Page 7 of Ghost of You (Haunted Souls #24)

After a huge lunch at Ronan’s favorite local diner, Bub’s Grub, they were on the road to Oliver Adams’s house.

He and Ronan had argued over whether they should call ahead so Oliver would know they were coming.

Jude said yes, Ronan no. Fitz settled the matter.

No call. It wasn’t a surprise they were going to see Oliver.

It was only a matter of when they’d show up to interview the grieving husband.

Fitzgibbon took left and right turns as Ronan called out the directions.

Cope would have known which house was Oliver’s without the help of Google maps.

It was the one surrounded by members of the media.

News vans were parked as far down the street as the eye could see.

Also in the crowd were angry citizens with signs calling Oliver a killer and worse.

Jude noticed there were three vehicles in the driveway. One was a large red pickup truck, the second a gold BMW, which he knew belonged to Reagan Pryce, the other was a pint sized Chevy, which was attached to a charging station. “Who does the tree hugging hippie car belong to?”

“Angie Melton,” Cope said, sounding surprised. “That’s all I’m getting, is the name familiar to any of you.”

“After Frankie disappeared, the Salem Police interviewed a woman named Angie Sullivan. The woman was Frankie’s best friend. Could be that she’s remarried or went back to using her maiden name after a divorce,” Ronan suggested.

“I’ll get whatever I can from her as well,” Cope said.

As the detectives walked toward the front door, the crowd of media and onlookers parted like the Red Sea. It didn’t take long for the questions to start.

“Captain Fitzgibbon, are you here to arrest Oliver Adams for the murder of his wife?”

“What was Frankie’s cause of death?”

“What did you do with your share of the missing money, Captain Fitzgibbon?”

Fitzgibbon stopped in his tracks at the last question.

He turned to face the media, all of whom had their cameras, microphones, or smartphones pointed at Fitz.

“The Salem Police have no comment at this time, however, I will say that suggesting that I or any other members of the department were involved with the million dollar theft is not only wrong, it’s dangerous.

When there’s an arrest to report, we’ll hold a press conference, but for now, stay off the Adams’s property.

The SPD has more important things to do than be called out here for repeated trespassing complaints from neighbors.

” Fitz swung his attention toward the sign-waving crowd of people.

“Mr. Adams is innocent until proven guilty. Take your vile signs and get the hell out of here. I’m assigning officers to this location who will start arresting people.

Understood?” Without waiting for an answer, Fitzgibbon headed for the front door.

After ringing the doorbell, a familiar face opened the door and ushered them inside a worn, but clean living room. Oliver Adams was nowhere to be seen. “It’s good to see you, Fitz,” Reagan Pryce said, shaking the captain’s hand. “Jude, Ronan, Cope.” The attorney nodded at each man in turn.

“We’re here to speak with your client,” Fitz said. “I don’t want to take him downtown if I don’t have to, which means the two of you need to cooperate with this investigation.”

Pryce smiled. He looked like a spider welcoming a fly into its web.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that my client is suffering through a devastating loss.

As you so eloquently put it, Oliver is innocent until proven guilty.

I’ll give him some wiggle room to speak with you, but it’s a very short leash. Understood?”

“Understood,” Fitzgibbon practically growled.

“Follow me,” Pryce waved the detectives forward.

Jude took Cope’s elbow to hold him back. “Get as much information as you can with your gift. Focus on Adams, but see what you can read from the friend. If Frankie shows up, use the code word fritter .”

Cope raised a skeptical eyebrow at his husband. “If she’s here, I’ll do like Ronan said at the morgue and I’ll pretend to get a call. What if I get information? How do you want me to let you know?”

Jude bent his head closer to Cope. He didn’t want anyone to overhear what he was about to say.

“If you get something, ask Adams a question. Watch for his reaction. Read him. None of what your gift tells you is admissible in court, but we can use that information to make him think we know more than we do. Got it?”

Cope nodded.

Walking into the kitchen, Jude saw everyone was sitting at an elongated kitchen table which was covered with comfort casseroles, a fruit arrangement, and plates of cookies.

At least Oliver had some friends left. Pryce sat to Oliver’s right, while a woman sat on his left.

