“Do you know what Tyler was working on recently?” Laurel asked.
The detective’s mouth lifted in a smile that revealed twin dimples. “This is my case, Agent Snow. I’ll ask the questions.” He didn’t wait for a response before shifting his attention to Walter. “Do you have any idea what investigations your brother was undertaking?”
“Not a damn thing,” Walter said. “I listened to his podcast a few times, but it’s been a while.”
“What do you know about Sandra Plankton?” Detective Robertson asked.
Walter glanced at Laurel, his gaze sharp. “Nothing. She had my number, called me, and we showed up. Found the place trashed. Why? What do you know about her?”
“Ms. Plankton has been arrested multiple times for protesting,” Officer Jackson said before Detective Robertson could respond. “And for vandalism and arson. She’s a dangerous woman.”
Laurel cataloged the statement, her thoughts shifting through her brief interactions with Sandra Plankton. The woman had seemed genuinely concerned about Tyler.
“Tell us more about her,” Walter said.
“I don’t think so,” Detective Robertson cut in smoothly. “This is our case. You are witnesses only.” He sat back and folded his hands on the table. “In fact, I didn’t ask for your appearance here, Agent Snow.”
“I’m aware of that,” Laurel said. “But as Agent Smudgeon’s direct supervisor, I intend to be present for any questioning.”
Officer Jackson leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “You want to take the case away from us?”
“I would if I could,” Laurel said. Walter needed answers, and she intended to help find them. “If we find there’s any chance for federal jurisdiction, I’ll take the case.”
“You’re definitely not a game player,” Detective Robertson said, cocking his head as if studying her from a different angle.
Laurel remained still, her expression calm and focused. “No, I’m not.” Hadn’t she just made that obvious? “How many murder investigations have you handled?”
“We’re not sure this is a murder,” Detective Robertson returned instantly, the response so fast it sounded reflexive.
Walter planted his hand on the table. “I think it’s a good question.”
Detective Robertson hesitated for a moment. “This is my first one.” His admission came out flat, matter-of-fact. “We’re a small town, and we don’t have many murders.”
“Lucky you,” Walter muttered. His fingers drummed once against the table before going still. “Have you personally had any run-ins with my brother?”
“No,” the detective said shortly. The word snapped out with an edge that caught Laurel’s attention. His voice sounded certain, but the flatness of it suggested something else. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the discrepancy, but it registered like an error in a line of code.
“Have you met him?” Walter pressed.
“Again, I’m asking the questions,” Detective Robertson replied.
Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Who wanted my brother dead?”
“I have absolutely no idea. We’ll investigate this matter thoroughly, I promise you,” the detective said.
“Any chance that Frostline Peak is on federal land?” Walter glanced toward Laurel, his gaze expectant.
Laurel’s mind scanned through her mental map of Washington State, the boundaries and jurisdictions she’d memorized long ago. “No. It’s owned by the county.” Walter’s attempt to gain jurisdiction wasn’t lost on her, and she admired the tactic.
“Agent Smudgeon, where were you the night before last?” Detective Robertson’s question came out casual, but the tension around his eyes contradicted the tone.
Walter looked up at the ceiling, his eyes distant for a moment. “I was home. Worked all day, went home around five. Had dinner and went to bed.”
“Can anybody verify that?” Officer Jackson asked, her arms still crossed over her chest.
“No. I was by myself.”
Detective Robertson leaned back, adopting what appeared to be a relaxed pose. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign of the tension beneath the surface. Laurel tried to read his expression, but his features remained frustratingly blank. Guesswork wouldn’t help, and she had never been adept at drawing conclusions from people’s faces alone.
