His smile faded as he met her eyes. Nothing but contempt seemed to live inside them. He wanted to hug her, hold her in his arms, but she could hardly stand to be touched. He was left with nothing else to do but get up and go. At the doorway he turned and said, “Thanks for the help on the recorder.”
She didn’t look up.
“Take your dishes downstairs when you’re finished and help your mother clean up.”
That, at least, evoked something. Disdain? Who cared. He needed her to be something more than absent.
Grabbing his briefcase, he hurried downstairs, stopping by the dining room. He found Kay sitting alone at the table, her hands folded and her chin resting on them. It was as if she’d prepared a huge feast for only herself and didn’t have the stomach to eat it.
“Where’s Hunter?”
Kay nodded to the window. “He wanted to walk Frank out.”
Damien stared out the window. The two of them leaned against Frank’s truck, talking. He turned back to Kay. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”
“Why? Of course I want you to go.”
“You look sad.”
“I’m okay. Go. Get those facts. Write a killer story.”
Damien laughed. “I don’t even know what I’m going to, but if Frank thinks it’ll make a good story, he’s probably right.”
He pecked her on the cheek and hurried out the front door and down the sidewalk. Hunter, upon seeing him, stood erect and stepped away from Frank, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a sudden interest in the dead winter grass.
Frank regarded Damien as he went around the truck. “I don’t think breaking news is your forte.” He glanced deliberately at his watch. “It usually means you have to be quick on your feet.”
Damien waved at Hunter as he got into Frank’s truck. “Sorry. I’m ready now.” He snapped his seat belt on. “What were you and Hunter talking about?”
“You always hovering over your kids like this? No wonder they’re going berserk.”
“Is Hunter going berserk? Is that what you’re sensing? Because I think I caught him with porn the other night.”
“He was just getting some Uncle Frank time, okay? Sometimes it’s easier to talk to people outside your family.”
Damien sighed. “Yeah, okay. I guess. But you have to tell me if he’s getting into something he shouldn’t.”
Frank pulled the truck onto the neighborhood street. “You shouldn’t worry so much about him. He’s a good kid. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“I know he is.” Damien pulled out his notepad. “So what is it that we’re going to?”
Frank gripped the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead as they turned onto Shelton Street. “You should prepare yourself. This might be disturbing.”
8
Frank parked his extended cab at the curb and got out of the truck, searching for Captain Grayson among a crowd of emergency personnel mingled with the curious neighbors. Damien came up beside him.
Frank spoke quietly. “I can’t say much here, okay? Just walk around, see what you can find out, ask a lot of questions. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Frank walked along the street, the flashing lights of the cruisers leading the way to the house. An ambulance was parked on the other side of the roadblock, its back doors open and its bed empty.
The Shaws’ house bustled with activity. Several officers from the night shift milled around outside. Crime scene tape, tied from one tree to another, fluttered against the cold north wind. Frank followed the sidewalk and was about to enter the house when Detective Dean Murray exited.
“Hey, Frank,” he said. “Grayson’s looking for you.”
“What’s going on in there?”
“They’re working on the lady right now. Not sure if she’s going to make it.”
“What happened?” Frank asked, glancing behind him toward the reverend’s yard across the street. The couple stood by the tree where their cat had hung just hours before. “Are those two suspects?”
Detective Murray looked up to see what Frank was talking about. “No. The husband confessed. He’s in there right now. They’re taking him in for more questioning.”
“The husband? Tim?”
“Yeah,” Murray said, checking his notes. “That’s his name. Tim Shaw.” He continued down the sidewalk.
Frank gathered himself, unsure of what he was going to find.
Upon entering, he noticed the enlarged photo of the finance guy was tipped to the side, leaning against the drapes of the large window. Tim sat on the couch, crying, a night shift officer on either side of him.
“What have I done?” Tim moaned, shaking his head, hiding his face against the handcuffs around his wrists. He looked up at Frank.
Frank noticed movement and shouting near the kitchen. He squeezed around a small crowd of firefighters to where two EMTs were hunched over someone.
He assumed it was Darla. Her feet, shoeless but with pink socks, were barely visible at the moment. Her left hand outstretched on the kitchen tile, frozen in a clawlike grip.
“Save her! Please!” Tim’s shrill voice punctured through tense noises of the room.
What could’ve happened here?
“Frank,” said a calm voice behind him. Grayson.
“What in the world is going on?”
The captain’s tone was somber. He glanced at Darla on the floor and then at Tim. “He lost his temper. That’s what he’s telling us. He was asking for the officer he first talked to. He couldn’t remember your name.”
Frank turned back to Darla. As the EMTs moved around her, he saw glimpses of her shirt, bloodied. Her chin also bloodied.
“He apparently threw a remote control. It hit her skull. He claims it was an accident, that she stepped right in his line of fire.” Grayson pointed to the remote, shattered into pieces on the kitchen floor.
“Is she going to make it?” Frank whispered, still trying to get a better glimpse of Darla.
“I don’t know. She’s going into seizures. They’re trying to stabilize her.”
Suddenly Tim was pulled off the couch and to his feet by the officers.
Frank faced Grayson. “Let me have a couple of minutes with him, will you? Before Murray gets to him?”
Grayson looked hesitant.
“I won’t interfere. I just want to talk with him for a second. He did ask for me.”
“All right, but make it quick.” Grayson motioned for the officers to leave Tim.
Frank sat on the couch and pulled Tim back down. “What happened?” Frank asked.
Tim gasped for air, but no words came out.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Tim asked, unable to take his eyes off her.
“I don’t know. They’re trying their best.”
Suddenly the EMTs lifted her onto the stretcher and raised it. “Clear the way!” one of them shouted. They rolled past them in the living room, one of the EMTs holding up an IV bag. Frank still couldn’t get a good sense of how bad it was, but by the way they were rushing her out, it couldn’t be good. They both watched through the front window as she was rolled down the sidewalk and quickly put into the ambulance. The sirens blared through the house, but soon enough the sound was distant.
“What happened?” Frank repeated.
Tim sobbed into his hands again, and Frank could barely make out what he was saying. “I just lost it. I thought… I thought Darla told.”
“Told what?”
Tim finally looked up at Frank, his face a splotchy mess of emotion. “I thought she told the Caldwells what I’d said.” His bloodshot eyes glared at the handcuffs. “How else could anyone know what we said?”
“What did she say?”
“She denied it. She said she would never do that. But,” Tim said, his voice lowering to a whisper, “what was on that Web site… it’s exactly what I said. Exactly. Verbatim. She was the only person in the room. How could that be?”
“Tell me what happened here tonight.”
Tim tried to gather himself, taking two deep breaths and squeezing his handcuffed hands like he was accustomed to using them when he talked. “We got into an argument. I accused Darla of telling the Caldwells. She said she didn’t. It just got more and more heated. She accused me of some things… of never knowing when to shut up.” He sniffled. “Which is true. My mouth and my ego, they kind of get in the way sometimes. And… people are talking. About us. About me.”