“I’msurprised to see you here without your father.” The detective’s gaze sweeps the station as though expecting to find my dad hovering somewhere nearby. He almost looks worried, and I wonder if he’s been warned not to talk to me alone.
“He doesn’t know I’m here, and he doesn’t need to know. I’m a grown adult, Detective Briggs.”
“Of course. How about we step into my office, and you can tell me what brings you in.” He closes the door behind us, taking one last peek around before doing so.
I sit in the visitor’s chair, my hands clutching my purse in my lap, and force all my strength into my voice. “I need to know how my husband died.”
His brows cinch together. “He … was stabbed, Mrs. Kirkland.”
“Yes, but I want to know why.” I don’t waver. I don’t allow my grief or nerves beyond the confines of the metal box deep inside me, where I stashed my emotions before arriving at the police station.
Briggs doesn’t say a word for long seconds.
“We can’t ever truly know what motivates a person?—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You’re not going to feed me a bullshit story concocted by my family to protect me. I want to know about the quarters, Detective Briggs.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, fidgeting in his chair as though suddenly uncomfortable. “You know, none of this changes anything. I hate to say it, but this won’t bring him back.” He pleads his case gingerly, not wanting to upset me but desperate to end the conversation.
It’s my turn to go silent.
I keep my unflinching stare trained on him until he mutters another curse and continues.
“It wasn’t a mugging.”
“So I’ve gathered. I want to know what happened, and I promise I won’t tell my family I know the truth. I understand why they’ve kept this from me, but I need to know.”
He inhales heavily and relaxes back into his chair. “It was a punitive hit. He must have been doing business with someone he shouldn’t have and crossed them in some way that they decided to send a message.” He pauses, his jaw flexing. “Your husband had an entire roll worth of quarters shoved down his throat.”
Oh, dear God.
I don’t want to hear this. I’ve made a mistake. I don’t know what I thought the quarters referenced, but this isn’t it. This is so much worse, and I’ll never get the image out of my head.
No, Terina. You will not back out of this. That man died for you; the least you can do is learn his truth and honor him.
I unclench my eyes and battle against the emotions threatening to overthrow their confines.
“Show me,” I demand quietly.
“No, you don’t want?—”
“Show. Me.” Each word is carved from unbreakable stone.
“Fucking Christ.” Despite the vicious hiss of his curse, he starts typing at his computer. Once he pulls up the crime scene photos, he steels himself and swivels the monitor in my direction.
It’s a close-up of Craig’s bloody lips. The dull shimmer of what I know to be coins rests wedged in the back of his throat.
I swallow and swear I can feel the pain of a phantom coin lodged in my esophagus.
“All of them,” I instruct.
Briggs grimaces but clicks through the portfolio of images, one after the other. I don’t ask him to slow down. I don’t need to. Every photo is instantly seared into my memory. I couldn’t forget them if I wanted to.
“Do you know who did it?” I ask once the slideshow is over, guilt and sorrow finally taking its toll on my voice.
“Not yet, but we’re working on it. I promise, we’ll do our best to track them down.”
I nod. “Is there anything else I should know? Anything else my family has instructed you to keep from me?”
