“You could have told the truth!” Eden screamed, and the pottery tool rose again, her arm finding a reserve of strength that Kinsley hadn’t expected. “You could have confessed! You couldhave saved Grant Tatlock from spending years in prison before dying there! You could have?—”
Eden’s voice shattered.
“You could have let me bury my daughter knowing the truth instead of spending the rest of my life wondering if there was more to the story.”
“Eden, please?—”
“You killed my daughter.” Eden’s voice had dropped to a register that was somehow more frightening than the screaming. “You framed an innocent boy. You inserted yourself into our lives, pretending to be my friend, pretending to be a good person, while my daughter’s blood was on your hands.”
“Eden.” Kinsley raised her arm. “Put the tool down. It’s over. Let us handle this now.”
“It’s not over.” Eden’s voice was hollow, emptied of rage, filled with something worse. “It will never be over. My daughter is dead. Richard suspected all this time. He’s just as guilty as she is. He kept quiet to protect his bastard child while I spent all this time wondering what really happened in my own house.”
“Eden, please.” Kinsley extended her left hand, palm up, keeping her voice steady and gentle. “Give me the tool. You’ve done nothing wrong today. Let’s keep it that way.”
For a long moment, Eden stood frozen. Then, ever so slowly, she stared down at the pottery tool in her hand as though seeing it for the first time, as though the last several minutes had occurred in a fugue state and she was only now registering what she’d been prepared to do with it.
The rage drained out of her all at once.
The tool clattered to the tile floor.
Kinsley kicked it away with the side of her foot, sending it spinning across the kitchen until it came to rest against the baseboard near the refrigerator. She placed her hand gently on Eden’s arm and guided her toward one of the kitchen chairs. Thewoman sank into the seat, her face falling into her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs that shook her entire frame.
Kinsley turned to Toby, who had moved into the kitchen from the sunroom, his weapon now lowered. She gave him a nod, and he holstered his weapon. He then approached Darlene, who hadn’t moved from the counter, who appeared as though she might never move again. His voice was steady and clear as it filled the kitchen.
“Darlene Barrett, you’re under arrest for the murder of Iris Bell and for obstruction of justice in the wrongful conviction of Grant Tatlock. You have the right to remain silent…”
27
Alex Lanen
July
Monday, 8:18 am
Alex stepped off the elevator, and the smell of eggs hit him like a wall.
“Welcome back, Lanen,” he muttered to himself as he lifted a hand to his nose. “Jesus.”
Sam Haugen must be in the building.
Alex had left this place eight days ago for sunshine and salt air, for mornings that started with the sound of waves instead of Haugen’s breakfast sandwiches and ended with cold beer instead of a homicide case. Now, standing in the doorway of the bullpen with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a tan that was already drawing a few glares of jealousy, the Gulf Coast was nothing but a distant memory.
“Lanen! You’re back!” Sam’s voice boomed from across the bullpen. The older detective had a breakfast sandwich half-wrapped in one hand as he advanced down the hallway, his large frame occupying most of the available space, holding uphis other hand to indicate he wanted the elevator held. Alex stuck his foot back to wedge the door. “Thanks, buddy. Levick is busting my chops already this morning. I swear, at this rate, I’m going to put in for a new partner by the end of the month.”
“Have a good day, Haugen.”
“Catch anything worth bragging about?” Sam asked as he stepped onto the elevator, the smell of eggs and processed cheese intensifying in the enclosed space.
“A forty-pound tuna. Other than that, we ate everything we caught,” Alex replied, removing his foot from the door. “I’ll show you pics later.”
The elevator doors closed, and the air quality in the hallway improved by several degrees. Alex made his way into the bullpen, where a few other detectives called out greetings, asked about his trip, and made the predictable jokes about him going soft on vacation while they did the real work. He responded with the expected banter, but his attention was already fixed on the corner desk where his partner sat.
Kinsley was drinking her coffee, her blonde hair pulled back in its usual messy bun, and she was tilted back in her chair while in deep conversation with Toby Drewett. The officer was dressed in his patrol uniform after his week as a temporary detective, but there was a confidence in the young man’s posture that hadn’t been there before. He stood straighter. Spoke with more certainty.
“…best week of my career,” Toby was saying as Alex approached within earshot. “I know I’ve still got a lot to learn, but working this case with you, Aspen, it was…”
He shook his head, apparently unable to locate words sufficient for whatever he was trying to express.
