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Authors: Leslie Dana Kirby
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havenât figured that out yet.â
Chapter Fourteen
(Wednesday, August 17)
In the end, Lauren decided to comply with the court order, confident in forensic science. The day after the summons, she reported to the Scottsdale Police Department. She was required to strip down to her undergarments so the police photographer could take photos of her entire body. They focused several frames on the scratches fading on her upper right arm. The experience was humiliating and by the time she left the small windowless room, she was in tears.
As she was approaching the station exit, she heard somebody calling her name. âMiss Rose.â
Lauren had become accustomed to people calling out to her. Perfect strangers recognized her from the exhaustive coverage of the case. Many felt they knew her. It had been surreal at first. Now, it was annoying. Every trite condolence offered by a stranger was a stabbing reminder of her loss.
Lauren increased the length of her stride. The building was closing in on her. She was desperate to get outside.
The calls became more insistent, âMiss Rose!â The voice sounded familiar, but she did not pause long enough to try to identify the speaker.
Lauren was speed walking, practically running. She hit the door at a brisk pace and forced her way out to the front steps.
She could hear somebody pushing through the door behind her. She descended the steps two at a time. Her ten-year-old Civic had recently died a quiet death from a blown gasket. Lauren had long ago promised herself a new car when she finished her internship, but she had been forced to buy a new car eleven months shy of that goal. Her shiny new emerald Acura beckoned to her from across the parking lot.
Reaching the last step, she miscalculated her footing and went sprawling across the parking lot. The latch on her purse sprang open and her keys, a bottle of Tylenol, and two tubes of cherry chapstick scattered across the ground. Her right knee ripped open on the rough asphalt.
Before she could collect her thoughts, somebody pulled her to her feet and began gathering up the contents of her spilled purse. Detective Boyd.
âAre you okay?â
âFine,â she snapped. âNothing bruised but my ego. Did you need something?â
He looked surprised at the sharpness of her tone, his blue-green eyes reflecting the bright sunlight. âI spotted you leaving the building. I wanted to see how you were doing.â
âIâll tell you how Iâm doing. Iâve lost my only sister and my best friend. Iâve been falsely accused of her murder. Iâve been served a subpoena and taken a polygraph. Iâve been poked and prodded and photographed in my underwear. And now you have chased me down the stairs and literally onto my knees. And you want to know how Iâm doing? Iâm doing crappy. Thatâs how Iâm doing.â
Boyd took a step back. His face was somber, but the corners of his eyes turned up a bit at the corners. âIâm very sorry I chased you onto your knees. I just wanted you to know that we now have a very real suspect in this case.â He turned on his heel and bounded up the steps.
Now it was her turn to call after him. âDetective Boyd? Wait.â But he disappeared into the police station without a backward glance.
A very real suspect? Finally! Laurenâs immediate euphoria was quickly followed by a foreboding feeling. She had just been photographed in her bra and panties. Perhaps she was the âvery real suspectâ that Detective Boyd was referring to.
Chapter Fifteen
(Wednesday, August 17)
Returning to the ER, Lauren still had blood oozing from one knee. She was yanked into an exam room by LaRhonda. Lauren and LaRhonda had very different upbringings, but had immediately bonded over the fact that they had both been orphaned at about the same age. LaRhonda had never known her biological father, and her mother had succumbed to knife injuries
Chapter Fourteen
(Wednesday, August 17)
In the end, Lauren decided to comply with the court order, confident in forensic science. The day after the summons, she reported to the Scottsdale Police Department. She was required to strip down to her undergarments so the police photographer could take photos of her entire body. They focused several frames on the scratches fading on her upper right arm. The experience was humiliating and by the time she left the small windowless room, she was in tears.
As she was approaching the station exit, she heard somebody calling her name. âMiss Rose.â
Lauren had become accustomed to people calling out to her. Perfect strangers recognized her from the exhaustive coverage of the case. Many felt they knew her. It had been surreal at first. Now, it was annoying. Every trite condolence offered by a stranger was a stabbing reminder of her loss.
Lauren increased the length of her stride. The building was closing in on her. She was desperate to get outside.
The calls became more insistent, âMiss Rose!â The voice sounded familiar, but she did not pause long enough to try to identify the speaker.
Lauren was speed walking, practically running. She hit the door at a brisk pace and forced her way out to the front steps.
She could hear somebody pushing through the door behind her. She descended the steps two at a time. Her ten-year-old Civic had recently died a quiet death from a blown gasket. Lauren had long ago promised herself a new car when she finished her internship, but she had been forced to buy a new car eleven months shy of that goal. Her shiny new emerald Acura beckoned to her from across the parking lot.
Reaching the last step, she miscalculated her footing and went sprawling across the parking lot. The latch on her purse sprang open and her keys, a bottle of Tylenol, and two tubes of cherry chapstick scattered across the ground. Her right knee ripped open on the rough asphalt.
Before she could collect her thoughts, somebody pulled her to her feet and began gathering up the contents of her spilled purse. Detective Boyd.
âAre you okay?â
âFine,â she snapped. âNothing bruised but my ego. Did you need something?â
He looked surprised at the sharpness of her tone, his blue-green eyes reflecting the bright sunlight. âI spotted you leaving the building. I wanted to see how you were doing.â
âIâll tell you how Iâm doing. Iâve lost my only sister and my best friend. Iâve been falsely accused of her murder. Iâve been served a subpoena and taken a polygraph. Iâve been poked and prodded and photographed in my underwear. And now you have chased me down the stairs and literally onto my knees. And you want to know how Iâm doing? Iâm doing crappy. Thatâs how Iâm doing.â
Boyd took a step back. His face was somber, but the corners of his eyes turned up a bit at the corners. âIâm very sorry I chased you onto your knees. I just wanted you to know that we now have a very real suspect in this case.â He turned on his heel and bounded up the steps.
Now it was her turn to call after him. âDetective Boyd? Wait.â But he disappeared into the police station without a backward glance.
A very real suspect? Finally! Laurenâs immediate euphoria was quickly followed by a foreboding feeling. She had just been photographed in her bra and panties. Perhaps she was the âvery real suspectâ that Detective Boyd was referring to.
Chapter Fifteen
(Wednesday, August 17)
Returning to the ER, Lauren still had blood oozing from one knee. She was yanked into an exam room by LaRhonda. Lauren and LaRhonda had very different upbringings, but had immediately bonded over the fact that they had both been orphaned at about the same age. LaRhonda had never known her biological father, and her mother had succumbed to knife injuries
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