the police officers, who said a detective would be coming to hear everything and she didn’t have the strength to go through it more than she needed to. Jessica leaned back as if she took Leah’s refusal personally. “No,” Leah repeated, her tone modified. “Thank you, though.”
“Okay then. But the sooner the better, you know that.” Jessica’s gaze moved past Leah to the victims’ advocacy posters. “The one thing the victims’ groups—don’t you hate that word, victim? As if everything else you’ve accomplished in life is suddenly negated by that label?” Jessica took a breath before continuing, her tone now more clinical, as if she’d closed the doors on her own emotions, resuming her professional façade. “Anyway, the one thing they get right, is that talking helps. So, when you’re ready, call me. Anytime.” She handed Leah a business card with her private cell number and stood.
Jessica headed to the door, then pivoted on her heel. “Take care, Leah. I truly am sorry you’re going through this. But please know, I’m here. You are never alone.”
And yet, with Ian gone, Leah was alone.
She pulled Emily closer, the silence enveloping them both, an insulation against the world beyond.
Finally, a nursing assistant appeared with a wheelchair and the news that Emily’s room was ready. Leah shifted Emily’s dead weight onto her hip and, ignoring the wheelchair, followed him to the elevator.
Once the pediatric nurses had Emily settled, they left them alone in their room, closing the door on the muffled nighttime noises of the ward beyond. Leah stank of blood—her hair was sticky with it—but she didn’t want to leave Emily’s sight, so she kept the bathroom door open while she washed her hair in the sink. Then she filled a basin with soapy water and carefully gave Emily a sponge bath, taking extra care to keep the water soothing warm and to gently comb free the tangles in Emily’s hair. She didn’t do as good a job as Ian would have. The thought ambushed her, left her gasping for breath.
Emily was usually an active sleeper, flipping and flopping and mumbling the night away. Not now. But it was good she was sleeping, blissfully able to shut off her brain, if only for a few hours. Leah crawled into bed with her daughter and wished she could switch off as well.
Time seemed to move in fits and starts, even occasionally spiraling backward or stopping altogether. As she lay there, watching the luminescent hands on the clock creep forward, Leah fought against the images of Ian that battered her exhausted brain. A muffled knock came on the door and it opened before she could say anything.
She sat up, expecting the nurse. Instead, it was a man in his late thirties. “Mrs. Wright?” he said, meeting her gaze without flinching or looking away. “I’m Detective Luka Jericho from the Violent Crimes Unit. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Five
Hospital rooms made for less than ideal conditions to interview a witness, but tonight Luka had no choice. EMS had whisked Leah and her daughter away before Harper had arrived on the scene, so all Luka had to go on was what little information Leah had given the responding officers.
The uniforms had come up with nothing solid during the door-to-door. The townhouse beside the Wrights’ was for sale and empty. A few people reported hearing the sound of a car engine or maybe a motorcycle going too fast down the street. Some had video doorbells that would help to determine the traffic on the block around the time of the murder once the techs downloaded and reviewed the footage. As for the rest of the neighbors, despite the fact that Ian Wright must have shouted for help, no one had heard anything above the sounds of their TVs.
The CSU guys were as pessimistic as always and this scene had an overwhelming amount of evidence to process, but the sheer level of violent chaos had Luka hoping their actor left some trace of himself behind. Blood and DNA from where his hand had slipped against his weapon, a stray palm print or skin trapped under the victim’s fingernails. There had to be something.
What worried him the most were the bloody footprints Maggie had found. The CSU supervisor had examined them more closely and found that they were made by shoe covers, hiding the real imprint. Which meant their actor was smart enough to arrive prepared to literally cover his tracks.