license of the man driving the cattle truck that struck my parents. Even with his cheeks a more natural color, I’m confident it’s the same man lying lifeless in the ditch.
“Milo Bobrov was killed two hours after your parents’ accident—”
I cut her off and talk through the bile burning my throat. “How can that be? Why wasn’t he still in police custody? He mowed down my parents, for crying out loud! How could they not have held him for longer than an hour?” I’m yelling, and it’s unacceptable, but when my mind is spiraling, anger seems to be my go-to way to express myself. I’m fuming mad because I asked several times if there was any link between my parents’ death and Crombie’s arrest. I was forever told there wasn’t. It seems as if I wasn’t the only person lying all those years ago. So was Grayson—and perhaps Brandon.
My attitude takes a step back when Phillipa replies, “I’m here seeking the same set of answers you are, Melody, but no one appears willing to ask the hard-hitting questions.”
Her determination is inspiring, but I’m still cautious. Why after all this time is she interested in my parents’ case? The prosecution of a deceased defendant is extremely rare. I’ve not heard of a single case since I commenced studying law over seven years ago. Unless I want to bring a civil suit against Bobrov, which I have no intention of doing, Agent Russell’s investigation makes no sense whatsoever. Unless…
“What division of the Bureau did you say you were in again?”
The friendly mask Phillipa has been wearing the past twenty minutes slips away as her lips tug into an uneasy grin. “I didn’t, but for whatever it matters, I’m part of a special task force that has a direct association with the IA Department.”
“Internal Affairs,” I say in full, ensuring she knows I’m not as silly as she seems to believe. “So, you’re not here about my parents’ deaths. You’re here to take down one of your own for an alleged act of vigilantism.”
She looks pleased more than annoyed by my reply. It’s a known trait of any female when they realize the person they’re attempting to railroad is just as smart, if not smarter, than them.
I push the photographs she placed down in front of me back to her side of the desk. “So much for comradery between peers.”
“Two hours isn’t enough time to protest the law and carry out your own agenda,” Phillipa shouts, her voice rising to a level even my implants find distasteful.
Although I could retaliate with just as much malice, I keep a cool, collective head. “But it was certainly enough time for the officers on the scene to rule my parents’ death as an accident. But you’re not here to get justice for them or me, are you? You want the person responsible for freeing the world of a rodent nobody wanted. Why am I not surprised? Justice only occurs for those willing to fight for it.”
When I immaturely roll my eyes before spinning on my heels and heading for the door, the real reason for Agent Russell’s request for an interview is exposed. “You uncovered the connection yourself, Melody. You recognized Bobrov and Crombie’s identical tattoos, so who’s to say Brandon didn’t also make the same connection?”
“Leave Brandon out of this. He had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Allegedly,” Agent Russell fires back, her smirk back to its previous smug appearance. “It’s my job to prove what he did or didn’t do.” My stomach rolls when she slaps down a picture of a man hanging in a jail cell. I recognize his face in an instant. It’s the man who set my dorm on fire years ago. “Two men killed years apart, and they both have one connection. You.” She raises her eyes to mine, “Or should I say, you and Brandon?”
Years of legal studying ensures she can’t rattle me. “A prisoner in your custody died on your watch, Agent Russell. If anyone should be interrogated, that person should be you.” The image of Crombie hanging lifelessly bombards me with horrid, sick memories of Joey hanging from the old oak tree at the McGee’s ranch, but I keep a rational head. “There are no defensive wounds on the defendant’s hands, neck, or face. The noose is made from material similar to the jumpsuits prisoners are transported in, and even with your zoom capabilities being proven mighty effective today, it’s obvious he’s in a prison cell.