When The Little One Speaks

Two

The next morning, Marcus woke up with a splitting headache.

Zeke Brandt's suicide was on the news. The reporter skipped any forensic lab reports, said nothing about a private investigator (a minor detail Marcus overlooked - he was used to not getting the amount of importance he was supposed to get) and did an exclusive, live interview with the 'devastated' Alec Brandt.

"'So, Alec, obviously this must come as a huge shock to you. Or did you, in your hearts of hearts, know this was going to happen?'"

"'No, of course not.'" Alec's eyes shone with tears, "'No matter how distant or rebellious he became, he was always my son. I knew him like the back of my hand. Zeke would never kill himself, I'm sure of it.'"

"'There has been rumors that you've hired someone to investigate? Does this mean you think this is more than suicide?'"

"'Yes. I hired a P.I. from the police department. I know this wasn't a suicide. Something else has happened with my boy. I will make sure the truth comes to light.'" Alec stared right at the camera, his face shining.

Marcus switched the TV off. Jade Brandt had been standing behind her husband, staring at the camera. She hadn't spoken a word, just stared, with the same empty coldness in her eyes as before.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and dialed his sisters number.

"Kenzie?"

"Marcus. Sorry, Eliza just peed herself, I'm a bit-"

From the background, Marcus could hear loud wails.

"No, no, it's fine. I just wanted to chat, you can call me when you're free?"

"Wait, gimme a minute."

Marcus shifted through the kitchen, trying to remember how to make pancakes while Mackenzie put the call on hold.

He pulled out a carton of milk and chugged a large amount before realizing that it was expired.

"Marcus? I'm back. I dropped Eliza with her father. My God, never have kids, brother."

Marcus spat the milk into the sink before replying, "Not really in a position to."

"So, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Well," He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his fraying bathrobe, "I got a case."

He filled his sister in, telling her about the creepy coldness of the mother and the overenthusiastic nature of the father. It wasn't until he told Mackenzie about Nora, the child, that she replied, "Oh, no. Poor thing. How much shock does a person have to be in to actually not be able to speak?"

"Quite a lot, evidently."

"I don't like the mother," Marcus could picture his sister, leaning against the kitchen counter, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, lips pursed, "She seems way too off for someone who just lost a son."

"Yeah?" As Marcus chewed on a leftover apple piece, he realized that Mackenzie wasn't the most reliable to talk to in this case - her view as a mother prevented her from seeing anything but the irresponsibility of Jade Brandt.

"Yeah. You know what, maybe you should stalk her a bit, find out where she's been, who she paid to get the boy killed-"

"You think she paid someone? Why not do it herself?"

"She's a mother. I'd rather not imagine women killing their own children."

Marcus hung the call after Eliza started fussing for her mother.

Slipping on his coat, he stepped outside and made his way towards his office. Being a P.I. meant you were allowed to have your own private office, where clients could converse with you. Since Marcus almost never had clients, he used his office as a brainstorming area. The walls filled with newspaper clippings and post-it notes, desks overflowing with books and files - it was not the most professional sight.

Marcus walked into the reception area, nodding at the new personal assistant the Sergeant had hired for him. She was a tiny, quiet thing, and Marcus never really had any need for her, so he never took notice of the girl.

Before he could open his door, she called out, "Mr. Kole?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, Sergeant Bennett sent you some documents, I've kept them on your desk."

"Alright, thanks."

She wasn't done, "Um, would you like some coffee?"

"No, I'm good."

"I could make some tea, I know how to make herbal teas that - that really help in stress, and-"

He pushed through the door before the girl could say another word. Marcus had had his fair share of talkative P.A's, ones who chatted him up to get the more juicy bits of an investigation.

Marcus was met with an entirely clean office.

The many papers he had pinned to his wall had been taken down, a fresh, clean slate for him to work on. The desk was clear, save for the files she was talking about. Looking around, he noticed the books had been kept back on the shelf in color coordination.

Marcus walked back, eyeing his assistant. She stared back, eyes wide, fingers fumbling with her hair.

"Did you," Marcus waved a finger at his office, "did you do this?"

The girl nodded, "I-I thought maybe you'd want a clean place to work in? I didn't peek, at anything, I swear, I just-"

"Alright, alright," He ran a hand over his face, "Just - next time, ask me beforehand. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Marcus glanced down at her nameplate before turning back, "You're not bad at cleaning, Noelle Simpson."