than most what I’m talking about. So if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like for you to come downtown with us so we can ask a few more follow-up questions, maybe get a written statement. We’ve done about all we can here anyway.”
Camille looked at Detective Sullivan who promptly looked away. She was disappointed that Sullivan backed down, but she couldn’t be upset with her. Sullivan may have had the makings of a solid detective, but it was obvious she was in no position to call the shots. Being a young female meant the deck was already somewhat stacked against her. And Graham was making it very clear that he wasn’t interested in making the road any easier.
But he was absolutely right about one thing. Time was not on their side. No matter the crime, the window for successfully solving it is always incredibly small. In most cases, the vast majority of useful evidence, witness statements, and anonymous tips are collected within the first forty-eight hours of the incident. After that, the trail begins to run cold. Even though she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the nearest hole and die, she knew she couldn’t. The fact remained that she was possibly the last person who Julia talked to. She may not have had a lot to give to the detectives, but right now it was probably a lot more than anyone else.
“I’m parked a few blocks over,” she said to Sullivan.
“We’ll drive you to your car then you can follow us from there,” Graham answered.
Camille made her way under the yellow police line and back into the street. The two teenage sisters she noticed earlier were now standing beside their father. All three of them looked at Camille as she passed. The collective empathy in their faces almost made her cry again. She also thought about her own father. She would have to call him. He was probably awake by now, and if he wasn’t already worried to death he soon would be. The words he spoke last night echoed in her mind: “ I’ve never worried more about you than I have for the last two months .”
Camille feared that before this was all over, the last two months were going to seem to him like a perfect day on the golf course.
CHAPTER 13
Camille sat in a conference room inside the downtown Criminal Investigations Division, while Detectives Graham and Sullivan worked feverishly at their computers; most likely logging witness statements and crime scene evidence. At least that’s what Camille’s experience told her they should be doing. Before escorting her inside, Graham made the token offer of a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a cup of coffee. Camille declined both. All she wanted was to write her statement and get the hell out of here as fast as she could.
She called her father while she waited. He had seen the news report but didn’t make the connection to Julia. When Camille made the connection for him, he was quiet for a long time. If the news had made him emotional, he would rather put the phone down and walk away than let Camille hear him cry. To him, sadness was an entirely private matter, not to be shared with anyone else in the world, including those closest to him. It was a complete sense of detachment that masqueraded as cast-iron toughness, and it allowed Paul Grisham to survive the streets for over two decades without a single scratch – to either his body or his psyche. The trait was passed on to Camille, and for a time she wore it with great pride. Then she encountered a mass murderer who rudely informed her that she wasn’t made of nearly the same kind of stuff as her father.
After what felt like an hour of silence, Paul told Camille that he would meet her as soon as he could arrange for a ride. He didn’t seem the least bit upset that she had taken his.
Graham and Sullivan finally made their way into the conference room some twenty minutes after Camille’s phone conversation ended. They were each holding a cup of coffee and a manila folder. Sullivan was smiling as she took a
Camille looked at Detective Sullivan who promptly looked away. She was disappointed that Sullivan backed down, but she couldn’t be upset with her. Sullivan may have had the makings of a solid detective, but it was obvious she was in no position to call the shots. Being a young female meant the deck was already somewhat stacked against her. And Graham was making it very clear that he wasn’t interested in making the road any easier.
But he was absolutely right about one thing. Time was not on their side. No matter the crime, the window for successfully solving it is always incredibly small. In most cases, the vast majority of useful evidence, witness statements, and anonymous tips are collected within the first forty-eight hours of the incident. After that, the trail begins to run cold. Even though she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the nearest hole and die, she knew she couldn’t. The fact remained that she was possibly the last person who Julia talked to. She may not have had a lot to give to the detectives, but right now it was probably a lot more than anyone else.
“I’m parked a few blocks over,” she said to Sullivan.
“We’ll drive you to your car then you can follow us from there,” Graham answered.
Camille made her way under the yellow police line and back into the street. The two teenage sisters she noticed earlier were now standing beside their father. All three of them looked at Camille as she passed. The collective empathy in their faces almost made her cry again. She also thought about her own father. She would have to call him. He was probably awake by now, and if he wasn’t already worried to death he soon would be. The words he spoke last night echoed in her mind: “ I’ve never worried more about you than I have for the last two months .”
Camille feared that before this was all over, the last two months were going to seem to him like a perfect day on the golf course.
CHAPTER 13
Camille sat in a conference room inside the downtown Criminal Investigations Division, while Detectives Graham and Sullivan worked feverishly at their computers; most likely logging witness statements and crime scene evidence. At least that’s what Camille’s experience told her they should be doing. Before escorting her inside, Graham made the token offer of a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a cup of coffee. Camille declined both. All she wanted was to write her statement and get the hell out of here as fast as she could.
She called her father while she waited. He had seen the news report but didn’t make the connection to Julia. When Camille made the connection for him, he was quiet for a long time. If the news had made him emotional, he would rather put the phone down and walk away than let Camille hear him cry. To him, sadness was an entirely private matter, not to be shared with anyone else in the world, including those closest to him. It was a complete sense of detachment that masqueraded as cast-iron toughness, and it allowed Paul Grisham to survive the streets for over two decades without a single scratch – to either his body or his psyche. The trait was passed on to Camille, and for a time she wore it with great pride. Then she encountered a mass murderer who rudely informed her that she wasn’t made of nearly the same kind of stuff as her father.
After what felt like an hour of silence, Paul told Camille that he would meet her as soon as he could arrange for a ride. He didn’t seem the least bit upset that she had taken his.
Graham and Sullivan finally made their way into the conference room some twenty minutes after Camille’s phone conversation ended. They were each holding a cup of coffee and a manila folder. Sullivan was smiling as she took a
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