Homewrecker

46 - 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷

If I thought the bland white walls and furniture in the Denvers' home appeared bleak, then the inside of Detective Marsh's office toward the back of the police station looked stripped and half-finished, with similarly white walls and a faux wooden desk near the center of the room. It was carpeted in matted navy material underneath our feet as we walked in, glancing around and glimpsing the certificates and diplomas framed to the wall, a couple of newspaper articles beginning to yellow beneath the pane.

There were papers and folders on his desk, lying on the keyboard of his computer and the curled cords of his phone, and I wondered what was inside of them as I sat down in one of the chairs across from the desk, the pleather cracked around the seams. There might have been pictures inside, or maybe notes from other investigators, or maybe Detective Marsh. There might have been proof that David paid them to keep the investigation quiet from the public inside, but I knew there was no way I would ever get to look inside to find out.

"So," Detective Marsh said, smoothing his palm down the front of his polo as he sat down, like his motions were so automatic that he hadn't realized he wasn't even wearing a tie. "I've seen the leak on the news, we all have. It's not going to change how we handle the investigation—"

I was going to interject something, that I knew David's campaign team paid to keep them quiet to prevent it from tainting the public's opinion of him during the election, when Andi piped up beside me. "Wrong answer, buddy."

He blinked again, like when she announced that she was coming with us to his office, confusion bringing his thick eyebrows together. "I beg your pardon?"

"It doesn't make sense that you would keep my mother's investigation quiet from the public. If people don't know there's been a murder, how are they supposed to come forward and say, oh, I saw something really weird that day or my friend joked he killed someone," I told him. "Unless, you were being paid off by David to keep it quiet."

He hesitated, a soft sigh drifting out past his nostrils as he stared at us both, the muscles in his jaw twitching for a couple of seconds before his shoulders slumped underneath his polo. "I wasn't being paid by your father to keep the investigation quiet."

"Bull."

He made a halfhearted gesture of turning his palms out over the files and the keyboard, sheepishness settling into the wrinkles of his face. "I promise to you, I wasn't paid. But this isn't something I can talk about with you girls."

"Are you saying he offered you something else? Like a recommendation letter or something?" Andi asked.

He shook his head. "I wasn't bribed with anything. But you're correct, the public being aware of your mother's murder does add to the investigation. We've received some tips already; we're looking into them. Hopefully, with any luck, we'll have a lead we'll be able to share with you soon."

I felt my back stiffening against the pleather behind me, the muffled buzzing of the air conditioner echoing in the quiet that settled into the cramped office space as I took him in, the thinning hair he buzzed short, the picture frames turned to face him, the look etched around his eyes that I didn't totally trust.

But, there was something else there. Like he was willing me to understand something he hadn't spoken, like there was something truthful about him now.

"I don't know what you've been prioritizing before, but now it's going to be my mom, okay? This political crap doesn't matter, she wasn't even a part of it. She matters. That's it."

"I understand completely," he said, nodding.

His response was meant to be sympathetic, encouraging probably, but that wasn't what I wanted to hear. I was so done with everyone and their sugarcoating, the coddling, their sympathy, when all I ever asked for was honesty. Which was what I gave him as I stood up, shaking my head as I went for the door. "Ugh. I hate that it was to be you. Some cop full of crap like everyone else."