Page 3 of 4th Silence (Schock Sisters Mystery #4)

Charlie

C old case clearance rates have been dropping for four decades. Unsolved murders are at an all-time high.

JJ doesn’t answer his direct line. After multiple rings, it directs me to his voicemail.

Meg leaves a brief message. “Hi, JJ. It’s your favorite forensic artist. Call me back when you have a chance?”

He won’t.

From outside comes the scraping of the snow shovel Matt is wielding in his crusade against the storm. The sound makes my teeth itch. He’s been at it for half an hour. Or maybe I’m just out of patience with everything.

Haley is drowning in calls. She’s fielded a dozen quacks who claim they know the killer, a man demanding a million dollars or he’ll start picking off the Hartmans, and two psychics who swear Tiffany’s ghost named names.

All they want in return is a little national spotlight.

Each insists that she has revealed the identity and whereabouts of the killer—all Mom needs to do is get them an interview with a major news outlet, and they’ll tell all.

The cherry on top is the woman who believes she is Tiffany. Reincarnated, I guess, since she’s only nineteen. She’s asked to join our mother’s crusade. She plans to chain herself to the Hartmans’ gate until the Feds give her justice. For her own murder? Yep, it boggles the mind.

After forwarding all the messages containing threats or potential leads—no matter how small—to the local PD and CCing my former coworkers at the FBI, where I worked long hours for very little pay, profiling, but loved every minute of it, I contact my favorite hacker, Teeg.

I put in a request for him to take down that damn social media video and temporarily block my mother from her account.

It only costs me tickets to the next Comic Con. A small price to pay.

“Call JJ’s cell,” Meg orders.

I snort. “He’ll know it’s me. He won’t answer.” I dial the main office line, and we get JJ’s assistant, Carolyn. Meg requests to speak to him. “He’s in a meeting,” Carolyn informs her. “I’ll let him know you called.”

Even my sister is getting the brush off.

Since we’re on speaker, I can’t resist butting in. “You’re deflecting, Carolyn. It’s essential we speak to him. We’ll hold until he’s done.”

She’s the model of professionalism, which is why I can hear the sigh she doesn’t let out. “I’m afraid you’ll be holding a long time, then. You’re the reason he’s in the meeting. I’ll inform him you called, and I’m sure he’ll contact you at his earliest convenience.”

Right . “What do you mean he’s in the meeting because of me?”

“Not you, per se, Charlize,” she corrects, using my full name in that annoying way that JJ does when goading me. “The Schock women have stirred up a hornet’s nest with Mary Hartman, and now JJ has to deal with her, her lawyer, and her fixer. Have a nice day.”

She disconnects.

Meg arches a brow. I shrug. “He may adore you, but he’s pissed at all of us. Even more so if he’s in that meeting.”

“You did hang up on him earlier.”

“He earned it.”

Screech . Fingers on a chalkboard. I suspect Matt’s done, but staying outside gives him an excuse to avoid us. I don’t blame him. “If Mary Hartman has brought in her lawyer and a fixer…” My stomach falls. “Fallyn.”

Meg makes a face.

Fallyn Pasche. The top ‘fixer’ in D.C. handles scandals for the rich and powerful, and she’s sleeping with one of the Justice Team.

A lawyer and a fixer. All of my red flags run up the pole and salute. What does Mary have to hide?

“God. Fallyn will slap a restraining order on Mom before we can say Merry Christmas,” Meg says.

Mom stomps in. “Doesn’t matter. JJ and the Hartmans better get used to seeing my face because this is just the beginning.” She tugs on her coat. “I’m going to his office. Coming?”

I shoot to my feet. “You are not.”

“Mary Hartman is there. I want to speak to her. She’s refused my offers to sit down and discuss what happened and won’t return my calls. I’ll ambush her at JJ’s.”

Even Meg knows this is a bad idea. She puts a hand on Mom’s arm. “We still have boxes to sort through.”

Mom snugs a knitted cap on her head. “You stay here and work on that.”

Haley swings into the doorway and pulls up short.

She’s wearing a sweater dress and knee-high boots.

Her hair is in a low ponytail. Since last summer, I’ve given her more responsibilities around here.

She’s good at details and is highly logical.

Plus, with her blond hair and blue eyes, she’s effective at getting guys to talk.

