Apple Point PD was a four-story beige Neo-classical building, with single colossal column at each side of the entrance. It was just rectangular masses with large expanses of plain wall surfaces, lacking projections. The building was built in the late nineteenth century, and had been restored numerous times to preserve its originality. Manda had heard stories of the building before it was turned into a police station in the late 1940s. But right now her mind wasn't on the building history as she ascended the tiled steps toward the entrance.
She had been to the station many times before. It wasn't a problem for her to find her way around the station. She greeted some of the officers that she knew. Uncle Byron Salvatore, the chief police of APPD was a man in his mid forties with a shock of unruly white hair. He was wearing a crisp white shirt without any wrinkles on it, black tie, and black pants. On his black shoes there were traces of small damp leaves, and smaller leaves sticking at the shoelaces. Big orange leaves still stuck beneath his feet. She knew it had been raining that evening. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was almost twelve midnight.
"Glad to see you again, Manda," Uncle Byron said when she was in his office. She gave him a quick hug and looked at him. The death of his wife seemed to have aged him by ten years. "I'm sorry we have to meet this way, but we certainly didn't expect something like this."
"I know. I'm sorry, too, for your loss," Manda replied in sympathy. "What really happened, Uncle Byron?"
He smiled a little when she addressed him as uncle while he was on duty.
"One of our operators received an anonymous 911 phone call. We couldn't determine who it was. Anyway, he reported that he saw a dead body in Apple Point Park, and also saw a suspicious man hovering over the dead body."
"Was it really my dad?" She looked anxiously at him.
"That was who we found at the scene of the crime. He was still holding a bloody knife."
"Dad would never kill anyone."
"I know. But why would my wife meet him there at night?"
Manda sighed and rubbed her eyes in tiredness. Today had been a very busy day and sleep was slowly taking its toll.
"I don't know, Uncle Byron. I know my dad. He was a great friend to Aunt Wilma. Maybe you know something about Aunt Wilma that I don't."
"No, I didn't see anything wrong with her before I went to work this morning, or when I came back home in the afternoon."
"C-Can I see him? I know it's kind of late... but I haven't seen him quite a while." She bit her lower lip.
He frowned before he sighed in resignation. "I guess it couldn't hurt. You don't know what your father had been doing before the murder?" he asked, suddenly turning into interrogation mode.
She shook her head. "All I know that he would be out on his usual cases for a few days in New York," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. It was always the same excuse. Cases, cases, cases. Couldn't other FBI agents take some of his cases?
"So, he wasn't... different before he left?"
She looked at him in surprise. "No. Why are you suspecting him? I thought he is your best friend."
"I am, but dealing a case that involved someone you know... you have to be emotionally detached. Wasn't that your father had taught you before?"
"I threw it all away," she replied sarcastically. "You know I don't want to be like my dad anymore."
He patted her shoulder. "I know, Manda, but I don't think your father realizes that, yet. As far as I'm concern, he still thinks you want to work with the FBI."
