The Winter Sister(32)

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I assure you we did everything we could to try to find out what happened.”

“How is Ben Emory not still a suspect?” I asked, shooting forward in my seat. “Do you know he’s a nurse now? A nurse. He’s supposed to be helping people and making them better, and meanwhile, no one has any idea that he once killed somebody with his bare hands.”

Parker’s eyebrows lifted a little, but other than that, his face remained neutral. “I didn’t know that,” he said, “and I understand that that must be upsetting for you, given that you believed he was responsible for your sister’s murder, but—”

“I didn’t believe,” I interrupted. “I knew. I still know.”

“We were never able to find any evidence that connected Mr. Emory with the crime.”

“What about his dad? The mayor. He’s the owner of Emory Builders so you know he has tons of money. He could have easily paid someone to cover it up.”

He paused for a second—just a tiny breath of hesitation, but one I noticed nonetheless. “That’s a serious allegation, you know,” he said, “but again, there was no evidence to suggest that.”

“What about everything I told you sixteen years ago? Why—at the very least—wasn’t Ben arrested for abusing Persephone? I told you and Detective Falley that the bruises on her body were from him. And what about the necklace that was missing when you found her—the one she never took off? Didn’t you check to see if Ben had it? In his car? In his house?”

For a few seconds, Parker didn’t speak, and I took the time to try to control my breathing. I needed to be calmer if I was going to get anywhere with this, but I kept seeing Ben in my mind, how deftly he’d placed his fingers on my face in the hospital, as if assessing injuries came naturally to him, as if he never could have dreamed of inflicting them himself.

“Ms. O’Leary,” Parker said. “I promise you that we followed up on all the leads you gave us. We simply never found the necklace. Now, as for the bruises . . .” He paused again, as if carefully choosing his words. “We followed up with that as well, and Mr. Emory admitted responsibility. However, some information came to light that made us feel it was best not to press any charges.”

I felt my lips open in surprise. “He actually admitted that he bruised her?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t charge him with anything—assault? Battery?”

“As I said, some information came to light, and—”

“What information? I thought you said there wasn’t any evidence. I thought that’s why this became a cold case in the first place.”

As Parker looked at me, he took his time breathing in and then out. I clasped my hands together under the table, and for every moment he didn’t respond, my fingers squeezed each other harder.

“It’s true that there was no evidence directly associated with your sister’s murder,” he finally said. “But we became aware of some evidence, of a sort, regarding the bruises on your sister’s side and wrist.”

“What evidence?” I asked again.

Parker shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t really comment on that.”

“But I’m her sister,” I insisted, wincing at how effortlessly I still thought of Persephone in the present tense. “You’re saying you can’t even tell me why you eliminated Ben as a suspect?”

“No,” Parker replied. “Let me be clear. Just because we didn’t file any assault charges against Mr. Emory at the time does not mean that we’d eliminated him entirely. The fact of the bruises on your sister’s wrist and the fact of your sister’s strangulation were, we believed, two separate things—not necessarily connected, not necessarily unconnected. It was possible that the bruises on her neck and arm were inflicted by the same person, but then again, it was equally possible that they weren’t. There were other people we were looking into at the time.”

Other suspects? What would have been the point? Ben had a history of violent behavior against Persephone, and he’d been the last person to see her alive. It was so cut-and-dry that the thought of Parker and Falley investigating anyone else seemed almost laughable. And maybe that was the problem—they’d never found anything conclusive against Ben because they’d been too busy inventing additional suspects, searching for evidence in places it would never be found. My breath quivered with a slowly budding rage.

“Who else were you looking at?” I demanded.

Again, Parker shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but we can’t release details like that in an open investigation, not even to the victim’s family.”

“Why not? Don’t we have rights in this?”

“You do,” he said. “And if we were to make an arrest, you’d be the first to know. But think of it this way. If I gave you a name, what’s to stop you from trying to track that person down? Or going to the media? Either of those actions could interfere with the investigation.”

“But there isn’t an investigation anymore.”

“I understand why you would feel that way, but as I said, the case is still open.”

I dug my fingers into my leg. We were going around in circles.