and I don’t want to bring you down or make you feel less appreciated… because…”
“You love me?” he finished, giving her that wide-eyed playful expression that she grew up with—she always found it difficult to resist.
“Of course. More than you know.”
“This is nice, right? And don’t you want every day to be like this—together?”
“Yes,” she began, and knew where he was going with his narrative. “It’s wonderful, but we both have fairly hectic schedules right now.” Katie knew that the next logical step would be more of a commitment, but there was no way she could make such a huge decision like that right now.
Thirty-Seven
Tuesday 0810 hours
The early morning rain caused Katie to run a little bit late. She hurried from the car to the sheriff’s building trying to stay as dry as possible. Her thoughts weren’t far from Chad. He didn’t ask her to marry him, but he was hinting at something. His restlessness about their relationship was showing and even though Katie had no doubt that he loved her, he wasn’t going to wait forever.
What do I say?
Once inside the building, she shook off the raindrops, wiped her feet, hurried down the corridor and was about to run her security pass card when the door burst open and McGaven charged out.
“What’s going on?” she said, taken aback that her partner almost knocked her off her feet.
“Saw you on the security cameras,” he said, almost breathless. “Just got a call from the sheriff and Detective Hamilton; patrol brought Bob Bramble in last night.”
“The contractor?” she said, accessing her memory for the day of the crime scene at Elm Hill.
“Yep. You’ll never guess what for?”
“Murder?”
“No, it was a routine traffic stop and they found something interesting in his car.”
“Just tell me,” she said, teetering on her last nerve.
“They found three things: a roll of twine, a large bag of old-fashioned ink pens, and… a lock of brown human hair with a pink ribbon attached. And a small amount of cocaine.”
Katie’s jaw hit the floor.
“When the deputy asked him what all this was, he said something casual about the twine and pens for his daughter’s art project, but he finally confessed that he took the lock of brown hair at the Harlan crime scene before we got here.”
Katie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What?”
“I know—you heard me.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was in jail last night but they are bringing him up to one of the interview rooms for us to talk to him.”
“Okay,” she said. “What about a search warrant at his house and office?”
“They’re already on that, but they left the interrogation up to your discretion.”
“Let me put my briefcase away and dry off a bit first.”
Katie and McGaven rushed into the detective division to find a commotion underway. Several detectives were speaking loudly to a civilian making the area feel busy and claustrophobic. Jennifer, the office assistant, intercepted them at the door and said, “Detective Hamilton told me to tell you that the suspect is in interview room 4. This is for you,” she said, giving Katie a file.
“Thanks, Jen,” said McGaven.
Outside the door, Katie skimmed through the reports and photographs of the items seized from Bramble’s car. There was also a brief resumé and background check for Bramble.
Katie said, “You want to do it?”
“It’s your party,” he said.
Opening the door, Katie stepped into the room followed closely by McGaven. She chose to stand while McGaven took a seat uncomfortably close to the prisoner.
Robert John Bramble, age 52, sat quietly in his orange jumpsuit, his eyes darting from Katie to McGaven and back to her again. His wrists were cuffed but kept moving nervously—which was common for many suspects.
Katie slammed down the file folder, making it snap loudly against the table. “Mr. Bramble, how did we get here? You were so helpful at the crime scene, and now you’re here in cuffs. What’s up?”
He stared at her, his eyes almost black, his skin washed out. He shook his head.
“C’mon, do I need to spell it out for you?” Katie paced the floor to keep him on his toes—to fix his eyes on her.
“I don’t know,” he said in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t, we didn’t quite hear that.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you. I don’t know anything.”
“That’s a lot of ‘don’t knows’ you have.” She paused. “Wait, I’m sorry, but I didn’t properly introduce myself and my partner,” she said dramatically. “I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven.”
Bramble stared at her without any reaction.
“And we’re