Chapter 12
My first weekend in Echo Valley, I stayed busy.
Lara and I ate our way through town, binge-watched K-dramas, read in the nook at Pages and Perks, and finally locked in the design for the breast-cancer-charity website now that her funding has come through.
Anything that kept me out of the house.
It wasn’t that I was avoiding Anton. Not exactly.
He didn’t seem to need a chaperone anyway. He gave me space to settle in and spent most of his time back in that shed—probably already sketching plans for the baby’s crib.
I shake my head, half-amused, half-exasperated.
Is he trying to win some imaginary prize for world’s swooniest man, or does he really move through the world like this?
Now it’s Monday. The station is alive but relaxed—humming fluorescents, the faint whirr of the front-desk printer, the lingering scent of stale coffee that somehow exists in every police department in America.
And I’m back to work with my other mental distraction. The Zoe Marshall case.
A burst of laughter from the break room snaps me upright.
Everything around me is awake, and I’m in a daydream.
I should be prepping myself to talk to Callum about this Zoe report. Instead, my pulse keeps replaying Anton’s stiff posture in the shed. He was different. Vulnerable.
First, when he told me about his ex-wife and best friend.
Are they what makes putting distance between us so easy for Anton? Does he not want to ever commit again?
Then…when he asked me about the crib. As if I’d ever not want something so beautiful for our child. Our baby already has more commitment from him than I ever had from the man who made me.
I don’t think about my father often. He’s more of a shadow than a person at this point. But apparently becoming a mother flips every buried file in your emotional archive upside down because suddenly, the comparison is unavoidable.
Anton has already shown up for our child every single time I’ve asked him and even when I’m not looking.
So why did watching him slide so easily into partner mode make me want to disappear for the rest of the weekend?
Am I in this deeper than I think?
My phone buzzes.
Mom
Grandma is coming up for the scan too if that’s okay?
My stomach drops.
Great. As if thinking about one emotional giant wasn’t enough. Let’s add my mother to the equation.
Anton and Mom in the same room.
Two forces colliding.
Both are intimidating in completely different ways.
I don’t think Anton would mind her being there at the appointment…But I haven’t asked yet. Still, he told me to invite family and friends anytime.
I’m not sure that he meant to our medical appointments, though.
I text back.
Me
Sounds great.
Mom
K Baby. See you soon.
I rub my palms down my thighs. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.
I stare at my mom’s message, and the truth lands with a thud. Maybe my wanting to be friends with Anton is less about him and more about my mom.
Maybe it’s about everything she passed on to me—intentionally or not—about strength meaning independence, about never needing a man, about never depending on someone who could leave.
Am I scared of attachment…just because she was?
I push back from my desk and stretch, breathe through the tangle in my chest. I need to work.
My eyes fall on the contents of the manila folder again. The tire impressions from Zoe’s case stare back at me, but I don’t know why. I’ve never actually used my academy training on accident investigation. It’s not something that came up in my short time as an officer.
The tire impression photo sits there, grainy and faint, like it’s been photocopied three times and then stepped on. They aren’t high-quality photos. That in and of itself is strange. Don’t they have a good camera here? My cell could take better images than this.
I lean closer, squinting when a shadow falls across my desk.
“Morning, Officer Johnson.”
I jump so hard that I hit my knees under the desk.
Chief Callum Murphy stands there with a travel mug, bright eyes, and a kind smile on his face.
I’ve been around Callum only in social circumstances and always thought he was a great guy. He’s young to be Chief of Police, only a few years older than I am, and I wonder how he got the job. Especially when Ingram is here.
He must have really impressed somebody somewhere.
“Morning,” I manage, straightening the photos into the folder.
He nods toward it. “The Marshall case?”
His tone isn’t sharp or reprimanding. It’s curious.
I admit. “I’m struggling to marry it altogether.”
“The only new reports in there are the tox and coroner’s report.” He takes a slow sip of coffee, then drags the visitor chair out and drops into it. “What are they showing that doesn’t sit right?”
“It’s not really the new reports. Not exactly. It’s more…the case in general.”
My boss narrows his eyes. “Oooo-kay.”
“I know I’m supposed to tick the boxes here, but…would you mind if I…” I don’t even know how to explain what I want to do.
Treat the case as if it just came in? Second-guess a senior officer’s work?
I settle on, “…Take more time with the details?”
His words aren’t stern, but they are serious. “Ingram was thorough.”
