Diaz’s arms crossed. “I’ve arrested you twice.”
Sandra’s chin snapped up. “But you’re still taking this seriously, right?”
Walter focused on Sandra before Diaz could answer. “Why were you arrested?”
Sandra’s mouth flattened. “I like to protest.” Her fingers dug into her sleeves. “Somebody has to do something about the corruption in this area.”
Diaz let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Agent Smudgeon, what about you?”
Walter kept his voice flat. “I haven’t seen Tyler in three years.”
Jackson’s pen stopped. “Three years?”
He nodded once. “We didn’t speak three years ago at our mother’s funeral. Haven’t kept in touch. Sandra’s the only one who thought to call me.”
“Why?” Diaz’s weight shifted, his feet planted wide. “You two haven’t been in touch for years, but she calls you instead of us?”
“Tyler told me to call him if anything ever went wrong.” Sandra shrugged. “He doesn’t trust the cops. Especially not here.”
Jackson’s pen moved again. Diaz’s gaze stayed hard on Walter, but the muscle near his jaw kept twitching. The air smelled like wet concrete and cigarette smoke, drifting in from somewhere farther down the six-plex.
“We’ll take the report and put out a BOLO,” Diaz said. “But if your brother’s pulling a publicity stunt, we will arrest him.”
Walter looked at Sandra. Her shoulders stayed hunched, fingerstwisted into the cuffs of her sleeves. She hadn’t stepped out from behind Laurel.
“He’s not pulling a stunt.” Sandra’s fists tightened against her sides. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Walter glanced at the apartment door. Whose blood was in there?
Diaz pulled out his phone, his thumb moving fast as he sent a text. “I’ll have our photographer come in and capture the scene. We’ll need to call in the county department or maybe the state patrol to process it. We don’t have anybody like that on hand.” His gaze snapped to Sandra. “Any recent threats or confrontations with Tyler?”
“Nothing but the usual.” Sandra’s shoulders jerked in something close to a shrug. “We know the corrupt establishment hates us.”
“The establishment doesn’t know you exist,” Diaz muttered.
Sandra’s mouth pulled into a tight line, but she didn’t respond.
“We’ll get this assigned to a detective. You’ll need to come in for an interview.” Jackson’s pen hovered over her notepad.
Sandra’s arms folded across her chest, chin tipping up. “I’m not helping you out.”
Laurel stepped to the side, turning fully to face Sandra. “Do you want assistance finding your boyfriend or not?”
Sandra’s gaze dropped to her feet. “Yes.” The word came out grudgingly, her shoulders curling inward.
“What do you do when you’re not protesting?” Walter asked. He was careful to keep his voice level. This wasn’t his case, but the question felt relevant.
She shrugged, eyes still down. “I work at the movie theater to make some money. Other than that, Tyler and I are both dedicated to his causes. I help him research all I can, and soon we’ll be making enough money off the podcast that I can quit my other job.”
“This will probably help cause a little intrigue,” Diaz said, glancing over his shoulder at the apartment.
Sandra’s frown deepened. “We didn’t do this.”
Walter wasn’t so sure. He’d seen Tyler’s work before and hadn’t paid much attention to it until now, but he knew the kid had a knack for theatrics. Still, the blood in the apartment made the whole thing feel off. He needed to watch some of Tyler’s most recent podcast episodes to see if anything stuck out.
Jackson tucked her notepad away. “I’ll secure the scene. I’ve got crime scene tape in my car, and then I’ll go door to door to see if anybody saw or heard anything.” She peered out into the rainy street. “Maybe we’ll find a Ring camera or two.”
Walter nodded, eyes narrowing as he glanced back at the apartment. He’d seen the inside and knew the damage wasn’t random. Someone had gone through Tyler’s things with purpose. If it wasn’t Tyler himself, then who?
