“Which is whythey’rethe ones I’m worried about.”
“Thanks. I’ll be down in half an hour.”
Tucker snorted on his way out of the apartment. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
I slammed the door in his face, and he chuckled all the way down the stairs.
“So, you don’t think Nolan Blake is guilty because he didn’t leave big piles of cash on the coffee table for you to find?” Bishop snapped, his fist clenched so tightly around his soda that I worried he’d break the glass. “Because there was no confession written in blood on his bathroom mirror?”
“I don’t think that’s a fair way to characterize the evidence,” I informed him as calmly as I could. “Or the lack thereof. The fact is that while he admitted to having met Yvette on one, possibly two occasions, he swears he hasn’t even seen her in months, and unless you’re holding out on me, we have no evidence to the contrary. He still has family in Covington and an account at that bank, which is why he was there that day.”
Bishop huffed. “Or so he says.”
“His bank statement verifies that. He made a cash deposit of three hundred dollars within minutes of the moment his truck drove past the camera. It was payment for an odd job he did for his mother’s elderly neighbor.”
Austin exhaled. “And you believe all of that?”
“At this point, I can see no reason not to.”
“Okay, one habanero pimento cheeseburger and one turkey club.” Tucker said as he set a plate in front of each of them. “Both with fries. Boss, your jalapeño bacon cheeseburger is coming up.”
“Thank you.” I moved the bottle of ketchup to the center of the table. “Please bring your plate too, and join us.”
“So, can you prove Nolan Blake didn’t kill my wife?” Bishop demanded, as Austin swiped one of his fries through a glob of pimento cheese dripping from his burger.
“Doesn’t work that way,” Austin said. “The justice system doesn’t prove innocence. It tries to prove guilt, but even that isn’t real proof. It’s a jury’s best guess. In theory, that’s beyond a reasonable doubt, but in reality, the jury tends to agree with whichever side puts on a better show in court.”
“Wait, seriously? You can’t prove someone innocent?”
Austin frowned at him. “We don’t even try. The government charges criminals and tries to prove they’re guilty.”
“Obviously he’s talking about the human justice system,” I said, as Austin dumped ketchup onto his plate. “We operate under a different burden of proof. But we still can’t prove innocence. It’s virtually impossible to prove that someonedidn’tdo something.”
“So then, how does anything ever get done in your line of work?”
I ignored Bishop’s question and turned back to Austin. “We’re going to keep Nolan Blake in custody for a few days, just in case, but honestly, that’s mostly to keep you two from killing a man we have no reason to believe is guilty.”
Bishop huffed around a bite of his club. Nothing blunts a shifter’s appetite. Not grief. Not frustration. Especially not murderous rage.
“So—” I glanced up as Tucker reappeared at our table holding two more plates, then I scooted in to let him sit.
“Jalapeño bacon cheeseburger,” he said, setting my lunch in front of me. His own plate held only a massive pile of chicken strips and a gravy boat full of honey mustard. No fries. No salad.
“Thanks.” I turned back to Austin and Bishop. “I want you both to know that Yvette’s case is our top priority. Mine, and Titus’s.”
“Everyone’s,” Tucker added, dunking his first strip into the gravy boat.
“In fact, we’re about to expand the scope…significantly.”
“What does that mean?” Bishop asked.
“It means they’re worried that Yvette may not have been the only victim.” Austin glanced from Tucker to me. “Based on what?”
I exhaled slowly. “There was a case a few years back that had some similarities. Some differences too, but enough similarities that we can’t ignore the possibility that they’re related.”
“That one went unsolved?” Austin seemed to have forgotten that he was still holding the last quarter of his burger.
“No,” Tucker said. “They put that fuckerin the ground. It was before my time as an enforcer, but…” He shrugged with a glance at me. Waiting for me to take the lead on how much to tell them.
