Page 301 of Incompatible

I nod back and walk to the door and open it.

The man has dark hair, looks around forty, well built, exactly the type who fits law enforcement, dressed in a suit, his face tanned. We look each other in the eyes for a moment.

"Hello. May I come in?"

"What is this about, Detective?" I ask, keeping my voice even as I raise my brows slightly.

Arnold pauses, tilting his head.

"We’ll see once everything is explained."

"That sounds cryptic."

"It is."

"I respect law enforcement, so I won’t refuse a conversation," I say with a friendly smile and gesture for him to enter.

When Detective Arnold walks into the living room, he notices Alex sitting on the couch, watching him. I have to admit Alex plays it off surprisingly well. His face looks relaxed, even open. He pulled it off quite nicely, I’m proud of him.

"This is my husband, Alex Nolan."

I say it while gesturing toward him, and Alex puts on an apologetic smile and speaks in an almost charming tone, "Please forgive me, Detective, for not getting up to shake your hand, but I’m dealing with morning sickness, and I’m usually a bit fragile at this hour."

Wow. I have to admit it sounds pretty good, a cleverly slipped hint about the pregnancy, and it certainly doesn’t hurt to let that land.

"Congratulations," the detective says as he sits down in the armchair across from us.

I sit beside Alex and wrap an arm around his shoulders in a protective gesture.

Arnold watches us for a moment, and silence settles over the room.

"Where to begin, where to begin?" Detective Arnold murmurs. He crosses one leg over the other, laces his fingers over his knee, and studies us for quite a long moment, but I don’t intend to say anything because, well… anything I say can be used against me.

"About twelve years ago, in the department where I was working at the time, they were handling a case with some rather interesting leads that pointed to a sixteen-year-old boy who might have been involved in the deaths of a group of other teenagers. There was no obvious proof, but the grandfather of those boys insisted this particular teenager was the one responsible."

Silence, deep silence.

"Yesterday the funeral home owned by that same grandfather burned down, and several of his relatives died inside with him. The bodies were burned, but the coroner said a few of them were killed by gunshots to the head from a firearm legally owned by the family, which we also recovered in the ruins. At this moment the police department has no evidence as to who might be responsible, whether it was one of them or whether an outside person was involved. The building is completely burned so it’s difficult to gather any DNA evidence."

"Forgive me, Detective, but what does this story have to do with us?" Alex says in a smooth voice.

"I don’t know yet." The detective taps his fingers lightly against his knee and tilts his head, fixing his gaze on me.

"Something occurred to me back then…"

Another short pause follows as his eyes move across our faces.

"I did some sniffing around on my own, using my personal contacts. I traced the whereabouts of all the Hanson family members who died in that building. I noticed that one of themspent a lot of time in this neighborhood, actually appearing here almost every day for the past year."

Arnold narrows his eyes.

"In a moment of impulse I went to the security office for this housing complex. They have a camera system that watches not only this community but also the commercial complex next to it, and I wanted to see what he had been doing on the day everything happened."

I fight hard against my body, willing my heartbeat not to speed up.

"Imagine my surprise when one of the cameras showed the two of you getting into an SUV and driving off. Some time later the SUV returned with only you in it. You got out for a moment and went into the house, then returned to the car, but in the meantime another man walked up to the vehicle and slipped something inside while opening the trunk with what looked like a duplicate key. The camera angle wasn’t great, but even so I saw you return to the SUV, and soon after that the same man came back, got inside as well, and drove off, apparently pushing your unconscious body toward the next seat. Knockout gas, I’m guessing."

I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. Camera footage isn’t something you can talk your way out of easily. My mind works quickly through possible answers, but Arnold spares me the trouble when he suddenly continues.