Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Detective Garcia's eyes manage to appear simultaneously weary and sharp. She leans back in her chair, her jacket slipping open to reveal the badge hooked on the waistband of her navy slacks.

She takes her coffee black, and we've barely sat down across from each other at a deli's corner table when she has drained her mug and signaled the waitress for a refill.

When I reached out to request a conversation, I gave the detective my bona fides and provided two judges as my reference—Charles as well as Judge Cynthia Morton, who is presiding over the Barclay case. The detective took a day and a half before agreeing to talk to me. I'm certain she used that time to check me out.

"I will keep anything you tell me confidential," I promise. "I could get disbarred if I don't. All I want is to do right by Rose. And that means not sending her to live with a murderer."

She nods. "The truth? Any of them could have done it."

"When you say any of them—"

"Either parent. The grandmother. The boyfriend. At first I liked Ian for it, but we can't get anything to stick to him. Trust me, I've tried."

Dark circles rim her big brown eyes. It isn't hard to guess what keeps her up at night. The same thing that keeps me up: ghosts.

"And it could be none of them," she continues. "Maybe Tina just tripped and fell."

"The press seems to think Ian did it," I offer.

Her lip curls. "The only reason the press cares is because Tina was young and beautiful and the Barclays are rich. If they'd all been nobodies, Tina's death would've gotten two lines in the paper's police blotter."

I see my mother's lifeless body on the floor, her eyes vacant.

I wonder if my mom merited even two lines.

No one ever bothered to find out if she died from an overdose or if someone killed her. Not even me, the daughter she cherished until her addiction consumed the loving mother I once knew.

My throat thickens, and I quickly pull my attention back to the detective.

"We looked at grandma for it, but that's a stretch," she is saying. "The elevator only goes between her lower-level suite and the first floor. They installed it for her when she moved in. Grandma would've had to climb two flights of stairs, push Tina, and race back down and get outside before anyone noticed. With that bad knee? Plus, she was watching Rose."

She drains her coffee again, and the waitress swings by to refill it. The detective waits until she is out of earshot before continuing.

"The boyfriend, Pete, has an alibi. Not an ironclad one, but he was with a friend who vouched for him. We traced his phone records from that night. He would've had to leave his phone at his friend's house since it didn't ping off any other cell towers, then get to the Barclays', climb the fence, get into the house, push Tina, and escape without being seen. Again, it's a little hard to fathom. Even though the alarms weren't activated during the day because so many people came and went to work in the house or grounds."

She exhales, looking exhausted despite the caffeine pumping through her system.

"Is there any way you can tell me if you think you'll make an arrest?" I ask. "Because I can delay giving my recommendation to the court."

"If I had enough evidence, I'd charge someone. But I don't. That's why it's a cold case. It will always be open, but we couldn't justify keeping it active."

My body sags. That's it, then. "So what happened to Tina may never be known?"

The detective's cell phone vibrates. She glances at it, then sets it back down on the table. Her voice is a little hoarse. "People think the worst part of my job is seeing dead bodies. But it isn't. The worst is seeing the living. When I tell someone their brother or mother or daughter is gone and we may never know why or who did it?"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. It's then I see her fingernails are bitten to the quick.

"Do you think Tina was murdered?" I ask.

Detective Garcia opens her eyes. She looks around the nearly empty deli, then leans in closer. "Two things I keep thinking about. One is this, and it goes no farther than our table: Tina was on the phone with a friend just before her death."

I've devoured coverage of this case, and I never heard that detail.

"We held a few things back from the press," she continues. "Tina was talking about Ian, about her fantasy of running off with him once she told him about the baby. The next sound was breaking glass. That's how we can pinpoint the exact time she fell."

My pulse quickens. "So the friend didn't pick up any other voices in the background?"

Detective Garcia shakes her head. "Tina barely even paused in conversation. The only thing she did was suck in a breath. She was talking fast and pretty excited; it could've just been a loud inhale. Or she could've been startled by someone sneaking up on her. Or it could've been a gasp as she tripped. But here's the thing: We never recovered Tina's phone from the scene."

I frown. "Someone took it?"

Her eyes darken. "The phone has been powered off since the accident. We can't trace it. So there's no way to tell who grabbed it. There were a lot of responders on the scene. And all the Barclays, of course."

I reach for my pen. "What's the friend's name?"

The detective frowns. "That I can't say. I need to hold back a few parts."

I nod, as if conceding. Then I move on.

The detective had said there were two things she kept thinking about.

"What's the second thing?"

"Rose loved to pick vegetables, right? Even had a little wicker basket she always used. She was outside with grandma, gathering the last of the season's baby tomatoes when Tina fell. They'd been out back for about ten minutes when Tina hit the patio, according to grandma."

I nod; this computes with what I've read and heard.

"We found the basket. Crime scene photos show it was back by the vegetable beds."

I can't track where she's going. "Rose probably dropped the basket when Harriet screamed."

The waitress comes over with a pot of coffee, but without breaking eye contact with me, the detective covers the mug with her hand and waits until the waitress moves on.

"It was the end of summer, but there were still plenty of tomatoes on the vines. So why was the basket empty? If the girl loved picking vegetables so much, what was she doing during those ten minutes right before Tina died?"

Ice floods my veins.

"Rose isn't— Do you think she's involved?"

The detective shrugs. "I never rule anything out, but again, it seems like a stretch. The kid can't talk, so we can't ask her anything."

Detective Garcia's eyes travel over my face. She opens her mouth to say something; then her phone buzzes insistently.

"I've got to go." She stands up, reaching for her purse. Then she hesitates.

"Did you hear Ian and Beth both walked out when they were asked to take lie detector tests?"

I nod.

"That's what the press thinks. But that isn't exactly how it happened."

I wait, my stomach twisting.

"They both walked out when I asked them about their daughter."