Toby straightened his shoulders, ready for whatever assignment came next. This was his chance to prove himself, to show the department that he could operate beyond the scope of a patrol officer. He wasn’t about to waste it by hesitating or asking unnecessary questions.
“I take it you’re going to re-interview the family first?”
“I’ve already spoken with Richard and Eden Bell this morning, and I met their son Joey when he showed up unannounced.” Kinsley leaned against the porch railing, crossing her arms in a posture that was more conversational than guarded. She was testing him, Toby sensed, gauging whether he could follow her reasoning or whether she’d need to spell everything out. “If we push the family too hard too soon, they’ll lawyer up. Richard was already on the phone with someone before he arrived here today, and I’d bet my badge it was an attorney. The moment legal counsel gets involved, everything slows to a crawl. Motions, objections, restrictions on what we can ask and who we can talk to. I’ve seen investigations die that way, buried under a mountain of paperwork before they ever got off the ground.”
She paused, letting the logic settle before continuing.
“So, I’ve decided to start with the neighbors and family friends. We interview the people on the periphery first, build a picture of what was happening in and around the Bell household in the months before Iris died. Then I take what we’ve found back to the Bells and use it to draw them into the conversation on our terms, not theirs. If they think we’re helping them confirm Tatlock’s guilt, they’ll cooperate. If they think we’re accusing their family of something, they’ll shut down.”
“Because they’ll be less inclined to bring in legal counsel if they believe we’re on their side,” Toby said with a nod. “And this way, you approach from a position of strength. You already know the answers before you ask the questions.”
“That’s right.” Kinsley looked at him with something that might have been approval, though she didn’t linger on it. “You’re getting the hang of this, Toby. But first, you’re going to need to change before we start conducting interviews. The uniform creates an immediate barrier between you and potentialwitnesses. People see it, the badge, the belt, and the radio, and they tighten up. They start watching their words, filtering everything through the lens of what might get them in trouble. We want them comfortable, talking freely, saying things they wouldn’t say if they felt like they were being interrogated.”
She gave his uniform one more appraising glance, and this time there was a hint of amusement in her expression, as though she remembered her own early days of learning the difference between looking like a cop and thinking like a detective.
“Head home and change. I’ll use that time to speak with the two neighbors across the street, Darlene Barrett and Ginny Kusman. Darlene was the prosecution’s key witness at trial. She’s the one who found Tatlock at the scene.” Kinsley motioned toward the porch steps, indicating she was ready to leave, and Toby fell into step beside her as they descended. “While you’re at it, I need you to find a home address and workplace for Amelia Keery. She was Iris’s best friend. I believe she was privy to Iris’s blackmail activities, even though she never mentioned any of it during the original investigation. We’ll speak with her this afternoon.”
Toby committed the name to memory. He was already mulling over what her omission might mean, whether it was loyalty to a dead friend or something more calculated, when they reached the flagstone path and exited through the opening in the stone wall.
Kinsley stepped off the curb to cross the street toward the neighboring houses where the two women she’d mentioned were apparently waiting for her, but something tugged at Toby’s conscience before she could get more than a few steps away. It wasn’t directly related to the case, but he couldn’t let it go. If he was going to establish trust with Aspen, he needed to start now, and that meant sharing information she might not want to hear.
“Detective Aspen?”
“Kinsley, or simply drop the title,” she reminded him as she turned to face him.
“There’s something you should probably know.” Toby cleared his throat, uncertain how to frame what he needed to say. When she arched an eyebrow at how long he was taking, he stopped deliberating and just said it. “Beck Serra was at the station today.”
At the mention of Serra’s name, Kinsley’s expression hardened. The small dimple that appeared when she smiled was nowhere in sight. Her entire posture had changed, her shoulders squaring and her chin lifting by a fraction, and it wasn’t a change for the better. Whatever history existed between Kinsley Aspen and Beck Serra, it ran deep enough to alter her body language with nothing more than a name.
The gossip that had floated around the department suggested that Serra had purposely driven a wedge between Kinsley and her father for the sake of a compelling story. Whether the damage to the Aspen family had been intentional or merely collateral didn’t seem to matter to Kinsley. What was certain was that Serra had a particular interest in cases she worked on, and she clearly didn’t appreciate the attention.
“He was visiting Sergeant Mitchell.” Toby hesitated, uncomfortable with the personal nature of what he was reporting. The rumors about Mitchell and Serra’s relationship weren’t his business, and he had no interest in trafficking in station gossip. But the information Serra had overheard could directly affect the Bell investigation, so it was relevant whether he liked it or not. “I was near the entrance to the lobby when my sergeant pulled me aside to tell me about this assignment. Serra was close enough to overhear our conversation.”
Kinsley remained silent, her blue eyes intensely focused on his face. She was waiting for him to finish, giving him the space to deliver the full picture without interruption, and the patienceof that silence told him more about how she conducted herself than any briefing could have.
“The bottom line is that Serra now knows the Bell case is being reopened.” Toby chose his words carefully, keeping his tone neutral and factual. He didn’t want to exaggerate the significance, but he didn’t want to minimize it, either. “I couldn’t tell how much he heard, but it was enough for him to stop what he was doing and pay attention. I just thought you should know, Aspen.”
Aspen. The name felt more natural than Kinsley and more respectful than dropping titles entirely. He’d stick with that.
For a moment, Kinsley didn’t respond.
The only visible sign of her reaction was a slight tightening around her eyes, a controlled compression that suggested she was processing the information and running through its implications rather than simply reacting to it. When she spoke, her voice was even.
“I appreciate the heads-up.” She seemed to weigh whether to say more. In the end, she simply added, “I’ll see you soon.”
With that, she turned and crossed the street toward the neighbors’ houses. She never looked back, and her stride was purposeful and direct, the walk of someone who had already moved on to the next problem, even if the previous one was still circling in the back of her mind. Toby observed her for a moment before heading toward his cruiser parked along the curb.
He slid into the driver’s seat and immediately cranked the air conditioning to combat the suffocating heat that had built up inside the vehicle. It took a moment for the engine to kick over and the cool air to begin circulating through the vents, and he sat with his hands on the wheel while the temperature dropped, replaying the conversation in his head.
He’d demonstrated loyalty by sharing information that affected both the case and Kinsley personally, and he’d done itwithout embellishment or agenda. It was a small thing, perhaps, barely a footnote in the scope of a murder investigation. But establishing trust was the foundation of any working partnership, and if he wanted to move beyond patrol work, he needed to prove he was the kind of officer a detective could rely on. Someone who noticed things, reported them honestly, and didn’t play politics with information.
This assignment was his chance. Working a reopened homicide alongside someone with Kinsley Aspen’s reputation could open doors at the department that years of traffic stops and wellness checks never would. He didn’t intend to waste a single hour of it, either.
As he pulled away from the curb, Toby glanced through the passenger window at the weathered Bell Mansion with its wraparound porch and its overgrown yard and its thirty years of buried secrets. The house was part of his career path now, a stepping stone toward the detective shield he’d been working toward since the academy. He just needed to do his job well, support Aspen effectively, and learn everything he could from her methods.
And if Beck Serra tried to interfere with the investigation, Toby had already made it clear whose side he was on.
13
