The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Trent looked from her to the steering wheel, back to her. “Are we going to go pay him a visit?”

“Actually…” She wasn’t ready to show up at Freddy’s door, and depending on how things panned out with him, she might never need to. She could delegate that while she explored another avenue. “Why don’t you go talk to Freddy, feel him out, and I’ll go talk to the father of that boy. We’ll cover more ground that way.” She might not be able to put off questioning Freddy forever, but she would delay it for as long as she could.

Trent’s brow bunched down for a second. “Ah, sure, no problem. I could also swing by the Nashes and see if Lorraine can ID Freddy from a picture. She might be able to say if he was the one with Palmer.”

“Good luck on that one, but, yeah, not a bad idea. When you’re talking to Freddy, make sure to bring up Casey-Anne and gauge his reaction to her.”

“Will do.”

“Also, when you?

??re at his house, question his friend, Rat, real name Damien Rodriguez.” She just put the car into gear when her phone rang. She put it back in park. Caller ID told her it was Malone. She answered reluctantly.

“Detective Steele,” she answered.

“Formal. I like it, but you had to know it was me. I just heard from the ME’s office that Palmer’s death was a murder.”

“Yeah.”

“I assume you have your alibi?”

She cringed. She knew it had been a bad idea to answer her phone. “I’m working on it.”

A few seconds of silence, then Malone said, “I need more than ‘working on it.’”

“That’s all I got right now.”

“Where are you?” Malone’s question on the surface was a redirect, but he had asked for a reason.

“Headed back to the station.” Once there, she and Trent would sign out a second department car and go their separate ways.

“Good. I’d like to talk face to face.”

A warm flush shot through her and she glanced over at Trent who was watching her. “Sounds omin—”

“Don’t give it too much thought. Just come straight to my office. Alone.”

“Okay.”

Malone was gone before she could say, “Goodbye.”

“That Sergeant Malone?” Trent asked.

“Yep. You clairvoyant now?”

“That’s my older sister,” he deadpanned.

She faced him. “Are you being serious?”

He smiled and bobbed his head side to side. “She likes to think she is anyway. Me? I don’t really buy into all of that.”

“Huh.” She regarded him a little longer. Trent was interesting and a bit of an enigma.

“Lieutenant Hill’s pleased you’ve finally been paired with a partner. How’s it going anyhow?” Malone sat back in his chair and it creaked beneath him. Amanda was seated across from him in a single visitor chair in his office at Central District. It was a small, yet adequate space. He had a steel and laminate manager’s desk and a long filing cabinet that ran along the one wall and did double duties as a credenza. On top were a few framed photographs—one of him and his wife; one of their two boys; and one of the family on a trip down south. Hawaii, if Amanda remembered right. The walls were painted a rich, deep blue—somewhere between blueberry and midnight navy, and a window across from his desk looked over the woods at the back of the station. His entire office was organized, and everything had its spot.

She should have known that it was Hill who’d insisted she have a partner. “Does she know—”