Page 7 of Silencing Stolen Whispers (Kinsley Aspen #2)

Kinsley Aspen

July

K insley stepped through the glass doors of Scriven Law, where the stifling humidity abruptly shifted to cold, artificial air. She couldn’t hold back the shiver that ran through her body. Removing her sunglasses, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the softer, muted lighting.

The shiny marble floors and stylish furniture could have been ripped from a design magazine. Each piece was carefully arranged to boost the lobby’s elegance.There was also a stillness that was both deliberate and oppressive.

Kinsley’s phone emitted a notification, though her purse muffled the tweeting sound.

She usually left her purse tucked in the back seat of her Jeep, but there hadn’t been a parking spot out front.

She ended up circling the block at least two times before giving up and finding a spot three blocks away.

Stepping aside in case anyone else came through the door, she grabbed her phone.

She was sure the message was from Alex, but it turned out to be from her doorbell camera.

She opened the app, but then quickly remembered she had ordered a new knee brace for Sunday’s game.

Her old softball injury from high school often reminded her of its presence at the worst times.

Kinsley silenced her phone and let it sink to the bottom of her purse. She also dropped her sunglasses into the large void before approaching the receptionist behind a very long counter. By the time she was waiting for the woman to end a phone call, Kinsley had her credentials in hand.

“Detective Kinsley Aspen, Fallbrook PD,” Kinsley greeted with a small smile, omitting the rest of her title.

She didn’t want the receptionist to alert the Scrivens that a homicide detective needed to speak with them.

This was going to be a tough enough interview as it was, though no doubt Bailey had already informed the couple about their daughter’s death.

“I need to speak with Katherine and William Scriven.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

The question threw Kinsley off balance. She hadn’t expected the receptionist, whose silk blouse probably cost more than Kinsley’s entire outfit, to offer a practiced smile that indicated she had no idea that the Scrivens’ daughter had been killed last night.

“No, but this concerns their daughter.” Kinsley intentionally left out which daughter in another attempt to read the situation. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear that Bailey Scriven hadn’t driven straight to her parents’ law firm. “Please let them know I’m here.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed the woman's face before she regained her professional composure. She slowly stood up from the chair, glancing at the phone console. Deciding not to call either Scriven, she chose to notify them in person.

“One moment, please.”

Kinsley clipped her credentials to her belt before adjusting the strap of her purse.

She glanced around the space while waiting, noticing the artful black-and-white photographs of downtown Fallbrook hung thoughtfully on the walls around the lobby.

The images captured the city's historic architecture but somehow made it seem like somewhere else entirely more important.

Her father's law office was half this size, with practical furniture and framed diplomas instead of abstract art.

George Aspen had always claimed that clients preferred substance over style, believing that an office too fancy might make them wonder if they were paying for the marble rather than legal expertise.

Considering George Aspen was the most prominent criminal defense attorney in town, it left Kinsley wondering just how much her parents had managed to save by living a modest lifestyle.

The front glass entrance swung open and interrupted her train of thought. Alex strolled in before adjusting his tie. After a quick glance around the lobby, he walked over to her.

“You got a spot out front, didn’t you?”

“How far did you have to walk?” Alex asked with a grin.

“I don’t want to talk about,” Kinsley muttered as she gestured toward the empty chair on the other side of the counter. “I don’t think Bailey came here. The receptionist asked if I had an appointment.”

“Interesting. I only stayed at the crime scene long enough to get a preliminary time of death. Wally estimates the vic was killed between ten and two last night. Multiple blunt force traumas to the skull. He'll know more after the autopsy.”

Before Kinsley could respond to Alex, movement near the reception desk drew her attention.

The woman had returned with a man in his late fifties.

He had a hint of silver in his sideburns and a neatly trimmed mustache.

His navy suit was perfectly tailored, giving him a rather distinguished appearance.

“William Scriven.” He stepped forward and shook their hands firmly. “Diana tells me that you’re here about one of my daughters. I take it Bailey has gotten herself into some trouble? Whatever it is, we’ll pay for any damages.”

