Chapter 6 Dinah
Dinah
“You think the daughter is a killer or a victim?” Freddie sucks on the edge of a juice pouch as if he hasn’t drunk anything in days. I look away before it seems like I’m staring.
“Neither,” I say dryly. “There’s not anything in there pointing to murder.
” I shift my position on the hard concrete step of Reese Bishop’s porch, moving farther into the shade.
“She was terminally ill. Overdose is a better way to cross over than hospice.” It’s not Freddie’s fault that he doesn’t see the writing on the wall.
He’s too young to understand making a decision like this.
I tap through the fields on the report, putting in details and dragging photos from the file to the appropriate locations. It’s moments like this that I almost miss the paper forms. Almost.
“The daughter’s culpability is just something we need to consider.” He tilts his head back and empties the rest of the pouch into his mouth.
There is no we . This is my case, and tomorrow he will be back to whatever bullshit is on his training manifest. I swallow the thought and scroll past the area of the report where his information would be added.
“I promise to consider it as a possibility and see what the toxicology reports say.” I click save.
“It’s not a suicide. Not with the missing daughter.
” He crumples the juice container in both hands and looks around for a trash can.
“Maybe she killed the mom and took off running? Or the killer offed the mom and snatched her? Or ...” He perks up.
“Maybe she found her mom dead and, like, had a mental breakdown?”
I fit the stylus into the holder at the top of the pad and lock the screen.
“We don’t even know for sure that Jessica is missing.
City puts out three dozen APBs a day. Half the time the subject is just sitting at a bar around the corner, drunk.
Trust me, Jessica could show up tomorrow off a flight from Cancún with a sunburn and a hangover. ”
He looks disappointed by the idea, and I remember what it was like to be a rookie detective.
The craving of drama. The spotting of conspiracies.
It isn’t until you’re seasoned that you realize conspiracies and complications only mean one thing: more paperwork and more loopholes for a ruthless defense attorney to jump through.
I stand and brush off the seat of my pants. “Well, the report is in. Thanks for your help today. Send over whatever you need me to fill out for your TO.”
He pauses and has the indecency to look hurt. “What about the autopsy? That’ll take, what? A few hours? I can meet back up with you when you get the call.”
“Won’t be necessary.” I slide the pad into my bag. “I’ll call you if there’s anything strange.”
He looks at his watch. “Okay, but I got three hours left on my shift.”
“I’d call back to the station.” I step off the porch. “Dispatch’ll give you something to do.”
He scowls and I’d forgotten the daily agony of babysitting a trainee. Thank God it wasn’t my shit show. Ron and his wandering eyes could handle him.
I give Freddie a parting wave and a smile, grateful to have him out of my hair.