But Kate felt strongly that it was the wrong call.
Meanwhile, James Thornton sat on the couch in front of her, destroyed by grief and shock. She wondered how it must have appeared to him that an FBI agent who should have been offering him support and gathering his statement had just walked past him without a word. No introduction, no condolences, no acknowledgment of what he was going through.
Kate stood in the entrance to the living room, caught between wanting to respect Sloane's authority and feeling like someone needed to at least acknowledge James's presence. The man had just lost his wife. He'd found her body, for God’s sake. And Sloane had barely looked at him.
Maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe Sloane had some strategy that Kate wasn't seeing yet. But from where Kate stood, it looked sloppy. More than that, it looked uncaring.
She thought about following Sloane, about pulling her aside and suggesting they take a different approach. But that would be overstepping. Kate had made it clear this was Sloane's investigation, and she needed to let her run it.
Even if she was running it wrong.
Kate remained where she was, aware of James's presence behind her, aware of the sounds coming from deeper in the house where Sloane was presumably examining the crime scene. The situation felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with the murder itself and everything to do with how it was being handled.
This was supposed to be Sloane's moment to prove herself, to show she could lead an investigation. Instead, she'd just walked past a grieving husband without so much as a word of acknowledgment.
Kate hoped Sloane knew what she was doing. Because from where Kate stood, it didn't look promising at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Several decades of experience and a good deal of human compassion caused Kate to turn back to James Thornton. He was still sitting in the same position on the couch, his head in his hands, his entire body radiating shock and grief. She moved closer, trying to decide how to approach this without making things worse. He wasn’t crying right now, but his breathing was deep and labored.
"Mr. Thornton," she said softly. "I'm Kate Wise. I live a few streets over... an FBI agent, if you recall. I'm so sorry for your loss."
He looked up at her again, and this time the recognition was clearer. "Kate. Yeah. I've seen you around."
"I have a few quick questions, if you think you can handle them. Just basic things that might help."
James nodded slowly. "Okay. The cops already asked a bunch but that’s fine."
“Do you know if there was anyone Rachel might have recently been arguing with? Was there anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"
"No." His voice was flat, like he was speaking from very far away. "Everyone liked Rachel. I know that sounds biased coming from her husband but… but it’s the truth. She was kind. She helped people every chance she got."
"Had she argued with anyone recently? Any conflicts at work or in the neighborhood?"
"No. Nothing like that." James wiped his face with one hand. "She just started her own business a few months ago. Interior design. She was so excited about it."
Kate paused, her finger hovering over her phone screen. "She started a new business?"
"Yeah. She'd been an accountant for twenty years, but it wasn't what she wanted anymore. She decided to follow her passion, even though she's... she was in her fifties." His voice broke on the past tense. "She said it was never too late to do what you love. She hadn’t quit her accounting job just yet but it was coming… so she could focus on the interior design."
Kate made a note of that. A career change at this stage in life took courage, and it spoke to the kind of person Rachel had been—someone willing to take risks, to pursue something meaningful.
"Did the new business have any problems? Difficult clients, maybe?"
"No. It was going well. She had three clients lined up already, and more people were calling." James looked at Kate with eyes that were starting to fill with tears. "She was happy. For the first time in years, she wasreallyhappy."
Kate felt a tightness in her chest. She'd seen Rachel jogging past her house so many times, always with that determined stride and a quick wave. Now she'd never see her again, never know what her design business might have become.
James started to cry then, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Kate knew she couldn't push any further. The man was barely holding it together, and asking more questions now would be cruel.
“James, do you have family or friends in the area?”
“My brother… he’s… he’s on the way in from Fredericksburg to be with me.”
“Good. In the meantime, you call for me if you need anything.”
James didn't respond. He'd put his head back in his hands, and Kate could see his whole body trembling.
