Page 165 of Brutal
That’s not useful.
That’s not?—
I set the phone down.
My breathing is too fast. I force it to slow.
In.
Out.
Again.
The phrase doesn’t mean anything. People say things like that. Men say things like that about wives, girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters.
He could have meant anything.
The second figure could have been anyone.
I push away any emotion and catalog only what I actually know.
Halstead arrived early.
A secondary presence was confirmed before contact. That person appears to have left before the confrontation.
Halstead referenced “my girl.”
That’s it.
That’s all.
There is nothing here that proves my mother was at the marina.
There is nothing here that proves Halstead was talking about me.
There is nothing here that changes the investigation.
Except it changes everything.
I reach for my pendant again and close my fingers around the tiny silver scales.
My mother’s was gold. I remember that now with brutal clarity. Gold against her throat. Gold catching the light when she leaned over me.
If she were alive, I could ask her.
Were you there?
Did you meet him?
Did he call me that?
Did he give you something?
Did you know?
But she isn’t alive. I have no one to ask. All I have is a grainy image that may or may not show the moment my mother walked away from Victor Halstead for the last time.
My throat tightens.
