In still waters - стр. 6

"You have to find who did this," she cried out, her voice raw and breaking. "You have to find that bastard, or I'll never forgive you!" In a surge of emotion, she launched herself at Jeffrey, her fists pounding against his chest as sobs wracked her body.

"Pull yourself together, Mary," Jeffrey snapped, his voice rising as he grabbed her wrists to stop the onslaught. "This hysteria won't help anything. I already know what needs to be done!"

Mary's sobs subsided into a low keening as she slowly slid to the floor, her strength seeming to leave her all at once.

Jeffrey knelt beside his wife, gathering her into his arms. He made fervent promises to punish the one responsible, swearing he'd see justice done no matter the cost. Mary clung to him, suddenly seeming small and fragile. As he held her, Jeffrey's gaze drifted to the coffee table where Rose's photos stood in silent testament to a life cut short.

There was Rose as a toddler, beaming at the camera in a pink dress, clutching a white stuffed rabbit in the summer sunshine. Another showed her as a teenager, flanked by her parents in white shirts, their kisses planted on either of her cheeks as she stood before their house in a green T-shirt. The final photo captured Rose at her high school graduation, radiant in a blue dress, a bouquet of red roses in her arms.

The reality of their loss struck Jeffrey anew, a pain so sharp it seemed to physically wound him…

As the day wore on, Mary refused all food, her grief a palpable presence in the house. When night fell, sleep eluded her. She wandered from room to room like a restless spirit, barely acknowledging Jeffrey's attempts to comfort her. It was only as dawn began to break that exhaustion finally claimed her, and she collapsed onto Rose's bed, sinking into a fitful slumber.

The following day, Nick Larsen's voice crackled over the phone line, requesting Jeffrey's presence at the station. There was news. Jeffrey's heart leapt, hope warring with dread as he imagined what information the detectives might have uncovered. He dressed hurriedly, his mind racing with possibilities. Perhaps they had a suspect, or some crucial piece of evidence had come to light. Within half an hour, he was striding through the doors of the police station, his anticipation palpable.

Nick Larsen's office, which he shared with Christian, occupied a corner of the second floor in the nondescript gray building that housed the Austin Police Department. As Jeffrey entered, Nick was struck by the sheriff's haggard appearance. It was clear Jeffrey had barely slept; his clothes were rumpled, his face drawn and pale beneath its usual ruddy hue.