Hard Silence by Mia Kay Page B

“You be careful driving home, ma’am.”
    Jeff drove away, watching in the rearview mirror to make sure the blonde danger magnet got into her car and pulled out of her parking space. The spot in his brain itched again. The woman had been hitting on him, and he was more worried about her safety. Apprehension frittered at the edge of his brain, making him think about turning around and chasing her down, taking her up on her on her offer. He could do that...but he didn’t.
    When his phone rang, he answered out of habit, “Crandall.”
    “Hello, Agent. It’s Colonel Eric Freeman from the Idaho State Police. We met a few years ago at a seminar on blood splatter?”
    Jeff stifled his sigh. Only he could spend a sunny day with the top down, the sun heating his hair, dealing with serial killers, suspicious janitors and blood splatter. “Colonel Freeman, I’m sorry but—”
    “Don’t worry about not remembering. And call me Eric. Your SAC gave me your number.”
    Of course Bob gave out his number. Because rewriting three manuals and tracking down an interstate killer wasn’t nearly enough to do. “How can I help, Eric?”
    “We’re building a new lab, and our team is sort of at loggerheads. I could use an expert opinion, and maybe a little guidance. Any chance I could buy you lunch and pick your brain? Maybe in a few weeks?”
    Jeff pulled in his professional enthusiasm. If he missed anything about Chicago, other than his friends, it was his lab. But he didn’t have time for a four-hour round trip. “In Boise?”
    “No. The ISP’s headquarters are in Hastings.”
    That was more like it. He resisted the urge to reschedule his day and stay in town. “Sure. Shoot me an email and we’ll get it scheduled.”
    They disconnected the call, and Jeff’s phone buzzed in his hand. What now?
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Jeffy.”
    “Ruthie,” he grumbled at his sister, one of the few people who ever dared call him that. “How’s the mother of my favorite nephew?”
    “Tired. I don’t know how Mama did this four times.”
    “That’s why God makes them cute and helpless, sis,” Jeff said. “How did the hearing go?”
    She was quiet for a long time, and the prolonged silence chilled him through. “Ruth Anne?”
    “The board just called me as a courtesy. Kyle Davis was granted parole.”
    Jeff’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Suddenly he was thirteen again, sitting at the top of the stairs in the midnight darkness, worried about getting caught out of bed while he watched his mother open the door. Reverend Steele and Captain Graves had been standing in the rain, their words drowned out by the thunder and his mother’s wail. He’d given up his hiding spot to catch her as she sank to the floor.
    “How’s Mom?” He managed to squeeze the words past his tight throat, but he couldn’t talk and breathe at the same time.
    “Worried about us.”
    “I should’ve come home. I should’ve—”
    “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Ruth said. “He’s been a model prisoner—drug treatment, twelve-step program, getting his GED, college, helping other inmates learn to read.”
    “Because he wanted something. How could you—”
    “Hey,” Ruth barked. “ I didn’t do this. We did everything we could. We had your statement. Captain Graves came up from Florida. The current commander of the Highway Patrol testified. We tried, Jeff. They disagreed with us.”
    “So all that we’ll always honor your dad’s sacrifice for the state was utter bullshit.”
    “I hated to call you with this,” Ruth said. “I know you’re trying to get finished and back to work. Don’t let it distract you.”
    One of his father’s murderers was free to walk the street, to feel the sun and laugh with his family, and he was supposed to stay on task?
    “We can’t do a damn thing about it, Jeff. We lost this round. Vince Baker’s hearing is next year. We’ll try again then.”
    “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered as he exited from the