Marshall Sanders spots me, and his stare could burn a hole through metal. But if I let evil looks bother me, I wouldn’t be on my way to an Emmy. The lawyer is too busy staring at his phone to notice me.
“Mr. Sanders, I’m Rita Meade,” I say, holding out my hand.
The lawyer keeps his head down but says, “No comment.”
Maybe he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.
“I know who you are,” Mr. Sanders says, his eyes red rimmed as he steps in front of his daughter. She hugs her arms over her chest. I stand in front of her, too, and block her view of the bay. There are some things that can’t be washed off with Vaseline and face soap.
My cell vibrates again. Christ, I should have powered it off.
I feel Carl behind me. I know his camera is on even though the light is not. He’s aware the light can scare them off.
“I know this is a hard time,” I say. “But I’m here to help.”
Mr. Sanders scoffs. “By parading our grief all over national television?”
“No comment,” the lawyer says to Mr. Sanders, clearly frustrated his client is not following the rules.
I stay focused on Mr. Sanders. “No. By keeping this story valid. By making sure we get to the truth. By being a voice for your wife.”
His hand balls into a fist. I sense Carl behind me, moving closer.
“No comment,” the drone lawyer says again.
C’mon, Marshall, give me something, I think.
“The truth is the most important thing to me, Mr. Sanders,” I say. “And I get to that by digging. You can help me. We will fight together to bring the person responsible to justice. I’m a fighter. I’ll fight for Laura.”
His daughter peeks out from behind his leg and looks at me with large brown eyes. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve knelt to her level. It takes every ounce of self-control I can harness not to reach out to her. No touching her, I remind myself. First rule in my field, never touch or hug the victim’s family. Ever.
But her eyes are calling to me. They look vast and empty and remind me of another pair of eyes I once knew. Mine.
“I like your earrings,” she says in a quiet voice.
I place the mic between my arm and side and unhook my gold hoops from my ears; then I hand them to her. “They’ll match your necklace,” I say, touching the gold chain around her neck. And before I can stop myself, I put one arm around her small shoulders and hug her.
“My name is Rita. What’s your name?” I say.
“My name is—”
“Get away from her,” Marshall Sanders yells as he pulls his daughter toward him.
I stand. My hand is shaking now. I’ve never done that before. Things are definitely off. This whole damn day is off. Get control, Rita. “One statement and I’ll leave you alone,” I say to him with a slow and steady voice.
His lawyer throws up his hands and looks at me. “Can you please go away?”
“Laura had her ...” Marshall Sanders swallows. “Demons.”
Sweat rolls down my back. “What kind of demons?” I ask.
He leans in close to me, so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “You know what kind.”
I jerk away from him.
“That’s it,” the lawyer says. “We’re done here.”
The lawyer takes Marshall Sanders’s arm and pulls him away. The young girl looks back at me as she walks away, my earrings clutched in her tiny hand.
