Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(25)

D.D. saw his point. The pages basically held lines of dialogue, assigned to various user names. No way of authenticating. Worthless, as real evidence went.

“I’m the chat room leader,” Flora said again, as if reading their minds. “If anything, you have my testimony, just like any other witness’s, that this is what I heard.”

“So who are these people?” D.D. asked.

Flora pointed halfway down the page to a user identified as BFF123. “That’s Roxanna Baez.”

“And you know this . . . ?”

“Because the chat room is by private invitation only. As the leader, I register new members. And we only accept based on personal recommendation.”

“Meaning someone in your group personally met Roxy?”

Flora didn’t say anything.

“You know we’re going to need to talk to that person. Directly. Not everything can be because the great survivalist Flora Dane said so.”

Flora merely arched a brow.

Even Phil was exasperated. “Are you helping us, or are you helping us?”

“Reading the transcript of this particular chat,” Flora supplied coolly, “you’ll notice the topic.”

“‘Massachusetts Castle Law,’” D.D. read. Castle Law referred to the rights homeowners had in their own dwelling, specifically the right to defend their lives and property in said dwelling. Laws varied state by state, which in a region as tightly packed as New England could lead to confusion.

“Roxy brought it up. In reference to her ‘friend.’ In Massachusetts, what were the gun laws regarding self-defense?”

“‘FoxGirl,’” D.D. read. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Flora nodded.

“Well, according to you, then, Massachusetts Castle Law permits deadly force by a homeowner against an intruder only in cases of direct fear of bodily harm.”

“Can’t shoot a guy stealing your TV,” Flora deadpanned. “Can shoot a guy attacking you with a weapon. Fists remain a gray area—some would argue an unarmed opponent throwing punches doesn’t rise to the level of imminent danger. Though in the case of a teenage girl, she could probably argue a grown man coming directly at her incited reasonable fear of bodily harm.”

D.D. didn’t need to be educated on Massachusetts gun laws. The notoriously liberal state was not exactly an NRA stronghold and never would be. New Hampshire to the north, however, with its motto of Live Free or Die . . .

Phil asked the next question. “There appears to be four different people commenting on the subject. You’ve blacked out the other names.”

“Everyone has a right to privacy.”

“Because when you were a victim, you never had any?” D.D. asked dryly.

“Partly. But also because survival turned us all into instant celebrities. And who wants to be famous for this?”

D.D. glanced up. “You questioned if Roxy’s friend had a gun. You advised against it.” She pointed to the lines of the transcript. “Interesting advice coming from you.”

“Statistically speaking, guns aren’t a great self-defense strategy for females. Unless they invest in training and establish comfort with their weapon, most will hesitate to pull the trigger, or they’ll fire wildly, missing their target. At which time, they’ll lose their gun and have it used against them. As the group leader, I knew Roxanna was a sixteen-year-old girl. I’m assuming her friend is a teenager, as well. Meaning the firearm is most likely a street weapon, and there’s been little training involved.”

“What do you recommend for women?”

“A dog. Especially certain breeds that no one, not even an armed intruder, wants to mess with.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“I live in a tiny Boston apartment. Not exactly dog friendly.”

“Roxanna had two dogs,” D.D. said.

“Two elderly spaniels. How fearsome is that?”

The waitress brought water, bagels. D.D. and Phil dug in. Flora stared at the table. “I don’t think Roxy had a friend,” she said abruptly. “And not just because it’s the oldest line in the book.”

“You think she felt personally threatened.”

“Our mutual acquaintance,” Flora stressed the word, “who recommended Roxy for the group . . . She thought the girl looked stressed and exhausted. Who carries the weight of the world on their shoulders for a friend?”

“A BFF?” D.D. asked dryly.

“Read the questions she’s asking. All related to self-defense. Not offense. And particularly, self-defense in the home. Who lives with their BFF?”

D.D. shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s simply looking for the best way to frame a shooting in order to get away with it.”

“By that logic, she should’ve remained in her home this morning. Argued someone in the house attacked her and she killed them in self-defense. That would keep with the advice given in this transcript.”

D.D. raised a brow. “She killed her entire family in self-defense? Including her nine-year-old brother?”

“Are you sure there was only one shooter? One person killed them all?”

“Versus what? An attacker took out the family, then Roxanna took out the attacker?”