Mother May I Page 44

Marshall glanced at the picture as Bree came over closer. A frat house? Yes. Spencer and Trey were tiny figures with round baby faces and shaggy college-boy hair. He had a blinding moment of clarity, anger at himself hard on its heels.

Not a lawsuit. Something earlier. He could feel all his assumptions washing away. He shouldn’t have made such assumptions in the first place. A rookie mistake, not being open to everything. He was too close, as he’d feared.

Too close to the family, the situation, way too close to Bree. He knew too much about Spence and Trey, their job and how connected they were. It had made him myopic, blinded him to the idea that this might be old, old business.

Underneath his anger, he was thinking. Three boys, same frat.

That put this thirty years ago. But when Adam saw the current photos of Trey and Spence, he’d instantly remembered some piece of their history. Something bad enough to make him lie and say he’d never known them. When he’d heard that the next photo was of a woman, a face had come into his mind. Not the old woman, though. Adam had expected a different face.

The daughter? That was the most likely explanation. The mother was in her seventies, and she’d told Bree she had one female child. He did quick math. Yes, the daughter could be the right age to have been at school with Trey and Spencer and this jackal.

It made sense. So, say Adam was expecting to see the face of the daughter when Marshall asked him to look at a photo of a woman.

A young, drunk Spencer Shaw, frat brothers, and a woman spelled a certain kind of trouble. He knew what Spencer was. Or to be more correct, what he had been when he was living. He didn’t know this guy, Adam, and he couldn’t figure Trey fitting into the scenario he was imagining. But Spencer? Please.

Not two weeks ago, he’d gone to make some copies of a printed report only to find that Spencer had Gabrielle hemmed in the long, thin tenth-floor copy room. She was at the very back by some shelving, a good two feet away from him, but he’d put his big body between her and the door. He had one arm stretched across the aisle, resting his hand on the largest machine. Her exit was blocked, and the air felt wrong.

Spence was saying, “I’m genuinely curious, and who else can I ask?” There was something naughty-schoolboy in his tone. “It’s just a question.”

Gabrielle’s mouth was set in a mild, pleasant smile, but over it her eyes blazed, furious.

“I need to get back to work,” she said.

“Come on, tell me.” Spence sounded like he was asking to wheedle a piece of candy off a secretary’s desk, the kind she’d set out in a dish for anyone. Faux naughty.

“What’s the question?” Marshall asked, coming all the way in. Spencer whirled around, surprised, and Gabrielle’s face flashed a huge relief.

“You walk like a cat for such a tall guy,” Spencer said, laughing, then clocked the folder in Marshall’s hand. “Is that for the Price case? You know you can get my girl to copy that shit for you. Do you even know how to use this machine?”

“I do,” Marshall said. He moved closer to the wall so he could see them both, turning their line into a triangle.

“Well, good on ya,” Spence said, overly hearty. “If I tried to mess with that behemoth, the whole building could take off like a rocket ship, crash into the sun.” He laughed at his own joke and looked to Gabrielle.

She forced a chuckle, but Marshall could see a red wash of anger retoning her skin.

He put on a puzzled look, like a hayseed yokel with a stupid question. “So what are you doing in the copy room? If you can’t work the machine.” His voice had an edge that belied his empty-eyed smile.

Gabrielle drew her breath in, short and sharp.

“Funny guy,” Spence said. “I’m talking with my colleague.” He said it in a way that drew a line between him and Gabrielle, both lawyers from wealthy families, and Marshall, a blue-collar hick who ran a team of investigators for a decent living wage. “But I have to go prep for that meeting.”

His gaze went flat, heavy-lidded, staring Marshall down. Unlike Gabrielle, Spencer wasn’t trapped. There was plenty of room for him to pass. But he wanted to make Marshall move, so Marshall stepped up against the wall. He felt no need to measure dicks with the guy.

When Spence’s footsteps were out of earshot, Marshall turned to Gabrielle. Her spine was stiff, her expression now guarded. He stayed by the wall, so she could leave at any moment she chose.

“Do I want to know the question he was so weirdly keen for you to answer?” He said it quiet and wry, no pressure. Like commiserating.

She softened. A little. “You didn’t hear?”

“No,” he said. “I felt that something was off, but I don’t know how off.”

He liked Gabrielle. They’d had lunch, together with a third-year associate and three paralegals, quite a bit last year, when they’d been part of the support team on the same big case. She was funny and sharp and more than pulled her weight.

“I thought you’d heard but didn’t want to—” She faltered.

“Take on Spence? I don’t, particularly. That said, does someone need to?”

Her eyes went pure acid. “You tell me. It’s hard to know if I’m being ‘oversensitive.’” She was quoting Spencer. He was sure from the inflection.

“Okay,” he said.

She swallowed and pressed her lips together. She didn’t look at him as she said, “He wanted to know if black women could have pink nipples. Or if they were always brown.”

Marshall’s eyebrows went up. Way up. “You’re not being oversensitive.”

She knew that, of course. He said it anyway, so she could feel sure that he knew; women, black women especially, often had to prove they hadn’t somehow caused the crime against them before anyone would help or even listen. He’d learned this from Betsy, who’d made him a better cop in so many ways. She’d made him a better man, too.

Gabrielle said, “He’s curious about a lot of things. He’s been getting curiouser and curiouser. Ever since Charlotte left him.”

“What do you want to do about it?” Marshall held her gaze, steady, with no expectations or pressure. Ready to follow whatever lead she took.

She shook her head, both disgusted and angry. With herself, in part, he thought. Of course she wanted to call Spencer to account. If she did, though, she could tank her whole career. He saw the complications, same as she did.

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