We’ve closed several cheating spouse cases in record time since I trained her how to use her psych degree and those pretty eyes to gain confessions.

She lowers her voice. “There’s a reporter in the waiting room who wants to talk to Helen.”

Mom’s eyes light up. “From which outlet?”

Haley checks the tablet in her hand. “The Washington Post, and a second reporter called from Channel 4—a Denise Brown—requesting a quote on what Schock Investigations is doing about the case.”

Mom is instantly out of her coat and whipping off her hat. She pats her silver hair into place. “The Post? Don’t just stand there, girl. Show our visitor to the conference room. He’ll need coffee.”

Haley blinks. “Did you just call me ‘girl?’”

Wincing, Meg deftly steers Mom out of my office while I walk Haley back to her desk. “I’m so, so sorry. Ignore her.”

The reporter paces our small waiting room in a navy sweater over a white dress shirt and tie, pocketing his cell phone when he spots me.

“Dr. Schock, isn’t it?” He extends a hand.

His graying hair is slicked back, and he still has a scarf draped around his neck, even though he’s discarded his coat into one of the two chairs.

“Robert Beechum. Call me Bob. I was hoping to speak to you about?—”

“Yes, I know.” I debate shooing him off, but maybe I can use this opportunity to our advantage. I accept his handshake. His fingers are cold, his skin dry. “Did you investigate Tiffany’s murder when it happened?”

He narrows keen eyes at me. “Before my time, I’m afraid.”

“Who worked the homicide desk back then?”

“Lots of people.”

A non-answer. The investigative reporter prefers to be the one asking the questions. Should I offer him a deal if he works with us? I don’t have enough facts yet to put myself in that hole. “How about a cup of coffee?”

He knows the offer is more than a formality. He stays on my good side and we do discover something? He’ll gather key facts for his story and enhance his credibility within the news community. “I’d like that. Is your mother here?”

The thought of turning her loose with him makes me pause.

It’s my best option at the moment, though, to keep her from going to JJ’s office—inevitable Armageddon if that happens.

“You do realize she’s a reporter, too. She writes for the Crime Desk at the D.C.

Investigative Journal.” Not high-profile, and her articles rarely receive more than a few comments now and then, but she takes her job very seriously.

“She’ll purposely mislead you because she plans to be the one to break open this case. ”

He’s undaunted. “My angle is more about the resurgence of cold case groups. What motivates them. What drives them.” The words flow off his tongue as if he’s practiced this speech.

Cue the pitch. “Across the country this year, several have been instrumental in assisting overworked and underfunded police departments solve important investigations.”

Yep, there it is . While all of that may be accurate, I’m skeptical that’s his motivation. If he can get the scoop on who murdered Tiffany, it will make his career.

He must realize, however, that what I said is true—Mom likes publicity, but she wants to be the one who solves this whale of a cold case. She won’t share that trophy with him or any of his colleagues. “Titillating story there,” I mutter.

He frowns.

Matt comes in from outside, looking like a model for a ski resort as he shakes snow from his hair. He rakes his fingers through the thick strands, and it stands straight up, but appears as though he styled it that way on purpose.

I hate him and his shampoo commercial hair. Mine is always a disaster—if I get a blowout, it instantly frizzes. If I try to put curls in it, they fall flat. Most of the time, I just keep it in a ponytail and forget about it.

“The snow is easing,” Matt says. “Are we still having our morning meeting?”

“Pushing it to tomorrow.” I have to leave shortly to get across town for that trial, and Meg needs a nap. If she doesn’t crash soon, she’s going to start hallucinating.

Moot point. It’ll never happen. Better to keep her busy .

Matt introduces himself to Bob, and they exchange a couple comments about the weather. The phone calls have slowed, and Haley hands me a stack of blue message slips. “My ear’s filing a hostile work complaint.”

“Noted.” I don’t look at the slips as I lead Bob to the conference room. Meg is gathering all of the papers and shoving them into their boxes. Mom already has two steaming mugs of coffee waiting and gives Bob a huge smile.

More introductions, and I help Meg finish removing the case information from sight before I drag her across the hall to my office. “I have to testify in the Costnick trial at the Moultrie Courthouse.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll run interference with Mom.”

“That courthouse takes me right past the U.S. Attorney’s building.”

She gives me a curious look. “And?”

“If the man we want to talk to won’t come to the phone…”

She grins, getting my meaning. “We show up in person.”

