Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,61
chair. We started with, “No, I didn’t have anything against that social worker,” and, “No, I never threatened his life.” That eventually segued into, “Well, he didn’t even try to understand our situation,” and “I might’ve made threats, but I’d never actually harm him.”
I took a purposefully long bathroom break, which was just an excuse to watch him through the glass. He called his daughter and his wife and had a conversation with them about where to stash the grandkids because, “This fucking pig is getting too fucking nosy.”
I’d been called worse.
I put in a quick call to Danny’s contact at DCHFS. She informed me that Kenneth’s daughter had three kids living in the home, and yes, history was repeating itself. Then she asked me to stall him as long as I could, which I did by starting my questions from scratch. I managed another hour before he finally realized he was free to leave and exercised that option. Loudly.
I was pretty clear on how I felt about Kenneth as a person—spoiler alert, not a fucking fan. But as a suspect, I just wasn’t sure. Yes, two of Joseph’s coworkers heard Kenneth swear he’d “make that fucking social worker pay for taking his kids.” And yes, he was certainly aggressive enough to do the deed. But was he clever enough? He didn’t strike me as the type who could pull off murder and credibly stage it as a suicide. He seemed more like the type who’d stab someone in the middle of a crowded street and take off running.
“You spelled Bree wrong.”
I looked up to see Kevin in the doorway, his messenger bag slung across his body. Nothing good ever came from an impromptu visit from a coworker. I spared a moment to silently eulogize the glass jar of Skittles on my desk. You all were so young, colorful, and sweet, and everyone loved you. So sorry you must die this way.
I followed his gaze, directed at my whiteboard. “No, her name was Bee. Bee Williams. Her mother always used to say she was busy as a bee in her stomach, so that’s the first thing that came to mind when she was born.”
“Ah.” Kevin stared at the board of pictures for a moment, a pensive look on his face. He was a father, and I knew he was probably thinking of his three little girls. Sure enough, he shook his head and murmured, “He took a lot from these people, didn’t he?”
I’d met with at least one member of each woman’s family and that was a no brainer. “Just about everything that matters,” I said simply.
He ambled farther into my office. “I had a meeting with one of Joseph’s coworkers, a woman named Gail. She had some very good things to say.”
“Such as?”
“Well, she described him as extremely dedicated—the come in early and stay late type. He was well-liked and formed special bonds with many of the families he worked with.”
I waited expectantly. “Yeah, and?”
“And he coached girls’ soccer at the local youth center. He also put together a Christmas fundraiser to help buy new sports equipment for the team.”
“I need some dirt, Kev.” I clucked my tongue. “Generally, people don’t get killed for things they could put in their bio.”
He shrugged again. “Well, from what I gather, he did have a side hustle.”
“Now we’re talking.” I rubbed my hands together in a sinister manner, á la Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. “So, what was it? Gambling? Drugs? Escorting?”
“He made toys for kids and sold them on Etsy.”
Jesus. “Next you’re going to tell me he was a Disney prince on the holidays.”
“Close. He was an elf.” He grinned. “He worked at Santa’s Village every year.”
I pointed at the door. “Get out.”
He chuckled as he sat in my lone guest chair and immediately lasered in on the candy jar. As expected, he didn’t give the Skittles one iota of mercy, lifting the lid off the container immediately. He dug out an obscene amount of candy and tossed them in his mouth.
I could see the writing on the wall. I leaned over my Echo. “Alexa, order a family size bag of Skittles.”
Kevin pointed at me. “You’ve always been the brains of this team, Christiansen. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Alexa, order a rifle with a scope.”
“Now that’s just not nice.”
Kevin gave up on even a shred of propriety and picked up the glass jar, settling it on his knee. “Anyway, that’s not what I came in here to talk about.”