“I hate church,” Destiny griped, snagging a cookie from a jar on the counter and shoving it into her mouth. A small chunk fell to the floor and landed near Glory. The dog didn’t even drop her eyes. She was staring at Gavin as if the sun and moon rose and set on his command.
“I don’t hate church,” Tommy said with a scowl. “God is good, and church is good.” At seven years old, he was way too serious for his age, years of neglect and abuse causing him to sink into himself and hide from the world.
“I’m glad you feel that way, Tommy,” Cassie said gently, touching the little boy’s shoulder. “Now, you go on to bed. I’ll be up in a few minutes to check under your bed.”
“And in the closet, too, Cassie. That’s where the bad guys like to hide the most.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide and solemn.
“I’ll check in your closet, too. And, in your book bag and in your church shoes.”
“Bad guys can’t fit in shoes,” he responded, not even a hint of a smile curving his mouth.
“You’re right, but I’ll check, anyway. Now—” she gave him a gentle nudge toward the doorway “—go on. To bed.”
He shuffled away, his dark hair falling over sea-green eyes, his flannel pajamas bagging around his narrow frame. He didn’t say a lot. He’d come from a family where right words and wrong words, right actions and wrong ones all led to a harsh word, a slap, a punch or a kick. Even after seven months of living in a safe environment, he still scurried around at the edge of the action, tiptoed through the rooms to avoid being noticed, sat still as a statue while everyone else talked and giggled.
“You didn’t ask any of them about the mitten,” Gavin said as she filled the teapot, set it to boil. She didn’t want tea, but she needed something to do with her hands.
“I know.”
“I guess you have a reason for that?”
“My kids are...vulnerable. I don’t want them to think they’re being accused of something.”
“I get it.” He sighed. “More than you might imagine, but we don’t have time to worry about your kids’ sensitivities.”
“I know, and I know you need a witness, but—”
“I want a witness,” he said, cutting her off. “But I’m more concerned with keeping your kids safe.”
“I’ll talk to them.” She crossed the room, would have walked out into the hall, but one of the officers stopped her.
“Ma’am, we’d like to ask you a few questions before you do that.”
She tensed. She’d spent too many years being on the wrong side of crime-busting efforts, too many nights being pulled out of bed so the police could search her room for whatever narcotics her grandmother was suspected of selling. “About?”
“The incident on the back porch,” the older of the two responded, his dark brown gaze shifting to Gavin. “Unless you’re stepping in on this, Captain?”
* * *
Gavin wasn’t stepping in. He wasn’t leaving, either. He had questions, and someone at All Our Kids had answers. He needed to find out who. Aside from Juan Gomez, it could have been any of the children he’d seen in the kitchen.
Juan...
His mother Rosa Gomez had been Harland’s housekeeper. She’d been found at the bottom of a cliff in President’s Park two days ago. DC police were investigating.
Three deaths connected to the same family?
It seemed a stretch to think it was coincidence.
He’d have to bring it up to the team. First, he had to interview Cassie’s kids. He understood her need to protect them, he even admired it, but he wasn’t going to let it get in the way his job.
“It’s all yours,” he responded, his focus on Cassie.
She looked scared, but she also looked determined.
Hopefully that determination wasn’t going to be a problem. He didn’t want to waste time fighting her for access to the kids.
The officer nodded. Just like Dane Winthrop, Paul Anderson was someone Gavin had worked with during his days with the DC police force. Serious and hardworking, he had a reputation for following leads to the end, never giving up, never backing down. “Looks like you’ve got quite a bruise on your cheek,” he said, and Cassie touched the swollen spot.
“Yeah. The guy with the knife wasn’t real happy to see me.”
“Guy with a knife?” Paul asked. “Ms. Johnson didn’t mention that.”
“Virginia didn’t know about him,” Cassie explained quickly, giving Paul the same story she’d given Gavin. That was good. Her memories seemed clear, the details she offered matching the ones she’d provided before.
When she finished, Paul opened the door that led onto the back porch. “You say you heard him?”
“I heard a thump. I thought it was one of the kids playing around.” She frowned. Probably remembering that one of them had wandered to Harland’s property and possibly witnessed a murder.
“Is that why you didn’t call the police before you went outside?” Paul’s partner asked. Young with dark hair and an almost too-pretty face, he looked like a rookie who was desperate to prove his merit. “Because it seems to me—”
“Yes.” She cut him off. “That’s why.”
She followed Paul outside, her dark red hair spilling down her back, bits of pine needle and dead leaves sticking out of it. She was still barefoot, the cuffs of her jeans dragging the floor, her dusty toes peeking out from under them.
“It still smells like gasoline out here,” she commented.
Gavin didn’t know who she was directing it at, but he doubted anyone needed it pointed out. The acrid scent stung his nose, made his eyes water.
He crouched. The fumes were thicker there, the scent so strong, he could have lit a match and caused an explosion.
“We need to get a hazmat crew out here,” he said.
“You want to call that in, Shane?” Paul said to his partner. “And walk around to the front? See if there’s gasoline anywhere else. Looks like someone was trying to burn the place down.”
It’s what Gavin had been afraid of, and he wasn’t surprised to have it confirmed.
“Who would do something like that? Kill a bunch of children?” Cassie whispered, her freckles standing out against pale skin.
“Someone who would kill a well-known and well-liked attorney,” he responded. “Someone who wanted to protect his identity and stay out of jail. Someone who saw a child running away from the crime scene, but likely didn’t get a good enough look to know which child it was.”
“You think this is connected to the murder at the congressman’s place?” Paul asked.
“We found a mitten near the scene. It belongs to one of the kids who live here,” he responded, scanning the empty yard. Beside him, Glory paced restlessly.
“So the guy thought he’d kill them all?” Paul shook his head. “Every time I think I’ve seen it all, I’m proven wrong. You got a good look at the guy?” he asked Cassie.
“Yes,” she responded.
“Think you could identify him if you saw him again?”
She nodded, her face so pale, Gavin thought