Kinsley and Alex exchanged meaningful glances. William’s opinion of Bailey spoke volumes.

“Mr. Scriven, I'm Detective Kinsley Aspen, and this is my partner, Detective Alex Lanen,” Kinsley said, taking the time to complete the formal introductions. “Is there a place where we can speak with you and your wife privately?”

“I take it this is more serious than the previous vandalism charge? In my daughter’s defense, those charges were dropped by the bar’s owner.

” Though William continued to defend his daughter, he continued to guide them past the reception area and down a long hallway.

His cologne wasn’t woodsy like her father’s but was instead layered with heavier spices.

“We’re corporate attorneys here, but she didn’t even need representation at the time since we reached an agreement with the bar owner. ”

Once again, William Scriven’s assumption spoke volumes about the family dynamics. Kinsley kept her expression neutral while Alex once again explained their need for privacy.

“Sir, we'd prefer to discuss this with both you and your wife present. It's a sensitive matter.”

Something in Alex’s tone must have finally registered with William Scriven, because the man’s posture stiffened. The mustache above his lip twitched slightly as he stopped in front of a large conference room.

“Of course. Please, have a seat in here, and I’ll return with my wife shortly.”

The corridor was lined with glass-walled conference rooms. Inside each, several men and women in costly suits huddled over documents in small groups.

The transparency was an illusion, a display of openness that actually reminded everyone they were always being observed, always on exhibit.

She could only imagine that their private offices were on the other side of the building.

Kinsley entered the conference room and placed her purse on one of the high-backed leather chairs surrounding a long mahogany table. She positioned herself where she could monitor the comings and goings through the large glass wall.

“Look,” Kinsley instructed Alex quietly without making her stare obvious. “That must be Katherine Scriven.”

The woman was talking to three young adults in their late twenties who were nodding earnestly at everything she was saying.

Even from a distance, Katherine's authority was obvious.

Not a single auburn strand was out of place, her posture was almost military perfect, and her manicured hands made precise gestures to emphasize her points.

“Formidable woman,” Alex replied after he had followed Kinsley's gaze. “Reminds me of Judge Holloway.”

Kinsley silently agreed, recalling how notoriously strict the federal judge was, often making even the most experienced defense attorneys wary during long, drawn-out trials.

They continued to observe the scene before them as William entered the conference room across the hall, interrupting the meeting without uttering a word.

Katherine's expression shifted from mild annoyance to sharp curiosity.

She dismissed the three employees with efficient courtesy while switching her attention from her husband to Kinsley and Alex through the glass wall.

“We’re about to shatter their world.”

Alex’s words squeezed Kinsley’s heart.

As the Scrivens approached the conference room, their body language shifted from interest to rejection. They were both beginning to realize something was very wrong.

William walked slightly behind his wife, his hand hovering near the small of her back without actually touching her.

Katherine moved with purpose, her chin raised in defiance as she crossed the corridor.

She entered the room first while William paused to close the door behind them.

The action caused a soft click to be heard, a sound that would forever divide their lives into a before and after.

“Detectives,” Katherine greeted casually. She didn’t appear eager to sit down either. “My husband explained that you have something urgent to discuss about one of our daughters.”

Kinsley gestured toward the chairs, forgoing deeper introductions.

“Please, sit down,” Kinsley urged gently as she and Alex stood on the other side of the table.

Neither would claim a chair until Katherine and William were settled.

Whatever flaws these parents might have, Alex was right.

The next few minutes would tear their world apart beyond repair. “It would be better for you if?—”

“Just spit it out, detective.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Scriven,” Alex began when it was clear that neither Katherine nor William was going to make this moment easier for themselves, “we’re very sorry to inform you that your daughter, Hannah, was found deceased this morning at a cabin she was renting up north.”

Neither parent moved.

Alex’s words hung in the air, suffocating even Kinsley.