look chalky. Her clothes hung on her bony frame, and her entire head was covered in a woolen beanie. A short plastic tube jutted from the loose collar of her T-shirt, and when she gestured for us to come in, she grabbed for a metal device with four legs and wheels. She pivoted the walker and shuffled behind it, her gray slippers scraping across the bare, worn floor. We followed her to a cramped seating area with a ratty couch and two chairs.
Seeing her so frail and beat down triggered memories of Quinn. Anger boiled, but I tried to keep it contained. Any whiff of awkwardness or tension could send up a red flag to someone like Sonja, who was trained as a detective. She was sure to observe minute details.
Sonja half sat, half collapsed onto the couch. Not sure what to do, Lucas and I hovered. She shoved the walker out of her way to kick her legs out, flicking her wrist at the chairs. “Sorry, not much on manners these days. Sit.”
Lucas took the chair closest to her, but she ignored him. Her attention remained focused on me as I perched on the edge of the other chair.
I prepared to launch back into our spiel, but Sonja beat me to it.
“I knew this day would come,” she said, brown eyes unflinching. “I knew someone besides Edgar had to suspect what happened to that little girl. Your cousin.”
Finally.
“What did happen to her?” I asked.
Sonja squeezed her eyes shut, the air leeching from her lungs in a gasp. Her cough was a hacking, ravaged sound that made me cringe.
Lucas half rose in his chair, but she waved him back down. “Can I get you something? Water?” he said, once the spell had ended.
“Water won’t fix what I’ve got. Thank you, though.” She seemed to notice him for the first time, but she turned her attention back to me. “What happened to her? I wish I knew. But one thing’s for sure—someone sure as hell wanted to make sure there weren’t any questions.”
Her gaze strayed over to the brick fireplace. Several framed photos were neatly arranged, but she only had eyes for one.
A picture of her and Edgar Blythe. She appeared to be in good health, so it must have been taken several years ago.
“He was a good man, Edgar. A friend, and a damn decent cop. No one will ever convince me that he died in some hiking accident. Bull. For a cop, that man was as cautious as they came. Hated the rain and cold. He’d no more go hiking in a storm than I’d go run a marathon right now.”
“So, you think . . . he was killed?” Lucas asked without flinching. He put it right out there.
“Damn right, I do. I didn’t want to believe him, you know. Not at first.” Her voice softened, like she was recalling good memories. “I told him he was working too hard. That he was talking crazy—who would want to pretend a fire was an accident if it were arson? All his talk of cover-ups. That kind of stuff can end your career.”
She glanced at the photo again, and her eyes misted. Reminding us that much more than a man’s career had ended over this.
“I asked him to show me what he had, what proof. But he refused. He avoided me like I had the plague. I thought maybe he’d gone off the deep end. Right up until the call came in . . .”
Sonja’s chin dropped to her chest. I waited for her to collect herself, guilt tightening like a noose around my neck. This woman was clearly ill, and here I was, asking her to relive one of the worst moments of her life. Part of me thought I should leave her in peace. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I needed all the information I could gather. If I knew the truth about the past, I might be able to stop Holland in the future.
When Sonja lifted her head, her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, but her voice was stronger. “All along, he’d been trying to protect me. He let me do some early work with him on the case, but he cut me off. To keep me safe, I think. After he died, I put in for a transfer. I got it immediately. Like maybe someone wanted me gone, I don’t know.”
She leaned forward and grabbed the handgrips on her walker. “Wait here.”