Page 53 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Carmen wanted Lauren Brock, Ms. Person of Interest, to feel comfortable.

It was always best to start things off in a nonconfrontational manner. That way, if she needed to turn up the heat, it would be even more jarring for the subject of the interview. She’d learned from experience that if you started off yelling, you had nowhere to go.

Not that it would become an issue. Carmen was a bit peeved the woman had not returned her calls and not come forward to help but understood that she’d just lost her brother—the man who had been her savior.

She just wanted answers to some basic questions, the ones she’d ask any potential witness.

Or person of interest.

Carmen assessed Lauren’s appearance. Clearly, she hadn’t been able to keep up the polished appearance she’d managed at the funeral.

Her attractive face was makeup-free, and her dark hair only casually brushed.

Her gray blouse was wrinkled and the jeans had two coffee stains on the right leg.

Perhaps, as Heron had suggested, she’d been holed up in a motel on that bender Allison had mentioned.

There was no obvious odor of liquor, but Lauren was wearing perfume—a cloying, sweet scent—which was maybe intended to cover up the scent of any booze.

“Now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way,” Carmen said in a casual tone, “why don’t you start by explaining why you were reluctant to talk to us.”

Lauren looked around. This was one of the more comfortable rooms at HSI in Long Beach, designed for victims and witnesses rather than suspects.

Heron had made it clear he wanted to participate but satisfied himself with watching the video monitor in another room. The dynamics of a two-interviewer session are very different from a solo.

Lauren fidgeted in her chair, making the faux leather squeak. “I was so shattered, I wanted to be by myself. And, anyway, I really didn’t see anything at the hotel that night.”

Carmen had been trained to listen for subtle qualifiers when people made statements. In this case, the witness said she didn’t “really” see anything.

Implying that she saw something, but didn’t think it worth reporting. Or that she saw something, but felt it was against her interest to report it.

“I would have told the police if I had. Why wouldn’t I?” A bit of an edge to her voice.

But Carmen always cut victims—and Lauren was a victim in a way—a lot of slack.

Still, she sensed something more was going on. Perhaps the woman knew something but didn’t know she did.

“Ms. Brock.” She moved in closer. “Can I call you Lauren?”

A nod.

“And I’m Carmen. By all accounts, Lauren, you loved your brother dearly.”

Her eyes began to well. “He was the only person in my family—the only person in my life—who believed in me. Everyone else gave up.” A small sob escaped her. “Even my own parents called me a junkie. Wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Then you’d want to help find his killer, no?”

Lauren swept at a tear with her knuckle. “Of course.”

“Could you tell us where you were when it happened?”

“I’d already left. I didn’t know a lot of people. Anthony and our parents live on the East Coast. I’m pretty much out here by myself. And my past ... well, the substance-abuse issue. You know about it, I’m sure. Allison wouldn’t miss a chance to bring it up. So I went there for him, then I left.”

“Is that why you went to the service at Cedar Hills alone and stayed out of sight?”

Lauren blinked, clearly surprised at the quality of their intelligence. A nod.

“What’s the story about your sister-in-law?”

“Controlling, serious, no sense of humor. And hot. Ah, men ... my poor brother. I admit I haven’t had a lot of luck with money, not with the drinking and everything.

That Camry? It’s thirdhand and Anthony gave me the money for it.

And he was going to cosign on a mortgage so I could buy a house.

Allison didn’t like that one bit. And she’ll freeze me out.

I get something in his will, but she’ll find a lawyer and look for loopholes, I know she will.

I can barely make the rent as it is. Fuck. I’m not going back on the street.”

“The street?”

“Yeah. Lost my job, couldn’t get off the bottle, the drugs. Living under overpasses. In polite society, we’re called ‘unhoused.’ But it amounts to the same thing. Homeless.”

“I can put you in touch with—”

“Shelters?” Another snort. “No, thanks. Besides, I have enough money to tide me over until I can figure something out. I am, most of all, a survivor.”

Carmen shifted gears again. “What are you afraid of, Lauren?”

She took a long time to answer. Too long. “Maybe whoever killed my brother thinks I saw something, even if I didn’t.”

“But why would he think that if you weren’t even there?”

Lauren was becoming flustered. Carmen knew that emotion would soon turn into anger and when that happened, she would shut down. She needed to move fast.

Carmen took out her cell phone and thumb-typed a quick text.

Lauren watched suspiciously. Less than ten seconds later, Mouse opened the interview room door. Carmen beckoned her over and briefly whispered in her ear.

