GENEVIEVE
“You too.” I shook his hand.
He sat in the metal chair opposite mine. The table was wide between us, big enough that I wouldn’t be able to reach across and touch him without standing. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I’d been here for almost an hour, sitting in this colorless room alone. The officers who’d escorted me here had given me a Dixie cup of water, then disappeared.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“I’ve got some questions for you.” He gave me a kind smile. “If you don’t mind.”
Fuck yes, I minded. “Not at all.”
This entire thing was off and I had no reason to stay other than that I wanted my ass in this chair, not Isaiah’s.
And damn it, I was curious.
Being in an interrogation room was never a good idea, especially without Jim present, but I wanted information. Why was I here? The fastest way to find out why I was here was by playing along.
I gave Chief Wagner an innocent smile and sipped from my cup.
I hadn’t met the chief before, but we’d talked on the phone after Mom’s murder, when I’d been determined to make Draven pay for the life he’d taken.
Oh, how things had changed.
During our phone conversations, Chief Wagner had told me to call him Marcus. He’d given me his personal cell phone number in case I ever needed to talk. He’d reassured me, time and time again, that Draven would be punished for his crime. Marcus’s need for justice had seemed as strong as my own.
I’d liked that about him. And I’d liked that his voice had always put me at ease. It had a deep, rich timbre, and now that I could put it with a face, it fit the mental picture I’d built. He was a large man, solid and tall, with a broad chest and barrel of a stomach that could withstand any punch.
Clearly, Marcus kept in shape. He was probably in his late fifties or early sixties but he hadn’t let himself go.
In a way, he reminded me of Draven. They had the same stature and confidence.
They were probably around the same age. Marcus was handsome; the gray by his temples and in his bushy eyebrows just added to his appeal.
He had a wide, thick mustache shadowing his upper lip. It was neatly combed but hid enough of his face that it made reading his expression more difficult. He could scowl under that thing and one might mistake it for a smile.
Marcus studied my face, but the look wasn’t intimidating, more curious. It was almost . . . tender. He didn’t seem at all angry or on guard.
Shit. Had I misread this entire thing?
“The officers who came over didn’t tell me what this was about. Care to help me out here? Because I’m pretty confused about why I had to come to the police station on a Sunday.”
“Sorry.” He sighed. “They were my two on patrol today. I was running late, otherwise I would have swung by myself. All I asked was that they ask you to come down. I hope they were polite.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Very.”
Marcus continued to study me and an odd silence crept into the room. It stretched on and on, until my heart thundered in my ears and my palms began to sweat. What did he want? Why wasn’t he talking? Why was he just staring at me? Something about the look on his face made the hair on my arms spike.
Was that how he got his confessions? By staring at someone long enough that eventually they spilled their guts?
What are you looking at? What do you want? I screamed the questions in my head. This was worse than sitting across from Tucker Talbot and his creepy biker posse.
I broke. “You had questions?”
Marcus blinked, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “It wasn’t how I’d hoped he’d pay. He took the coward’s way out.”
Draven. This was about Draven, not the cabin.
The air rushed out of my lungs.
I hadn’t spoken to Marcus since my kidnapping. Why would I? I’d been firmly pulled into the fold at the Clifton Forge Garage. While I’d been learning about my father, working to prove his innocence, the chief had stayed the course to punish Draven for Mom’s murder.
Draven—Dad—hadn’t been a coward.
He’d saved my life. And Isaiah’s. And Dash’s.
But I couldn’t exactly say that to the chief, could I? It would fall on deaf ears. Marcus thought Draven was guilty. Rightly so. They had a murder weapon with Draven’s prints. They had Draven at the scene of the crime.
Marcus had done his job. He’d found evidence and arrested his suspect.
“As you know, he’s my father.”
Marcus nodded. “I know.”
Everyone knew. This was a small town and the daughter of a victim associating with the alleged killer had spread like wildfire.
Add to that a positive paternity test, I’d been a juicy topic.
Luckily, not much of that had reached the garage.
But I was sure it had reached the chief’s desk.
I was sure he’d looked for me at the trial, but Jim had thought it best for me to stay away.
Marcus had probably heard about my Sunday breakfasts at the diner too.
Jim had actually planned to use my relationship with Draven at the sentencing hearing, hoping it would garner sympathy for Draven.
