"Murder, as in first-degree murder?" I leaned forward, my eyebrows knitting in disbelief. The clatter of dishes and low hum of conversation around us faded into irrelevance. I could understand third-degree murder, perhaps, because they called it an accident, so there was no intent to kill and no premeditation. Maybe they had discovered that he was there when it happened… when she fell. That, I could possibly understand. But first-degree? That meant they believed he had planned it. Or at least that he meant to kill her. That was way more serious.
"Yes," Diane whispered, her eyes dark pools of torment. "And they won't disclose the new evidence. It's like hitting a wall of silence."
"Will couldn't…." My protest died on my lips, replaced by a hard set to my jaw. "I didn’t know him, but I take it you can't fathom him hurting anyone?"
"No. Not in any way." She took a breath, steeling herself. "He was shattered after the accident. I had to take the kids in; he couldn't cope, not then."
"Understandable," I murmured, picturing the broken man she described.
"Eventually, he found his footing again." Diane's face softened with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Took care of his clinic. He's a pediatrician, Eva Rae—adored by all his little patients and their parents. Ask anyone here, and they'll tell you about his kindness."
"Sounds like a man dedicated to healing, not harming." My thoughts raced, piecing together the image of the man she described.
"Exactly. He’s a hero, and Lord knows there aren’t many of those around here anymore. On the night he and Angela met, he saved someone’s life right in front of her at the wedding they were attending. That’s what made Angela fall for him right there on the spot. She would always tell that story… especially to the kids. Always making sure they knew that their dad was a hero." Her voice was fierce now, a lioness defending her kin.
“Speaking of the children, where are they now?” I asked.
"The children are back in California. They’ve been staying with me since their mother died. Their dad visits as often as he can, but they’re better off with me until he fully finds his footing. Now, they’re staying with a dear friend while I'm here. But Will… he's lost. Help me, Eva Rae," she whispered, her voice brittle like thin ice. "I don't know where else to turn."
Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed a napkin, betraying the stoic facade she presented.
"Of course, Diane." My words were soft but firm. "Tell me everything you can. No detail is too small."
"Thank you." The relief in her voice was palpable, a single tear escaping to trace a path down her cheek.
"Will is a good man," I said, more to myself than to her. "A healer. We'll peel back the layers of this case until we expose the truth."
"Will—he's lost so much already." She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin, fighting to maintain composure.
"Then we’ll fight for him," I asserted, my resolve surging like a tide. "Let's start from the beginning, Diane. Anything you remember about the day Angela died, however insignificant it might seem." My voice was low and steady, seeking to ground her amidst the chaos.
She nodded, taking a deep breath, and began to recount the events of that fateful day. As she spoke, each word painted a picture, one I would commit to memory and scrutinize. Every fact was a potential key, every memory a possible clue.
"Will wouldn't harm a fly," Diane insisted, her conviction unshakable. "He's dedicated his life to saving others, not destroying them."
"Someone's made a mistake. Or worse, deliberately pointed the finger at an innocent man," I mused aloud, my mind already sifting through possibilities, motives, and alibis.
"Exactly. He's been framed. I know it."
"Then we'll prove it," I declared, my tone leaving no room for doubt. "I won't rest until we've cleared his name."
Diane's hand reached out, gripping mine with a strength that belied her delicate appearance. At that moment, our partnership was sealed with a shared determination to seek out the truth and restore a family torn apart by tragedy.
"Thank you, Eva Rae," she said, her voice steadier now, fueled by the promise of action.
"Thank me when we're done," I replied, standing up. "Now, let's get to work."
Chapter 8
I pushedthrough the glass doors of the St. Augustine Police Station, my heart hammering against my ribs. The place reeked of stale coffee and the tang of industrial cleaner, a scent that clung to the walls like an unwelcome ghost. I'd been here before, but never with such a pressing weight on my shoulders.
"I need to see the detective in charge of the Angela Jennings murder case, please," I said, my voice steady despite the gnawing tension inside me. The uniformed officer behind the front desk looked up, his expression flat, bored.
"It’s urgent," I added, locking eyes with him. "I need to speak with them now."
"Name?" His question was routine, his fingers poised over the keyboard.
"Agent Eva Rae Thomas," I replied and showed him my badge. "FBI."
