The Last Sister (Columbia River)(58)

Ava’s allegation that Zander had a fondness for the witness had taken hold in his brain, popping up at odd moments and disrupting his focus. Now he purposefully detached to analyze his reaction to the woman in the door.

He felt a small prickle in his stomach. A pull toward her. And he felt suddenly awake.

Shit.

Knowing that Ava was about to expertly grill Emily over her previous interview bothered him. And it wasn’t a worry that he hadn’t been thorough in the first interview; it was a stupid caveman instinct to shield her from Ava’s sharp and probing exam.

Ava is right about my feelings.

No wonder Ava had ordered him to say as little as possible to Emily today.

“Are we doing this here so you can easily lock me up afterward?” Emily joked as she stepped in the room. She slid off her coat, unwrapped the scarf, and pushed her long hair off her neck. Taking a seat, she looked at Ava and Zander expectantly, her gaze acute, her posture alert.

“Thanks for coming, Emily,” Ava replied with a half grin. “I don’t think we’ll need a cell today.”

“Maybe I need one for protection.”

“What?” Zander sat up straight. “Have you been threatened? What happened?”

Emily held up her hands. “I was kidding . . . sort of. Nothing’s happened, but I’ve had a hard time getting Nate’s death out of my head, and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. Has it been determined if it was suicide?”

Zander didn’t miss the faint hopeful note in her tone.

“It wasn’t suicide,” Ava said. “The forensics lead us to believe he was murdered.”

Emily went perfectly still. “How do you know for certain?” she finally asked.

“You’ll have to trust us,” Ava said. “We can’t share that information right now.”

Emily glanced at Zander. He gave a short nod to confirm Ava’s statement.

She’s scared. With good reason.

“What does that mean for me?” Emily bluntly asked. “Knowing that someone might want me dead has been on my brain for almost two days—I can’t get it out of my head. Now it’s confirmed.” She gripped her coat tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. But her chin was up and her gaze steady.

“We don’t know what it means for you,” answered Ava.

“That’s no help at all,” Emily stated.

“It means be careful.” Zander finally opened his mouth. “Watch your surroundings. Stay with other people. Don’t take risks.”

Annoyance flashed. “That’s the everyday norm in a woman’s life. And that didn’t help Lindsay.” Her voice cracked. “She was killed in her own fucking bed with her husband next to her.”

Ava leaned in, catching Emily’s attention. “Awareness is your best defense. I’m sorry how shitty that answer is, but short of locking you up until we catch our killers, it’s the best I can tell you. This isn’t a movie or TV—we don’t have extra law enforcement to watch you twenty-four-seven, but we can ask county to frequently drive by your home and suggest they stop at the diner for meal breaks. Show a presence.”

Rage simmered under Ava’s words. She hated their powerlessness as much as Zander did.

“Stick around,” Zander said. “Either stay at the diner where people are present, or you can hang out here at the station.”

“You should have told me to bring a book.” Emily looked from him to Ava, resignation heavy in her eyes. “Now. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Ava slipped a thin folder out of her bag and flipped it open. “I want to go over what you saw at the Fitch home again. These are Zander’s notes from your interview that day.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said you called Lindsay three times before going to her home,” Ava began.

“And Sean once,” added Emily.

“And when you got to the house, you rang the doorbell and then called Lindsay’s phone from the front porch because no one answered the door.”

“Correct. Their cars were there, so I figured someone had to be home.”

“That’s when you opened the door because it was unlocked.” Ava kept her attention lowered to Zander’s notes.

“The unlocked door surprised me.”

“You went right in?” Ava asked. “It didn’t take a minute to work up your nerve to enter?”

Emily thought. “It took a few seconds. I didn’t like the idea of walking right in, so I called their names a few times as I opened the door a bit.”

“What happened next?”

“When I stepped in, I smelled the blood.” She glanced at Zander, and he kept his face impassive as he watched and listened.

So far Emily’s body language and replies had appeared normal to him. No jitters, no touching her hair, no rubbing her nose. No little tension movements. In his previous encounters with her, he’d learned she wasn’t a mover. When she talked, she didn’t shift her weight or gesture with her hands or frequently touch her face or hair. She generally held still, and this conversation was consistent. Zander had observed and heard more anxiety when they discussed how she could keep herself safe.

“I walked in and saw the blood trail that went from the bedroom to the kitchen and then out the back door. I checked the bedroom first—”