would, but he retired last year.”
“Oh.” Shaye was a bit taken aback at first, then she chided herself. Detective Beaumont had sported a full head of gray nine years ago. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d retired. Unfortunately, that left her with no one to talk to…no one she trusted, anyway.
“Would you like to talk to someone else?” the sergeant asked.
“I guess so. I’m looking for someone who can talk to me about David Grange’s murder.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You with the paper? Because we don’t just hand out information to reporters.”
“No. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by the deceased’s wife.”
The sergeant raised one eyebrow, his expression clearly shouting “bullshit.”
Shaye reached for her purse and fumbled with her wallet, trying to pull out her ID. Finally, she managed to get the identification out and presented it to him. The sergeant leaned over to look at the card, then looked back up at Shaye.
“You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I’m twenty-four. Some might consider that young, but I’m legit.”
The man shook his head. “Pretty girl like you…why would you want to be a PI? Chasing down cheating husbands and insurance fakers? It’s a thankless job.”
“I’m not looking for thanks. I’m looking for the truth.”
He snorted. “Girl, you got a lot to learn, and I’m betting it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But what the hell do I know? Thirty-two years at this job and I still get up and drive to work every day. I’ll get you someone to talk to.”
He turned around in his chair and yelled, “Vincent! Someone here needs to talk to you.”
A heavyset man with short silver hair and glasses looked over at Shaye and frowned. “Send her back!”
The sergeant turned back around. “That’s Detective Vincent. He was the senior officer on the Grange murder. I’m sure he can help you.” But his tone when he delivered the last statement didn’t instill confidence.
Shaye took a deep breath and walked past the reception desk and into the sea of police officers and criminals, preparing herself for the complete waste of time that talking to Detective Vincent was probably going to be.
As she approached his desk, he grabbed a stack of folders in one of the metal chairs and shoved them into the only bare corner of his desk. He motioned for her to take the seat and plopped back into his chair, glancing at his watch and then his computer screen.
“I’m Detective Vincent,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private investigator, and I was recently hired by Emma Frederick to look into some things concerning her late husband, David Grange.”
The detective’s eyes widened slightly when she threw out the private investigator part, but he managed to force the bored look back into place. “I don’t know what it is you or the Frederick woman needs to know. The man’s dead and she killed him. From where I sit, it seemed like a good idea. Not sure what more there is to investigate.”
“Ms. Frederick thinks she’s being stalked.”
Vincent sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This again?”
“Are you the officer she spoke to a couple of days ago?”
“I’m afraid so. Look, I listened to everything she had to say, drove to her house, and me and my partner checked every square inch of the place. There was no forced entry, and Ms. Frederick told me she’d changed the locks after the other incident. I can’t make something out of nothing.”
Shaye’s back tightened and she struggled to maintain her cool. “Ms. Frederick saw someone in her house. How can that be nothing?”
Vincent shook his head. “Emma Frederick is a nice woman who went through something horrible. Regular people aren’t prepared to be attacked, much less kill their attacker, especially when they’re married to him. I’d be more worried if she didn’t have some trauma after what she’s
“Oh.” Shaye was a bit taken aback at first, then she chided herself. Detective Beaumont had sported a full head of gray nine years ago. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d retired. Unfortunately, that left her with no one to talk to…no one she trusted, anyway.
“Would you like to talk to someone else?” the sergeant asked.
“I guess so. I’m looking for someone who can talk to me about David Grange’s murder.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You with the paper? Because we don’t just hand out information to reporters.”
“No. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by the deceased’s wife.”
The sergeant raised one eyebrow, his expression clearly shouting “bullshit.”
Shaye reached for her purse and fumbled with her wallet, trying to pull out her ID. Finally, she managed to get the identification out and presented it to him. The sergeant leaned over to look at the card, then looked back up at Shaye.
“You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I’m twenty-four. Some might consider that young, but I’m legit.”
The man shook his head. “Pretty girl like you…why would you want to be a PI? Chasing down cheating husbands and insurance fakers? It’s a thankless job.”
“I’m not looking for thanks. I’m looking for the truth.”
He snorted. “Girl, you got a lot to learn, and I’m betting it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But what the hell do I know? Thirty-two years at this job and I still get up and drive to work every day. I’ll get you someone to talk to.”
He turned around in his chair and yelled, “Vincent! Someone here needs to talk to you.”
A heavyset man with short silver hair and glasses looked over at Shaye and frowned. “Send her back!”
The sergeant turned back around. “That’s Detective Vincent. He was the senior officer on the Grange murder. I’m sure he can help you.” But his tone when he delivered the last statement didn’t instill confidence.
Shaye took a deep breath and walked past the reception desk and into the sea of police officers and criminals, preparing herself for the complete waste of time that talking to Detective Vincent was probably going to be.
As she approached his desk, he grabbed a stack of folders in one of the metal chairs and shoved them into the only bare corner of his desk. He motioned for her to take the seat and plopped back into his chair, glancing at his watch and then his computer screen.
“I’m Detective Vincent,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private investigator, and I was recently hired by Emma Frederick to look into some things concerning her late husband, David Grange.”
The detective’s eyes widened slightly when she threw out the private investigator part, but he managed to force the bored look back into place. “I don’t know what it is you or the Frederick woman needs to know. The man’s dead and she killed him. From where I sit, it seemed like a good idea. Not sure what more there is to investigate.”
“Ms. Frederick thinks she’s being stalked.”
Vincent sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This again?”
“Are you the officer she spoke to a couple of days ago?”
“I’m afraid so. Look, I listened to everything she had to say, drove to her house, and me and my partner checked every square inch of the place. There was no forced entry, and Ms. Frederick told me she’d changed the locks after the other incident. I can’t make something out of nothing.”
Shaye’s back tightened and she struggled to maintain her cool. “Ms. Frederick saw someone in her house. How can that be nothing?”
Vincent shook his head. “Emma Frederick is a nice woman who went through something horrible. Regular people aren’t prepared to be attacked, much less kill their attacker, especially when they’re married to him. I’d be more worried if she didn’t have some trauma after what she’s
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