She was beautiful, with her shoulder length dark hair and dark brown eyes.

Jude had never seen her before. He took the seat beside Fitz, while Cope took the chair at the head of the table beside the woman.

“You know Reagan and this is Frankie’s best friend, Angie.

She’s been here since we got the news that my wife had been found.

” He offered a nervous, but grateful look to the woman, who seemed mad enough to breathe fire.

Angie’s body language said it all. She sat with her arms crossed, leaning as far away from Oliver as she could without falling out of the chair.

Fitzgibbon nodded to Angie. “We’re here to talk about your wife’s murder, Oliver.”

Angie gasped. Tears streaked down her face. “Murdered? Oh, my poor Frankie.” Her arms tightened around herself, as if she could somehow ward off any further bad news.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Frankie was murdered? No one would tell me anything. Not even the news stations knew how she died.”

“We’ve just come from the medical examiner’s office.

Frankie died from a single gunshot wound to the head.

” Fitzgibbon paused. He took out his phone and flipped through his photos before turning it around to show Oliver.

Jude saw it was one of the crime scene images with the disembodied skull and the grotesque bullet hole.

Jude’s full attention was on the grieving widower.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. He pushed back from the table as if it were on fire.

Oliver’s mouth dropped open in apparent horror.

His entire body started to tremble as he shook his head as if to clear the visual of his wife’s death from his mind.

Jude couldn’t decide if this was an Oscar-worthy performance or actual grief.

Angie’s reaction, however, left no doubt.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Coming into Frankie’s house and showing an image like that to us.

You should all be ashamed of yourselves.

Haven’t I suffered enough? First, my best friend goes missing and all you fuckers could do was insist she’d run off.

Oliver was initially a suspect, but was never charged.

There were no searches of the Salem Towne Forest when Frankie went missing.

You were so focused on the money and how Frankie must be off in Bora Bora living her best fucking life, when she was here all along!

Dead in the middle of the woods. Rotting and being eaten by God only knows what.

My best friend needed you to protect her, to help her, to find her, and you just sat around, eating fucking donuts and trying to follow the money trail.

Four years later, you haven’t found a penny.

The only reason we have Frankie back is thanks to some boy scout troop, who are probably all scarred for life.

Brilliant police work! Bravo!” Angie’s eyes glowed with rage.

The table sat in stunned silence. Jude couldn’t disagree with anything Angie had said.

He wasn’t with the Salem Police at the time of Frankie’s disappearance, but the officer notes indicated that she’d taken off with the money.

A cursory search had been performed, around town, which had turned up nothing.

A sniffle caught Jude’s attention. Oliver was crying quietly into his hands.

“You’re right, Angie,” Fitzgibbon said. “The Salem Police dropped the ball. All we can do is follow the evidence and the evidence at that time led us to the conclusion that Frankie had taken the money and run. Her suitcase was missing, as was her purse and passport.”

The rage flared in Angie’s eyes again. “Yeah and when you couldn’t find her name on any flight manifest or rental car agreement, and didn’t see any transactions on her credit and debit cards, you dusted off your hands and called it a day.”

“That investigation is in the past,” Fitzgibbon said.

“Since we have now recovered Frankie’s remains, we have to start this investigation from scratch.

Shouting the house down over the way the Salem Police Department failed Frankie is not a productive way to spend our time.

We’re here to speak with Oliver and his attorney.

It would be for the best if you left. We’ll be in touch to interview you at a later time. ”

Angie’s hands balled into fists. Wordlessly, she got up from the table and left the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut.

It was obvious to Jude how much Angie loved Frankie, but Fitz was right.

That love, mixed with rage, had no place here and now.

They needed to get Oliver’s account of what happened when Frankie disappeared on the record.

They’d speak to Angie later. She’d put on a convincing performance, but looks could be deceiving.

This way, she wouldn’t know what questions Oliver was asked, and wouldn’t know his answers.

Every “I” needed to be precisely dotted.

They couldn’t fail Frankie a second time.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened on that last day, Oliver?” Fitz asked.

Oliver nodded and took a deep breath, obviously trying to pull himself together.