Lines of Defense

Ch. 13

AMELIA HART

As I step out of the interrogation room, my mind is already buzzing with thoughts, the pieces of the case falling into a jagged, incomplete puzzle. Freeman's cologne. The man in black. Mrs. Peterson's shaky confession. There's a lot there, but not enough to draw any real conclusions yet. I pull out my phone and dial Havers.

The phone rings once, twice, before his gruff voice comes through the other end, clipped and impatient. "David Havers speaking."

"Still trying to find someone for the Freeman case?" I ask, wasting no time.

There's a brief pause, and I can practically hear his eyebrows raising in surprise. "No one's taken it yet. Why do you ask?"

I inhale deeply, my decision solidified. "Because I'm taking it back."

Silence lingers on the line for a few seconds before he lets out a bark of laughter. "Well, well, I didn't think you'd come around, Hart. Hell of a decision. You won't regret it."

I don't respond to his sudden burst of enthusiasm. I hang up, already digging into my bag to pull out the business card Freeman had handed me. There's still a lot I don't know, a lot that doesn't sit right with me about this case, and I need to get to the bottom of it. Meeting with Freeman might be a good first step, even if I know there's more lurking beneath the surface.

I punch in the number on the card. After a couple of rings, the line picks up, but it's not Freeman on the other end.

"Mr. Freeman's office," the person says, clipped and professional.

I adjust my tone. "This is Amelia Hart. Mr. Freeman asked me to reach out to him directly. Is he there?"

There's a brief pause, some typing in the background. "I'll need to confirm with Mr. Freeman. I'll get back to you shortly, Ms. Hart."

I murmur a quick thanks before hanging up. Just as I do, Jane emerges from the room, hands tucked casually in her jacket pockets, her expression unreadable but sharp as ever.

"You really believe what Mrs. Peterson said?" she asks, falling into step beside me as we walk down the narrow hallway. Her question borders between skepticism and curiosity, the same as the thoughts swirling in my own mind.

"Honestly?" I glance sideways at her, weighing my words. "It could be a red herring. Mrs. Peterson's story isn't exactly airtight. She didn't see the attacker's face, and smelling cologne as an identifier is weak. But..."

Jane cuts in, brow furrowing. "But it's enough to make you think twice."

"Exactly," I reply. "We can't afford to take chances. We already know Mark Freeman had a motive. Stacie was threatening to report him—about what, we're still piecing together—but that much was clear. And if he felt cornered, desperate enough, he could've snapped."

Jane hums thoughtfully. "But don't you think it's all a little...convenient? The man in black? Mark's cologne?" She pauses, her gaze sliding over to me. "You think someone's trying to set him up?"

I let out a slow breath, my eyes narrowing as I mull over the possibility. "It's crossed my mind. Think about it. Mark Freeman's not just any man. He's got power, money, influence—plenty of reasons why someone would want to see him go down. And if you wanted to frame someone, planting something personal like his cologne on the scene? That's almost too obvious."

"Or," Jane adds, "he could be arrogant enough to think he wouldn't get caught."

I can't deny the possibility. "Maybe. But even if he is that arrogant, there's something that doesn't fit. Mrs. Peterson said Stacie threatened to report him—what was she threatening to expose? If it's about his affairs, why would he kill her? Infidelity alone isn't enough to make him risk everything. There's something bigger."