“Ms. Taylor?” Marilyn prompted. “What were you doing between three o’clock and six-thirty yesterday afternoon?”
Finally, Sophie lifted her eyes to meet the detective’s, revealing her tears. “I was in my mother’s room,” she confessed quietly. “I was looking through some of her clothes, her jewelry, remembering when I was a kid and she would dress up to go out with my dad …” Her voice faded and a tear dropped onto her cream-colored skirt.
Jerry fought the urge to place a consoling hand on her arm. “When Taylor was in prison, her mother died,” he explained.
Marilyn nodded, wondering how Sophie was going to take the news of yet another death.
“Ms. Taylor, I’m investigating the murder of someone you know, I’m afraid.”
Sophie stared at the detective and blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes of tears.
“Logan Barberi was killed yesterday.”
Sophie sat completely still. She thought of Logan’s head bowed in her office, tears falling as he related the awful tales of his father’s abuse. “What happened?” she managed.
“I can’t say anything more until I interview all the suspects,” Marilyn replied calmly. “Though the media is bound to get hold of this soon.”
Sophie’s muddled mind ticked through various thoughts and questions, one at a time. Quietly she asked, “Does Grant know?”
“I’m not sure. We’re headed there next.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Is Grant a suspect, Detective?”
“Do you think he should be, Ms. Taylor?”
“No! I—I—I don’t know.” Sophie shakily drew her hand to her face, placing the heel of her palm against her forehead. Logan was dead! Logan was dead, and all she could think about was Grant. How would he react? Did he have motive to kill his brother? Could he be capable of murder? No, never, she thought. Not the man she knew. But did she know him really? What else had he been hiding from her?
“We’ll need to interview your father now,” Detective Fox said. “Check his story against yours, see if your alibi pans out.”
Sophie sat up with a start. “Am I a suspect, Detective?”
“You certainly have motive, Ms. Taylor. The deceased’s actions led you to prison, as I understand it.”
“But I could never kill him!” she responded indignantly, then continued in a softer tone. “Logan was, well, he was trying to turn his life around. He was abused by his father—awful, horrible stuff—but he did everything he could to protect his little brother back then.” She sniffed, feeling a lump in her throat. “To protect Grant.”
Sophie stared off into the distance, thinking of Grant and how he would take the news—if it were indeed news.
“I’m an awful person,” she said. “I can’t believe I don’t even feel that badly about Logan dying. All I can think about is Grant.”
“You’re probably in shock,” Marilyn said. “You probably feel numb right now.”
Sophie nodded. “I guess you have to notify lots of people about loved ones dying, huh?”
Marilyn gave a faint smile. “Probably not as many up in Lake County as the Chicago detectives have to contend with.” Her green eyes pierced Sophie. “So, were you in love with Mr. Barberi, then?”
She had once thought so, but the man she truly loved was not Logan Barberi—she now knew that for sure.
“I’ll have to pass on that question, Detective,” Sophie said. “Just please find Logan’s killer.”
*
“Uh-oh, time for the PO’s surprise inspection again!” Roger boomed, his voice full of amusement.
Jerry looked down at Madsen’s boss. He was irritated with himself for forgetting the man’s name, but given the outrageous number of parolees he supervised, he guessed it would be unreasonable to expect to remember all the details. And then there was the murder investigation weighing on his mind …
“Parole Officer Jerry Stone,” he said formally, pumping Roger’s hand.
“Yeah, I remember you, but it looks like you have no fucking clue who I am. It’s Roger Eaton.” Peering behind the taller man to find a sharp-dressed woman about his height, Roger inquired, “And who do we have here?”
Jerry stepped to the side and swept his arm toward Marilyn. “Detective Marilyn Fox of the Great Lakes Police, this is Roger Eaton, Grant Madsen’s boss.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“A detective, eh?” He nodded appreciatively. “So, what’s Madsen done this time?”
Neither officer laughed at his joke, but Marilyn smiled pleasantly. “Where is Mr. Madsen, sir? We need to talk to him.”
“Well, get in line, then,” Roger brusquely retorted, gesturing to the bridge. “His uncle has been up there with him for awhile already.”
Roger then turned and looked up to the bridge, but saw only Joe’s silhouette outlined by the setting sun—no sign of Grant. “At least I thought Grant was up there with his uncle.”
Marilyn pursed her lips. Her key suspect better not have gotten away before she had the chance to question him. “Stay here, Mr. Eaton,” she commanded, heading up the stairs to the bridge. “We’ll need to talk to you next.”
Roger watched her scuttle up the stairs, admiring the alluring sway of her cute derriere before Jerry’s body blocked his sweet view. Roger was left on deck with the uniformed police officer. They stared at each other awkwardly.
“So,” Roger began, rocking back and forth on his heels. “What’s your fucking deal?”
Arriving at the bridge, Marilyn was relieved to find a man curled up on the floor, soft moans of despair emanating from his coiled form. That had to be Madsen. Another man wearing a decorated Navy uniform turned to her as she entered.
“Detective Fox?” the older man inquired. His striking blue eyes caught her off guard.
“Um, you must be the uncle, sir? Joe Madsen?”
“Yes, ma’am, Commander Joseph Madsen.” They grimly shook hands.
Hearing their voices, Grant looked up at the three adults blocking the doorway. A familiar man was shaking Joe’s hand … Grant stared for a moment before registering that his parole officer was onboard. Why was Jerry here? Grant’s fuzzy brain tried to understand what was happening.
“Thank you for looking after Grant, Officer Stone,” Joe said as they shook hands.
“It’s been my pleasure, sir,” Jerry answered.
Marilyn studied the suspect, noticing the multihued bruise on the left side of his face. He swiped wet trails from his cheeks, focusing on Jerry and Joe, then he rested his penetrating gaze on her, tilting his head to the side, failing to recognize her.
Grant finally placed his hands on the deck and pushed his body into a squat, then upward to his full height. Even Marilyn was taken in by his dazzling aquamarine gaze.
“Officer Stone?” Grant’s confused voice cut through the conversation.
“Madsen,” Jerry acknowledged. “I see your uncle already told you about Logan?”
Grant’s voice cracked. “Yes, sir.”
Jerry cleared his throat. “This is Detective Marilyn Fox from the Great Lakes PD. She needs to ask you some questions.”