“Maybe we can chat with Alex, too. Get some perspective on what he remembers about that night.”

“I like this plan.”

It’s a terrible plan, but I like it, too.

Matt appears in the doorway. “Can I come?”

“Don’t you have the Anderson case to review?” I ask.

“Closed it last night. I couldn’t sleep, and a deep dive into a hunch paid off.”

“Good for you,” Meg says. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

He squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll both do better tonight.”

She gives him a wan smile. Wishful thinking.

“You drive,” I tell Matt, tossing him my keys. “Meg and I need to come up with a strategy for JJ. And another for Alex.”

“What if we run into Mary?” Meg asks. “Or Fallyn?”

Matt pauses. “What’s Fallyn got to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing.” I relay what Carolyn told us and our assumption about Fallyn being on the Hartman payroll. “That’s why I want our ducks in a row. We may only get one shot at Mary, and we better make it count. If we do encounter her, follow my lead, okay?”

“What are you going to do?” Matt asks.

I flash him a grin. “How many red-blooded women can resist you and your muscles, Mad Dog? You handle Mary. Meg and I will handle Alex.”

He gives a fake shudder. “I feel so objectified.”

Meg laughs, and the sound makes me smile for real.

Haley is horrified that we’re abandoning her. The calls have stopped, though. Thank you, Teeg . I tell her to take the rest of the day off, an early Christmas present. She’s relieved. We sneak out, leaving Mom and Bob to themselves.

I hope it’s not a colossal mistake—a King Kong versus Godzilla-level mistake.

Traffic moves at a snail’s pace, snowplows and pileups making things worse. The only positive is that Meg, Matt, and I come up with a dozen questions and theories to investigate further.

By the time we arrive at Carolyn’s desk, Mom has figured out we’ve abandoned her. My phone is filled with accusatory texts and voicemails.

Wait until she realizes what I had done to her TikTok account.

“I told you, he’s in a meeting,” Carolyn snips, looking at our trio over the top of her reading glasses. “He doesn’t have time to speak to you.”

“We’re not here for him,” I say. We’ve cooked up a story that we need Fallyn’s services. Not a stretch if Mom continues to escalate. And since she’s not answering our texts, we need to make sure she hasn’t handcuffed herself to someone’s radiator. “We’re here to see?—”

“Charlie?” All three of us turn. Alex Hartman strides across the blue carpet toward us.

He and JJ have contests to see who’s the best dressed. The office staff votes. Could go either way today—Alex is rocking his charcoal suit and classy forest green tie.

He hands a file to Carolyn and mutters, “The Galishea Tern wrap-up.” She nods, tucking the file into a stack of others. He pats my elbow. “Here to see JJ?”

“No.” While Mom likes to tackle things with lots of fanfare, I prefer a subtler approach.

“First off, let me apologize for our mother’s way of handling this.

” I sound more contrite than I feel, but sometimes that’s what the situation calls for.

I gesture at my companions. “This is my sister, Meg, by the way, and our lead investigator, Matt. We have an appointment at the courthouse and needed to stop here on the way. I’m glad we caught you.

Meg and I had no idea our mother was going to stir all this up. ”

When Meg and I were young, we enjoyed watching old cartoons. Wonder Twins was a favorite. To enable their powers, the duo touched their fists together and said, “Wonder Twin powers, activate!” Throughout our lives, we’ve used the phrase as a sort of code when we were up to no good.

It’s like she’s reading my mind, and our voices mingle telepathically.

She gives Alex an apologetic smile and lays a hand on his arm.

She’s the touchy-feely part of our Wonder duo, and she turns on the empathy.

“I’m sure this is a sad time for your family.

All this renewed publicity must be hard on you, especially with the holidays approaching.

I can’t imagine how distressing it must be, and here our mother is, right in the middle of it. ”

For a few heartbeats, he doesn’t move, meeting each of our eyes with a cool appraisal.

He exudes privilege and confidence, a man at the height of his professional career from a prestigious D.C.

family. As if coming to a decision, he gestures for us to follow him across the hall. “Why don’t we take this to my office?”

Gotcha. Hook, line, and …

Meg gives me a look behind his back. I hold out a fist. She taps it.

“Wonder Twin powers activate,” I whisper. The first stage of our plan, Interrogate Alex Hartman , is underway.