Page 15

“No. We just watched football at home on TV.”
“That’s great.” The detective attempted another smile, but it was forced.
John suppressed a grin.
Peretti withdrew a photo out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and extended it in front of John’s face. Every muscle in John’s body went stiff.
It was Sally. She looked different in the photograph than when John had met her. She was younger with longer hair and less makeup. From the blue background behind the headshot, John guessed it was a school photo, probably from when Sally had been in high school. But it was definitely her. Seeing Sally’s crooked smile and the same glimmer in her eyes that she’d had in the front seat of his dad’s car made John’s throat suddenly dry.
“Where’s my son?”
John jerked his head toward his father’s angry voice coming from the hallway. Detective Peretti held the photo closer to John’s face.
“You ever seen this woman before?”
John’s heart pounded so hard against his chest he was afraid the detective might hear it.
“Her name was Sally,” Peretti added. “We know you were in the backseat when your dad picked her up in December.”
A fist rapped against the door, rattling it against the hinges. John whipped his head toward the sound.
The detective put his thick hand on John’s knee. “You know it’s a crime to lie to the police, right? Your father wouldn’t want that.”
“I know he’s in there,” his father yelled. “Open this door!”
Peretti ignored John’s father on the other side of the door and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Have. You. Seen. Her?” He lowered the photo and brought his face closer to John’s.
John’s hands trembled. He clasped them tightly together. “No.”
Rap. Rap. Rap.“Open the damn door!”
The detective frowned at John. “Don’t lie to me, kid. You saw her. Your dad killed her.”
John shook his head.
Peretti’s demeanor darkened, his face contorting in anger. “He killed her in the woods while you sat in the backseat of the car. Or maybe you got out to watch? Tell me, kid, did you hear her scream?” He slapped the armrest of John’s chair, making him jump in his seat. “Tell menow,dammit!”
Spittle from the detective’s mouth landed on John’s cheek. John closed his eyes, willing his mind to take him somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
Rap. Rap. Rap.The door handle jiggled from the other side, making the whole door shake. “Let me in or I’ll kick the door down,” his father shouted.
Peretti stood, flashing John a look of disappointment. As soon as he turned the lock on the handle, the door flew open. John’s dad marched into the room with Detective Harris on his heels, his father’s face flushed with anger as he looked from John to the detective.
His father snarled. “What the hell are you doing? I told you not to speak to my son.” From the tightness in his jaw and the flare of his nostrils, John could tell his dad was fighting to keep his composure. He stepped toward the detective, pointing a finger at the more muscular man’s chest. “How dare you question my son without me. And without my permission. He’s a child. I came down here to be helpful, and this is how you repay me? Accosting my ten-year-old?”
Detective Peretti slid Sally’s photo back inside his suit pocket while silently assessing his father.
“I was just bringing him a snack,” the detective finally said, his voice calm. “I thought he might be hungry.”
His dad lifted a hand toward John without taking his eyes off the detective. “Come on, John. Let’s go.”
As his father led him out of the room, John stole a glance over his shoulder at the burly detective. The moment their gazes locked, there was no mistaking the look in the detective’s eyes: he knew what his father had done, and he knew John did too.
Chapter 8
HOLLY
The faint scent of rain lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of nearby traffic as Holly burst through the heavy double doors into the courthouse lobby. Footsteps slapped against marble and voices blurred together in a steady hum as she rushed through the crowd to the elevator. She clutched her notebook, fingers drumming against the worn cover. It had become her habit as a reporter to take it everywhere, so she’d never miss an opportunity to take down something that could be important.