“Anyway,” Detective Hanson continued, “I’d prefer to interview you here at the precinct. But since you’re in Wisconsin, I’d rather not wait for you to fly back.”
“Fly back?” Kaine leaned against the wall and looked up to meet the beady gaze of the woman in the ancient portrait hanging in the hallway.
“We may ask you to return if this case turns into something other than what was concluded. Not to mention your sister stated you suspect the perpetrator may have followed you there? I’d prefer to have you back in San Diego so we can offer protection. You’re completely out of my jurisdiction right now.”
Kaine pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I did receive a threatening call.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I-I filed a report here with the local police department.”
“And?”
“Well, they’re looking into it, I guess. There wasn’t much to go on, of course. The number was blocked.”
“Good to know. I’ll touch base with the precinct there and get a copy of the report,” Detective Hanson assured her. There was no implication in her tone that she thought Kaine was crazy. “Miss Prescott?” The detective’s voice broke through her musing.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any idea who you believe may have killed your husband?” The detective’s straightforward question caught her off guard.
“Of course not. If I did, I would have said so two years ago.”
“I figured as much. Did Danny have any enemies?”
Kaine gave a wry laugh. “On World of Warcraft, sure. But in real life? He was . . . good.” Her eyes burned. Too good.
“Do you have any enemies? I see you were a social worker?”
“Yes. I suppose I could have enemies. I mean, I helped a lot of women escape their abusers, even a few from sex trafficking. I suppose there could be a whole list of enemies.” Kaine swallowed hard.
“Sure, sure. I see.” Something clicked in the background, as if the detective was typing on a keyboard. “Okay. So the intrusions into your home. You stopped filing reports. Didn’t we have you install an alarm system?”
“No. I was told there wasn’t any credible evidence of a break-in. No broken locks, windows, jimmied doors. A few times of my filing reports and their dispatching someone to check it out—they gave me a pretty strict warning to knock it off unless I had proof.” Apparently, daffodils weren’t considered threatening. “I did install my own alarm system, though.”
“Was it ever triggered?”
“Once.” And the police still found nothing. Everything in her had wanted to move in with Leah and her husband. But what if it became worse? More threatening? She couldn’t endanger them.
“Had you been officially diagnosed with any type of anxiety disorder or depression?”
Kaine held back a growl. This wasn’t the kind of help she was hoping for when it came to solving Danny’s murder and arresting her stalker. Flying home was becoming less and less appealing. She would be returning to more questions about her own mental state. “It was insinuated that I should be seen.”
“And did you ever visit a psychologist?”
Did Detective Hanson have a checklist? “I saw a counselor. I was not diagnosed with PTSD.” Depression, yes, but admitting that wasn’t going to help her cause.
Grant peeked around the corner. You okay? he mouthed.
Kaine nodded. For now.
“All right.” Detective Hanson’s voice sounded like she was biting back a sigh. “It’s been two years since your husband’s death, but I want to revisit just a few facts.”
Kaine gripped the phone tighter.
“You said your husband never took drugs of any kind?”
“That’s right.” Kaine squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been through this so many times.
“And yet drugs were found in his system.”
Kaine was silent. She couldn’t deny that, but then that had been her biggest argument for his murder. Danny would have never, never taken narcotics of any kind.
“So your statement said that you never knew Danny to use, and you were certain it had to have been slipped to him before he got in his vehicle to drive, therefore causing the accident?”
“Yes.” Kaine had no proof. She never would.
“I went through the evidence. There was a disposable coffee cup found in the car.”
Kaine smiled, tears filling her eyes. Yes. The Bean and Brew. Danny loved that place.
“I pulled the cup and had it tested. It came back positive for drug residue. It’s possible Danny’s coffee was spiked with a narcotic. But in black coffee, it would be difficult for him to have known.”
Detective Hanson’s statement was a sucker punch to Kaine’s stomach. “What would it have done to him?”
“Nausea, dizziness, poor coordination, even amnesia in some surviving cases.” The list went on like a pharmaceutical warning label. “I have to apologize. It was sloppy that it was written off as drug use by the detective assigned to the case. It’s obvious your husband wasn’t using narcotics, and . . . well.” Detective Hanson left it there, and Kaine understood the reason why. She probably couldn’t say much about the detective who’d handled Danny’s “accident.” Unfortunately, Kaine could almost read between the lines. It was likely narcotics that had affected that detective as well, hindering his judgment and ultimately costing him his job.
A wave of realization surged through her. Someone believed her!
“I told them Danny was murdered.” Kaine sagged against the wall, her shoulder brushing the vintage frame. She caught the dead stare of the Victorian-era woman and saw sadness in her eyes. As if somehow she could relate to tragedy caused by the hand of man. Unnatural and premature. “Why didn’t anyone listen to me?”
Silence for a moment, followed by the clearing of a throat. “I’ll be honest, Miss Prescott,” Detective Hanson began. “The detective assigned to your husband’s accident two years ago is no longer with the force. He ran into some . . . trouble. Lost his badge a few weeks ago. And I was assigned to look over a few of his past cases that had lingering question marks as to how thoroughly they were processed.”
Kaine couldn’t utter a response. Anger and anxiety warred within her, wanting to lash out at the department’s inept ability to manage their investigations, and anxiety that two years was too long to go back and resolve Danny’s death.
Detective Hanson was still talking.
“. . . so I also need to check into the reports you filed. Do you still have your condo here in San Diego? Is there a possibility you’d give me access so I can try to gather forensic evidence, like fingerprints?”
Two months too late. “No. I don’t own it anymore.”
“Oh. And I see here that you’ve already filed a similar report with the Oakwood police? Not in regard to the call you already mentioned but a break-in?”
Kaine closed her eyes. “I have.”
“Did they find anything?”