I brace for a no.
He rubs his chin, and it’s hard to let him think without overexplaining myself, but I’m glad I do.
He puts his mug down on my desk and leans onto his knees with his elbows. “Seeing as there’s not much to do around here on desk duty, let’s use it as a training opportunity.”
I wish I’d thought of asking for a “training opportunity”. Callum should be in politics.
He grabs the corner of one of the photos poking out and looks at it. “Walk me through what’s bothering you.”
I take the picture and put it on the desk between us.
“This is supposed to be the tread mark from Zoe’s car, right? The one near the quarry lip?”
“That’s what the report says.”
“Well…not that it’s a very clear image, but…” I slide my finger across the photo. “There are two tire marks in it. One faint, one more pronounced.”
He leans in, studying it. “Ingram suggested it was previously parked car’s tread. The faint tracks.”
“What if the faint tread was Zoe’s…” My pulse picks up. “And the strong tread was another car.”
Callum narrows his eyes. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s possible, right?”
He sits back, jaw ticking once, considering me. Then he takes the photo from the desk and examines it closely. “Ingram said there was very low light that day out there. And it was misting.”
“So that’s why the photos are awful?”
He glances up at me for a beat, reading me, making a decision on whatever my features are telling him, then drops his gaze again, scrutinizing the photo.
“It wasn’t raining here that day. But Northern California is known for its microclimates.
” He glances up at me again, and something in his gaze is different.
He hands me the photo. “I’m not sure you’re going to get much from this, but you’re right in saying it’s not conclusive. I’m sure you’ll find the other evidence is thorough. Unless there’s something strange back from the autopsy? Ingram obviously didn’t process that since it’s just in.”
“Or maybe everyone in town just wants it closed for the sake of her parents?” I ask.
Oops. I meant to tread lightly.
For the first time ever, Callum’s relaxed nature shifts. “Even a small-town chief of police wouldn’t allow that in his station.”
I overstepped. “I didn’t mean you; I meant…”
“This isn’t Podunk, Freya. We do things by the book.” He stands.
I blew it.
“Which is why you need to keep it open and see what you see. Follow your gut and…do it quietly. We follow procedure in small towns, but we do it with compassion. Finesse. You get my drift?”
“In other words, don’t talk to her family until I’ve exhausted all other options.”
“That and…” Just then, Ingram enters the office. “…Be conscious of teamwork.”
Ingram steps inside with a stack of files tucked under one arm. His gaze flicks to the manila folder on my desk, then to Callum, then finally to me.
Something cold ripples under my skin.
“Morning,” he says, voice neutral.
Callum straightens. “We were just talking shop.”
Ingram’s gaze sharpens a degree. “About the Marshall case?”
My pulse stutters. Callum answers with authority.
“Officer Johnson is going to do some cross-checks. It won’t be often she gets a chance to evidence a case like this. It’s a learning opportunity.” He glances at me, and I know I need to let this be his idea and not mine. “I want her to treat it like it was hers from the start.”
Ingram nods, but the muscle in his jaw jumps. The small tick hits me like a pinprick. Is he pissed?
Ingram nods. “Any questions, feel free to come to me.”
“I’ll make sure to loop you in,” I tell him, trying to sound more confident than I feel right now.
His eyes hold mine a beat too long, then he nods and moves toward his desk.
Nobody likes being second-guessed.
The minute he’s gone, Callum leans in just enough that only I can hear.
“Take your lunch early. Head out to the quarry. Daylight’s better there in the afternoon.”
I nod, adrenaline sliding into my bloodstream with purpose.
Callum steps away, and I gather the folder, closing it gently, letting the weight of it settle into my palms. This might be nothing. Or it’s the start of something I can’t quite see yet.
Either way, I need to follow it.
I reach for my keys…and freeze.
The Monarch Hills keychain with my new house key catches the light.
I close my fingers around the keychain, thumb tracing the metal.
What if my so-called gut is inventing this all just so I have a distraction?
I can face the quarry. I can face a case that doesn’t sit right. I can face Callum’s caution and Ingram’s stare.
But Anton? That’s something different altogether.
I grab my jacket and stand. It’s fine. Everything is going to be just fine. Lead with your mind and the rest will follow.
When I get into the police car, I plug in the quarry coordinates; just seeing them on my Satnav sends a distinct shiver down my spine.
Something out there isn’t adding up.
But if I’m honest…a lot inside me isn’t either.