Jack got up and opened the curtains. It wasn’t full daylight yet.
“I take it that you have something to tell me.”
“Flynn wants us to come in early so he can tell us things he’s not supposed to. Seems that our, uh, contributions to the case are going to be ignored. They don’t think we need to know anything.”
“They’re going to take the credit?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Kate held up her fork. “That will keep lookie-loos from wanting me to show them houses just so they can ask murder questions.”
Jack smiled. “I like how you find good in bad places.”
“Like how my father stole good diamonds from a bad lady?”
“I’m not getting into that.” He started to sit down on the little couch, but instead he told Kate to move over, then stretched out on the bed beside her. “I meant for you to scoot this way. Toward me.”
She put a bite of pancakes into his mouth. “Tell me what Sheriff Flynn is going to say.”
“What they’ve found so far. We have to do it early because you are to be interrogated all day. Under glaring lights, with nothing to eat or drink for twenty-four hours.”
“Bathroom breaks?”
“None.”
“Sounds like a day spent with my uncles.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about them. Why—?”
“One set of psychopaths at a time.”
Sara stuck her head in. “Is this a private conversation?”
“Wish it was,” Jack said, “but it’s not.”
“Daryl just sent me a text. They caught Alastair.”
“I take it they found some real evidence against him?” Kate said.
Both Sara and Jack looked at her. It wouldn’t be good if the only evidence they had was Kate’s testimony. Stewart money; Stewart connections; Stewart cold-blooded-killer instinct. They wouldn’t have any hesitation about making sure Kate didn’t show up to testify.
Sara ran Jack out of Kate’s bedroom and told her niece to dress comfortably. It was going to be a long day.
When they got to Sheriff Flynn’s office, it was only 7:00 a.m., but he was waiting for them. They took their seats in the chairs on the other side of his desk.
He looked at Kate. “You okay?”
“Never better.” She was only lying a little bit. Aunt Sara squeezed her hand. “You didn’t by chance do any DNA testing, did you?”
Sheriff Flynn leaned back in his chair and gave a big smile. “And here I thought I’d be able to surprise you with that. We found a red leather makeup case that—”
“Mark Cross,” the three said in unison.
Sheriff Flynn looked at a paper on his desk. “That’s the brand name, yes. It contained lots of hair samples.” He paused for effect. “Hamish Stewart was Cheryl Morris’s father.” When no one showed surprise, he sighed. “Damn! I was hoping for gasps of shock. At least from two of you.”
“Sorry,” Kate said, “but last night I kept them up for hours telling them everything.”
“She’s a very good storyteller,” Sara said. “Succinct. Organized.”