Page 105 of Thankless in Death

“That’s right. I spoke with you earlier.”

“There’s someone with you?”

“My civilian consultant.”

It took another moment, but locks cleared, the door opened. Boyd stood cautiously studying both her and Roarke, a fit man in his late fifties who’d let a little gray sprinkle through his deep brown hair. He had a strong face, clear blue eyes, and beside him stood a burly, ugly dog whose study was anything but cautious.

“All right, Bruno, rest.”

The dog immediately leaned against Boyd’s side, and his tongue rolled out in a strange and goofy grin.

“We’re a little edgy since we heard about Ms. Farnsworth.”

“Understood. Can we come in?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s okay, Marianna! It’s the police. I told her to go upstairs, in case. Our kids are here, for the holiday.”

He closed the door, stepped back into a large, high-ceilinged living space ringed by a railing along the second level.

The dog padded over to a square of dog-haired red rug and immediately began gnawing on some sort of bone.

Three people appeared on the second level—a slim blonde, a broad-shouldered man, early twenties, and a willow-slim brunette, a couple years younger than the man.

“They’re old enough to argue,” the blonde told Boyd, “and I’m outnumbered.”

“We’re all in this, Dad.” The young man led the way down.

“Okay. Okay, Flynn, you’re right. We’re all in it.”

“I should make coffee. Can I get you coffee?” Marianna asked.

Eve decided she could kill for coffee, even fake coffee. “That’d be great. Mr. Boyd, is there anyone else staying here at this time?”

“No, just us. Flynn and Sari will be here until Sunday when they go back to campus. We all have until Monday before routine starts again.”

“You’ve seen the morph of Reinhold. All of you?”

“Yes. None of us have seen him.”

“I hope I do,” Flynn muttered.

“Stop.” Boyd leveled a warning glare. “Flynn had Ms. Farnsworth in high school. We’re all shaken by what happened to her. Lieutenant, I benched the kid for a few games more than a decade ago. Maybe fifteen years ago. Not that he learned anything from it. When he didn’t listen at his at-bat, championship game and struck out, I didn’t come down on him. It’s Little League. They’re kids. You don’t dump on them.”

“He was a little bastard then, now he’s a bigger one.”

“Flynn,” his mother said wearily as she brought out coffee.

“It’s true.” Sari spoke up. “Maybe I didn’t really know him, but I remember he was mean and spiteful. And maybe I didn’t have Ms. Farnsworth, but I have friends who did, and they liked her.”

“I’m not making excuses for him. He’s sick,” Boyd continued. “And he needs to be caught, stopped. We’re going to be careful, just the way we talked about, but he’s got no reason to want to hurt any of us. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Believe me when I say he does,” Eve corrected. “Believe me when I say he’s vindictive and he’s violent, and he’s looking to pay back every perceived slight. You’re one of them, Mr. Boyd. He used a baseball bat on three of his victims.”

“Oh my God, Wayne.”

Eve waited while Boyd took his wife’s hand, tried to keep her calm. The coffee, she decided, hit somewhere between the horrors of cop coffee and the joys of Roarke coffee. She couldn’t complain.

“Listen, I haven’t seen or spoken or had any contact with Jerry since he was about eleven.”