Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(61)

"You got it," he murmured distractedly as he watched her go.

"Excuse me? Detective?" a vaguely familiar woman in her late forties, who looked tired, but was trying not to show it as she forced a smile and stepped into the doorway, said.

"Can I help you?" he asked, as he wracked his brain, trying to figure out where he knew her from.

"Yes," she said, looking oddly relieved. "My son is Justin Erickson and I believe there's been a misunderstanding," she said, sounding hopeful as she tried to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

Tristan nearly groaned when he realized that this woman was his suspect's mother. He already had too much shit to work on today and didn't need to add this woman's bullshit attempts to get her son out of trouble added to the list.

"If you could have a seat in the waiting area," Tristan said, stepping out of his office and giving the woman no other choice but to back up as he gestured towards the small sitting area by the doors, "I'll be happy to speak with you as soon as I get a chance."

"B-but, if you could just give me five minutes of your time, Detective, I'm sure that I can help clear this up," she said, almost desperately and he couldn't help but feel bad for the woman. That is until she turned slightly to the right and the sunlight steaming in from the windows hit her in just the right way.

It felt like a physical blow as recognition him, hard. For a moment he could only stare at the woman in front of him. There were strands of grey shooting through her blonde hair now and the blue eyes he used to remember as vivid and bright were now dull and tired, but it was her.

"Detective?" she said, drawing his attention to the fact that he was standing there staring at her.

He gave himself a mental shake as he forced himself to focus. "Why don't we speak in my office?" he asked, turning around and opened his office door, thankful to have something to distract him, even for a moment.

With a grateful smile, she did just that. Tristan was just about to close the office door when he spotted Marty with a large coffee mug in her hand, heading towards the back rooms. For a moment he considered letting her go, but then he realized that he needed her, probably more than ever.

"Marty, could you come here for a moment?" he asked, grabbing her attention just as she was about to walk through the door to the back rooms.

"Of course," Marty said with a polite smile when she spotted Mrs. Erickson standing next to him.

He waited until Marty walked into the room, throwing him a questioning look. As he shut the door and took a deep breath, he prayed that he would be able to get through this without screaming at this woman for all the bullshit she'd put him through, the way she’d pulled away from him, made it more than obvious that he wasn't worth her love and protection, or even a comforting shoulder to cry on when the pain was too much and he was terrified. But none of that mattered now, he reminded himself as he forced himself to relax and sit down so that he could do his job.

"You wanted to speak with me?" he asked, getting to the matter at hand so he could get this woman out of his hair and back out of his life.

"Why don't you tell him what the little bastard did to your arm?" a man that he didn't recognize demanded as he stepped through the wall. Tristan watched as the ghost walked over and stood over the woman that Tristan would gladly walk away from.

"Ever since his father died, Justin has had problems accepting his loss," Mrs. Erickson started as the man dressed in an old Red Sox tee shirt and grey sweatpants shot the woman a look of disbelief.

"Are you f**king kidding me with this?" the man demanded, leaning down to get in the woman's face, but of course she couldn’t see him. "I've been dead for ten goddamn years! And before that he was a spoiled little brat!"

"Does he have a juvenile record?" Tristan asked, already having a good idea that he did.

The man stood up with a snort as the woman's eyes shifted away from him. "Nothing serious," she mumbled.

"Nothing serious?" the man repeated in disbelief. "Attacking his teacher and setting her house on fire isn't serious?"

Mrs. Erickson licked her lips anxiously as she sat forward and sent him and Marty an imploring look. "You have to understand. It's been really hard for Justin. He's had a tough childhood."

"Tough childhood? You do everything for the little bastard, but wipe his ass!" the man snapped, throwing his hands up in disgust as he walked away and began pacing back and forth through the desks.

"Do you have any other children, Mrs. Erickson?" Tristan asked, unable to help himself.

She looked right at him as she said, "No, he's an only child."

Chapter 22

"No, he's an only child," the perp’s mother answered seconds before Tristan's jaw clenched tightly shut and the cold expression that Marty was now familiar with took over.

"Is there anything that you'd like to tell me about the charges against your son?" Tristan asked in a flat tone as he kept a level look on the woman that seemed to unnerve her a bit.

"Just that I know that my son didn't do any of those things. He's a very good boy," she rushed to explain.

With a sigh, Tristan stood up. "He's a twenty year old man, Mrs. Erickson and unless you were there I'm afraid that I can't help you," he said, already heading for the door.