warm, completely at odds with what waited inside. Kate felt the familiar tension building in her shoulders, the automatic shift into investigator mode, even though she was supposed to be stepping back from all of this.
A uniformed officer stood by the front door. He looked young, probably about the same age as Sloane. He straightened when he saw them approaching.
Sloane showed her credentials. "Agent Erica Sloane, FBI. This is Kate Wise, retired FBI.”
The officer checked their IDs and nodded. "Good, good. Detective Morrison is inside with the forensics team. The husband is in the living room."
"Thank you," Sloane said.
The officer opened the door and stepped aside to let them enter. The house was quiet except for the muted sounds of people working in another room. Kate could smell coffee, faint and old.
The living room was to the right. Kate saw James Thornton immediately. He sat on the couch with his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched forward in a posture of complete devastation. He wore jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, and his feet were bare. His hair stood up in places like he'd been running his hands through it.
He looked up when they entered. His eyes found Kate first, and there was a flicker of recognition there. They'd met a handful of times at neighborhood gatherings, exchanged pleasantries in passing. But his gaze was glassy and distant, his pupils slightly dilated. She figured someone had probably given him a sedative to help with the shock.
Kate felt a surge of sympathy for him. Whatever had happened here, James had lost his wife in the most terrible waypossible. She could see it in every line of his body, in the way he seemed to be barely holding himself together.
She expected Sloane to approach him, to offer condolences, and begin asking the initial questions that would help establish a timeline and context. That was standard procedure. You talked to the spouse first, got their statement while everything was still fresh, and while theycouldtalk, gathering the information that would help guide the investigation.
But Sloane didn't move toward James. She only glanced at him briefly, seemed to assess the situation in an instant, and then turned away.
"I'm going to take a look at the scene," Sloane said, her voice low enough that James probably couldn't hear.
Kate blinked, caught off guard. Before she could respond, Sloane was already moving, walking out of the living room and down the hallway toward where the forensics team was working. Kate watched her go, feeling a spike of concern that she tried to suppress.
It wasn't her investigation. Sloane was in charge. If this was how she wanted to handle it, that was her call to make.