“What was that all about?” Lauren asked when Mouse left.

“Look,” Carmen said, picking up a remote and aiming it at a monitor on the wall.

Both women turned to watch as the screen flicked on to reveal footage of the grounds at the Hollywood Crest Inn.

Lauren swallowed audibly. “Why are you making me look at that? It’s where he died.”

Carmen froze the frame that showed the silhouette in the garden nearby. “This was just before it happened. And that person is you, isn’t it?”

“No! I told you I left right afterward. I wasn’t welcome.”

Repeating an explanation could be a sign of deception.

“Those are your red-striped shoes, aren’t they?”

“What’re you talking about? You can’t see a thing. You can’t even tell if they’re wearing shoes. Whoever the fuck they are. You should be spending your time finding them, not bothering me.”

Carmen narrowed her eyes. “So, it’s not you?”

“No! I swear to God.”

With that proclamation, Lauren Brock had completed the trifecta of deception. The only trick she hadn’t pulled was suddenly claiming her memory was faulty.

Aware she had no legal justification for holding an uncooperative witness, Carmen tried a bit of shock to break through her defenses. “Whatever you’re hiding, you’d better level with me now, Lauren. Because I’m going to find out, and by then your options will be severely limited.”

Lauren shot to her feet. “You know damn well I had nothing to do with my brother’s death.”

“Of course not. I’m not saying that at all.

But I think you have information that can help us find who did.

” Carmen played her trump card. “We have reason to believe he killed two other people. Both of them on their wedding day. In Italy. And he just tried again last night. He’s a serial killer and he’s going to strike again.

It’s in your interest—in everybody’s interest—to open up. Now.”

Lauren broke down in tears. “I’m leaving. And I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

With that, she stormed out of the interview room.

A moment later, Heron strolled in. “That went well.”

“You’re being sardonic, Heron. But the fact is, it went better than I hoped.”

“How so?”

She peered around his shoulder to address Mouse, who had followed him in. “Is everything in place?”

Mouse nodded. “They’re on it.”

When Heron raised an inquiring brow, she explained. “When Mouse came in, I asked her to pull video of the hotel grounds, but I also told her to activate the SHIT detail.”

“Excuse me?”

She took a moment to enjoy Heron’s confusion before enlightening him.

“You haven’t been involved in government operations long enough. Everything has an acronym.” She lifted a shoulder. “Granted, it’s usually not vulgar, but this unit’s unofficial moniker stuck.”

“What’s it stand for?”

To everyone’s surprise, Declan answered first. “Surveillance and Holistic Investigative Technology.”

“No shit,” Heron said, deadpan.

Carmen said, “What Declan doesn’t know is that it has two meanings. In law enforcement circles, any undesirable assignment is referred to as a ‘shit detail.’”

Declan’s response was instantaneous. “I am aware of that, Carmen.”

Mouse grimaced. “He’s a large language model. Now you’ve insulted him.”

Carmen steered the conversation back to the most pertinent point. “It’s a dedicated surveillance team. They’re going to tail Lauren.”

“Okay, Sanchez, good. You knew she knows something but wasn’t going to talk. You flushed her.”

She nodded at the screen, the silhouette of Ms. POI. “Maybe that’s her, maybe it isn’t. Frankly, I don’t see any red stripes.”

Declan broke in. “I said 44.2 percent, Carmen.”

Carmen ignored him and continued, “Zero idea what she’s up to.

Maybe she’s afraid HK’s following her. Maybe she’s pulling some funny business with the will.

We couldn’t find one, but she just admitted it exists.

And maybe she’s got a plan to screw Allison.

Will it help us get closer to HK?” She shrugged. “We don’t have a lot of options.”

Heron was frowning. “This surveillance outfit ... tell me about it.”

“They’re practically invisible, and they’re damned good at what they do. And they can spy on anything, anywhere.”

Mouse chuckled at the look of disdain on Heron’s face. She continued, “They use a combination of unmarked cars—that don’t look like unmarked cars—traffic cams and sometimes even drones, so whoever they’re following has no clue.”

“Intrusion,” Heron muttered. “You’re always lecturing me about warrants, Sanchez.” He glanced around dramatically. “I don’t seem to see any.”

Carmen was ready with an answer. “I’d need a warrant to install a GPS tracker without her knowledge or consent, but not to track a car driving around in public, using other vehicles or traffic cameras. This is our only option. Lauren’s holding back on us. And I’m going to find out why.”