River’s End

“The one you have in custody is capable of anything. He killed my sister. He mutilated her, ripping her apart like an animal. I want him to die for it.”
    She spoke coolly, but her eyes were ripe and hot with hate. Frank met that violent gaze, nodded. “I understand your feelings, Mrs. Melbourne.”
    “No, no, detective. You couldn’t possibly.”
    Frank let it go as Tracy shifted in his chair. “Mrs. Melbourne,” Frank began. “It would be very helpful if we were able to speak with Olivia.”
    “She’s four years old.”
    “I realize that. But the fact is, she’s a witness. We need to know what she saw, what she heard.” Reading both denial and hesitation on her face, he pressed. “Mrs. Melbourne, I don’t want to cause you or your family any more pain, and I don’t want to upset the child. But she’s part of this. A key part.”
    “How can you ask me to put her through that, to make her talk about it?”
    “It’s in her head. Whatever she saw or heard is already there. We need to ask her what that was. She knows me from that night. She felt safe with me. I’ll be careful with her.”
    “God.” Jamie lifted her hands, pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to think clearly. “I have to be there. I have to stay with her, and you’ll stop if I say she’s had enough.”
    “That’s fine. She’ll be more comfortable with you there. You have my word, I’ll make it as easy as I can. I have a kid of my own.”
    “I doubt he’s ever witnessed a murder.”
    “No, ma’am, but his father’s a cop.” Frank sighed a little as he rose. “They know more than you want them to.”
    “Maybe they do.” She wouldn’t know, she thought as she led them out and up the stairs. David hadn’t wanted children, and since she hadn’t been sure she did either, she’d been content to play doting aunt to her sister’s daughter. Now she would have to learn. They would all have to learn.
    At the door to the bedroom, she motioned the two detectives back. She opened it a crack, saw that her parents were sitting on the floor with Olivia, putting a child’s puzzle together.
    “Mom. Could you come here a minute?”
    The woman who stepped out had Jamie’s small build, but seemed tougher, more athletic. The tan and the sun-bleached tips of her brown hair told Frank she liked the outdoors. He gauged her at early fifties and imagined she passed for younger when her face wasn’t drawn and etched with grief. Her soft blue eyes, bloodshot and bruised-looking, skimmed over Frank’s face, then his partner’s.
    “This is my mother, Valerie MacBride. Mom, these are the detectives who . . . They’re in charge,” Jamie finished. “They need to talk to Livvy.”
    “No.” Val’s body went on alert as she pulled the door closed behind her. “That’s impossible. She’s just a baby. I won’t have it. I won’t have anyone reminding her of what happened.”
    “Mrs. MacBride-—” But even as Frank spoke, she was turning on him.
    “Why didn’t you protect her? Why didn’t you keep that murdering bastard away from her? My baby’s dead.” She covered her face with her hands and wept silently.
    “Please wait here,” Jamie murmured and put her arms around her mother. “Come lie down, Mom. Come on now.”
    When Jamie came back, her face was pale and showed signs of weeping. But her eyes were dry now. “Let’s get this over with.” She squared her shoulders, opened the door.
    The man who looked up had folded his long legs Indian style. His hair was a beautiful mix of gold and silver around a narrow face that was tanned and handsome. The eyes of deep amber he’d passed to his younger daughter, and to her daughter, were fanned with lines and widely set under dark brows.
    His hand, long and wide-palmed, reached out to lie on Olivia’s shoulder in an instinctive gesture of protection as he studied the men behind Jamie.
    “Dad.” Jamie forced her lips into a smile. “This is Detective Brady and Detective Harmon. My father, Rob MacBride.”
    Rob rose, and though he offered his hand to each detective in turn, he kept himself between them and his granddaughter. “What’s this about, Jamie?”
    “They need to talk to Livvy.” She pitched her voice low and gripped his hand before he could protest. “They need to,” she repeated, squeezing. “Please, Dad, Mom’s upset. She’s lying down in your room. I’m going to stay here. I’ll be right here with Livvy the whole time. Go talk to Mom. Please . .