Klein charges down the stairs then and into the living room, cutting off our laughter. “We haven’t found anything else so far, but we’ll keep looking.”
“You checked the office? And my room?” A few drawers were sitting open a crack, enough to flag that someone might have been in there.
“Yup. Nothing.” He flips open his notepad, his eyes on Gracie. “Why don’t you give me a rundown again . . . You got home around two fifteen p.m. You were in the pantry . . .”
“Putting away groceries,” I answer, noting Gracie’s cheeks flushing. “Gracie noticed a spot of blood on the floor.” I run through the next few moments again, Gracie finding her composure quickly enough to fill in a word here and there.
“And there were no signs that anyone was still in the house when you came home?”
I shudder at the thought. “No, sir.”
A loud knock sounds on the front door.
“You expecting someone?” Klein nods toward Tareen, who’s been floating around, to answer it.
“Actually, I am, but he doesn’t usually knock,” I mutter, checking my phone. Silas has been calling me all day, leaving messages. I can’t talk to him right now, not when I’m too busy wondering how he could swear up and down that Abe was guilty despite knowing about the video and Abe’s plans to out Mantis; despite the evidence we saw today that clearly shows a third person was in that room.
A moment later, Tareen returns with Boyd and his partner in tow, a worried look on Boyd’s face.
“Hey, Marshall. Is everything okay?”
I shrug. “Somebody broke in.”
“Dang. That sucks.” He looks between me and Gracie, and then to Klein, and Bill the evidence guy, who trots down the steps carrying a plastic bag with the cocaine in it, and I can see the questions churning. Why would the feds be here? Why didn’t Noah call the APD?
What trouble has Noah gotten himself into?
God only knows what the neighbors will think, with FBI agents outside only two weeks after the last circus at this address. Reporters will be here soon enough, fishing for information.
“Can we help you with something, Officer?” Klein asks in that calm, even voice that sounds so goddamn arrogant.
Boyd stands a little taller as he faces Klein, his demeanor shifting instantly from longtime friend to cop-on-duty. “We were on patrol and saw the activity outside. I know there’s protocol, but if the APD can be of assistance—”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.” Klein cuts him off abruptly, disappearing into the kitchen to make a call.
“Does this have anything to do with that run-in with Mantis?” Boyd asks.
“Why would you think that?” Gracie fires back, that hard, naturally suspicious side of her making its appearance.
“Because I’m no idiot, and nothing about what I saw yesterday looked normal,” he answers evenly.
I sigh. “Gracie, this is Boyd; Boyd, . . .” I gesture between the two of them, making fast introductions.
“So?” Boyd folds his arms across his chest.
“It might. It’s . . . a long story.”
“Do you need help, Noah?” His thick brows rise in question.
“We need you to tell the truth about what you saw yesterday,” Gracie answers for me, her tone challenging.
Boyd studies her for a long moment. “We can do one better. Our dash cam was running when we approached you. We caught that exchange on video. At least, from our viewpoint. Would that help?”
I don’t think Gracie was expecting that answer. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “It would. Thanks.”
“What would help Noah?” a loud voice calls from the entryway.
My body tenses. It’s about time he gave up on the phone.
“You can’t be in here,” Tareen begins, moving toward Silas, his arm out as if to usher him outside.
As if that would stop Silas. “I can and will be in here. I’m the district attorney of Travis County and that is my nephew.” He limps farther into the living room. “And I demand to know what’s going on.”
* * *
Silas tosses his phone onto the kitchen table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And his face is visibly thinner. “He’s refusing to give his DNA without a court order, and the judge won’t issue one until we give sufficient reason to believe it was Stapley in this house.”
“Surprise, surprise . . .” Klein mutters, his steely gaze set on the backyard. “That’s fine. His blood isn’t going anywhere.”
“Tell him he should probably get a tetanus shot. Maybe one for rabies, too.” Gracie smirks, tossing Cyclops a strawberry.
“You haven’t had that dog vaccinated?” Silas glares at me. As if that’s my fault.
I don’t know what’s been going on behind the scenes, but per typical Silas, within fifteen minutes of stepping in here, he gained approval from Klein’s higher-ups to involve the APD in the break-in investigation and has smoothly inserted himself into the middle of it.
Now, Boyd and his partner are canvassing the neighborhood for potential witnesses, the APD has Stapley in an interrogation room, and Silas is getting regular updates from the acting police chief.
Of course, Stapley is feeding the APD the same bullshit excuse I heard him give Klein earlier—he caught his leg on a rake. Before the meeting with the FBI, he was home, cleaning up the yard. His wife can vouch for him.
Klein is right, though; there’s nothing Stapley can do to hide the blood that courses through his veins. It’s only a matter of time before they have him.
Silas drums his fingertips across the table. A tic of his when he’s frustrated. It’s because Klein is being Klein—closed off, talking in riddles, unwilling to tell Silas what he wants to know. “So, is it safe to say that Lieutenant Stapley is a person of interest in the Abraham Wilkes murder investigation? I presume that’s why Noah would have called the FBI instead of the APD for a break-in. Though I’m not sure why you guys wouldn’t have called for APD assistance.”
Gracie and I exchange a glance. Silas knows there is an official investigation. I have to assume he’s also figured out that we’ve told Klein everything.
“Sure. I think that’s safe to say,” Klein answers in his laid-back, “nothing really matters” tone, his arms folded across his chest.
Uncomfortable silence hangs for a few beats, before Silas shifts his attention back to me.
“Did you find anything on Grace’s aunt in the arrest records, Noah?”
“No, sir. Nothing in the death and marriage records, either.”
“And the FBI is looking for her too. Right?” Gracie peers at Kristian, expectantly.
“We will be. We’re tight on resources at the moment.”
Gracie’s disapproving huff says she doesn’t like that answer.
“Relax. It shouldn’t take too long using facial recognition software, with that picture you gave me. If she’s alive, we’ll get a hit eventually.”
“You have a picture of her?” Silas asks.
“Just one. My mom had it in her things.”
Silas frowns in thought. “Agent Klein, why don’t you let the APD help with tracking Betsy down so you can focus on your case? I’ll make sure it’s a priority for them. Or, at the very least, they can check out the leads you come up with.”
Klein regards him curiously. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know.”
The kitchen chair creaks as Silas leans back against it. “Hey, if we can give Dina Wilkes back her sister . . . it should be a priority. It’s the least we can do.” It’s the first semi-civil exchange between these two since Silas walked through the door.
And everything about it sounds off.
One of the FBI evidence collectors pops his head in to say they’re wrapping up.
Boyd trails in right behind them.
“Got anything?” Silas asks.
“Yes, sir. A lady on the other side of the park noticed a dark blue pickup truck parked on the street during the time frame of the break-in.” They’re not calling it “theft.” As far as anyone can tell, nothing was taken. “She also noticed a tall, white male walking across from this side, in a hurry.”
“So you’re thinking Stapley parked over there, came through the park, and used the gate in the back to get through?”
“Yes, sir,” Boyd says.
“And do we know what Stapley drives?”