Bryce had told me that Marcus was revered and respected around town.
After the Tin Kings had disbanded, the crime rate had dropped to nearly nothing, and many gave the chief credit for their peaceful community.
He was supposed to be an excellent investigator who ran the police force with a firm, honest hand.
So why hadn’t he investigated the knife? Bryce had published an article not long after Mom’s death speculating a weapon of Draven’s had been stolen. Had he ignored it? Maybe he had investigated but there’d been nothing to find.
No surprise—we hadn’t found anything either.
“Why am I here?” I asked. And why now? Dad’s death was months ago. What was there to discuss?
“Draven killed your mother.” His statement, the tone, was full of venom.
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
End of discussion. My allegiance would forever be to Draven. Yes, he’d been a criminal. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten along with the chief. But as far as I was concerned, the Draven topic was off the table.
Marcus’s jaw ticked. The mood in the room shifted. The tension returned as his stare hardened. He shifted in the chair, its legs scraping against the concrete floor as he fished a bag out of his pocket.
The room spun as he placed it on the table between us.
My mother’s necklace lay encased in the clear, plastic bag. It was the necklace I’d been looking for since her death. The necklace I’d described in detail to both pawnshop owners in Clifton Forge and dozens around the state.
How did he have it? Had she been wearing it when she died? Everything else from that horrific morning—her purse, the suitcase she’d had in the motel, even her toothbrush—had been returned to me after the police had deemed it was not part of the investigation.
Was this necklace evidence? If so, why hadn’t it been included in any of the trial materials? Jim had let me go through Draven’s case file last month. I’d asked him to. Begged, really. I’d needed that piece of closure. There had been no mention of the necklace.
“Do you recognize this?” Marcus asked, though he already knew the answer. I hadn’t even tried to hide my wide-eyed reaction.
“Yes. It was my mother’s.”
The dainty gold chain didn’t sparkle underneath the plastic.
It was dull and coated in black. The crystal in the center of the North Star pendant had a ring of dirt and grime around the base, like someone had wiped only the large part of the stone clean.
Only the center was clear enough to catch a hint of the overhead florescent light.
“Do you remember last summer when that man was burned to death in a cabin in the mountains?”
It took me a moment to register Marcus’s question. Then the sinking feeling in my gut nearly pulled me through the floor.
This wasn’t about Draven or my mother’s murder.
This was about the cabin.
It always came back to that fucking cabin.
“Um, yeah. I think so. It happened right before I moved here.” I kept my gaze locked on Mom’s necklace, using everything in my power to keep my voice from shaking. I sat on my trembling fingers.
A year ago, I’d spent countless hours rehearsing what I’d say if I was arrested. Over and over I’d practiced, in the shower or as I’d driven to work.
Nothing had happened. I’d gotten complacent. Where were those practiced lines now? Where was the fake surprise?
Marcus touched the plastic bag, pulling it to his side of the table. I wanted to grab it and snatch it back because damn it, that necklace should be mine. “That fire’s been a cold case for almost a year. The investigators ruled it arson, but we haven’t been able to find a trace.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“There were some things in the cabin that we linked to the victim. We’d thought this necklace was his as well. But turns out . . .”
I forced my eyes up to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t.”
How had Mom’s necklace ended up in that cabin? I hadn’t been wearing it that night. I would have remembered.
I didn’t wear jewelry to sleep. The only exception was my wedding ring. I’d been in pajamas, my face washed and teeth brushed, ready for bed the night I’d been kidnapped. Besides, Mom had never given me this necklace.
The last time I’d borrowed it had been—when?
—in Denver. Mom had lent it to me in college for a third date.
That date had gone terribly because the guy had only shelled out twenty bucks for a cheap pizza buffet and thought it was enough for sex.
When I’d turned him down, he’d huffed and said Don’t expect to hear from me again.
Mom had taken me out the next night for a mother-daughter date, with decent pizza, and I’d given her the necklace back. I’d teased her, saying it was bad luck.
That was the last time I’d worn that necklace, I was sure of it.
I’d given it back.
“Any idea how it got there?” Marcus asked.
“No.” Shit. I should call Jim. I needed to shut up and call Jim. But how did Marcus know this was Mom’s necklace?