Fifth, there had been blood at the scene that hadn’t belonged to my mother. They were operating on the assumption that it was my father’s. I wasn’t sure if they had DNA or even a blood type, butsomethingmade them think my father had been injured, perhaps badly enough to make them suspect he was dead.
Sixth, they had absolutely no explanation for why my mother’s body had been left behind, but my father’s had not. Assuming he was the source of the blood and therefore a second victim.
Finally, they really wanted Noah to be their killer. He’d left fingerprints near the scene, had no alibi, and they, at least, thought there was a motive. They’d asked me repeatedly what I knew about the phone call from my mother to Noah—nothing—and what I’d known about his visit to her—also nothing.
They also kept referring to Lulu as his girlfriend, which irritated me on Lulu’s behalf and told me that they weren’t trying very hard to actually pay attention to the facts of the case—only their own theories. At least they were talking about Noah using male pronouns.
None of this was making me terribly optimistic about the chances of ever finding out what had actually happened to my parents. Part of me still didn’t want to care. But, thanks to the letter my mother had left behind, now part of me actually didcare, just a little. Part of me wanted the woman who at least said she loved us—although I suspected she loved theideaof us more than us, given her actions over the first fifteen years of our lives—to have justice for her untimely death.
And part of me just wanted all this to be over with, whether that meant the case going unsolved or not. I just wanted to do what I was legally obligated to do and get myself and Noah—and Elliot and Lulu, of course—the hell out of here.
Right about now, three-and-a-half hours into an interview with no end in sight, that wasn’t looking very likely.
I laynext to Elliot on the bed in our hotel room, watching him read through the photocopy of my mother’s letter, a frown furrowing his brow. I’d spent just over five hours talking to the Augusta County deputies, my butt hurt, my knee hurt, and my back was attempting to ensure that I would never stand or sit normally again. Lying down at least made the cramping less bad.
“You know this is fucked up, right?” he asked me, lifting the letter slightly.
“Yeah.” He wasn’t wrong.
“Did you call Val?”
“About this?”
“Yeah, about this,” he retorted. “This is what he does.”
“He’s a fed,” I replied. “This isn’t his jurisdiction.”
“Fuck jurisdiction,” came the immediate response. “He didn’t have jurisdiction in Shawano, either.”
I had to admit that Elliot had a point. “Yeah, but now that he’s federal, I feel like he can’t just do shit like that,” I pointed out.
“Fine,I’llcall him.”
I didn’t bother trying to stop him. It probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway, and I really would have preferred to have Hart working the case instead of the surly Augusta County deputies.
“Hey, Bucky,” came Hart’s familiar voice from the phone. Elliot had put it on speaker. “How’s Mays doing?”
“What would it take to get you out here and on this?” Elliot asked him immediately.
Hart let out a long breath. “Jesus fuck, Elliot. I can’t just take over an investigation without cause, even if I want to.”
I gave Elliot a look that saidsee, I told you so.
Elliot rolled his eyes at me. “Suspected shifter killing,” he said out loud.
“Is Mays with you?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I answered.
“Any chance your mom was a shifter?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“What about your dad?”
“We don’t even know if he’s dead,” I pointed out. “They’re acting like he’s dead, but only Momma’s body was found. But as far as I know, my father was human, too.”
“All we have is the one victim, then,” I heard him let out a breath. “And they think a shifter did it?”
