What the hell just happened? It was the question that kept replaying in Amanda’s mind. She hadn’t witnessed everything, arriving just a few seconds behind Trent. But she saw Trent land a punch. “You could have broken the man’s nose.”
“The least of what he deserves,” Trent spat.
They were on the way to Central. Roy Archer was loaded in a police cruiser and his lawyer was following.
She wasn’t sure how hard she wanted to press things. Hadn’t she thought of inflicting hurt on Roy Archer? She would think anyone with a reasonable conscience would. He’d exploited his family as an outlet for his frustrations and rage. He was to provide a haven for them, but instead of making the home a refuge, he’d made it hell. But a firm line needed to exist between thought and deed, and as cops they had to rise above impulse. “We can’t just lose our temper and—”
“Judge? Execute? I know. And I didn’t. He held a gun on me.”
From what she’d seen the gun had been on the lawn, out of reach. “I never saw that.”
“So what are you saying? I’m lying? I crossed a line?”
“Hell yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” she punched out as he pulled into the parking lot. “Not the lying part,” she added.
“Still. Are you going to turn me in?” Trent peered in her eyes, a daring look in his own.
His question gave her pause. This was Trent. Her defense could be that she’d hadn’t been the one face to face with an armed man. What was hard to ignore was the situation had been neutralized before Trent punched Roy.
“Never mind.” Trent parked and got out of the vehicle.
Amanda had upheld her duty to the badge when it meant turning in her own mother to face murder charges and yet she considered stepping into a gray area to protect Trent? “I’ve got you,” she whispered to the empty car, then got out herself.
The cruiser with Roy Archer entered the lot, Willis Merritt’s Audi close behind.
Amanda had already told Officer Wyatt, who was responsible for the transport, to take Roy to interview room one before they left the Archer house. She entered the station and headed straight for her desk. Trent was nowhere in sight.
It would take several minutes for Roy Archer to get situated, so she’d do something useful in that time. She opened her email and clicked on a message from Emma Blair. It was the one with the measurements for the handspan and fingers. Amanda printed it and then went to the secure server to download the evidence list. She printed this and was reading it when Trent came up behind her.
“What do you have?” He flicked a finger to the pages she held.
“The evidence processed at the grave site. We’ve also got the size of the handspan and fingers.” She handed him that sheet and returned to the list. Nothing they didn’t already know about. She noted the partial boot print on the list and looked for a corresponding picture. She returned to the files on the server and found the image, printed it, and gave it to Trent. “Look familiar?” She hadn’t seen the bottom of Roy’s work boots, but Trent had seemed excited about them.
“Yep.”
“Okay, I think we’ve let enough time pass.” She shuffled the papers, snatching the ones back from Trent and putting them into a folder. “Let’s go question this guy.”
They headed down the hall and found Graves outside the interview room. “You two come with me.” She motioned for them to follow her next door to the observation room.
Once inside, Graves leveled a finger at Trent. “He’s going to sit this one out.”
“What? No way. I—”
“You punched the guy. I’ve already had his lawyer in my office telling me of his intention to sue the PWCPD.”
Trent puffed out his chest. “That’s ludicrous, Sarge.”
“Ludicrous or not, Detective, it’s where we find ourselves. What exactly happened?” Graves crossed her arms tightly across her chest.
Amanda was careful about not making eye contact with either of them, afraid that both were volatile and susceptible to provocation.
“The suspect was armed,” Trent began. “He was going to shoot me.”
“And you know this for a fact?” Graves pursed her lips. “That he planned to shoot you?”
“You wish I’d given him that chance?”
Graves shook her head, exasperated. “Do you really need me to answer that?” Turning to Amanda, she raised her brows. “What did you see?”
“I was in the house at that time.” Amanda’s chest felt heavy, just whitewashing the scenario.
“Then you saw the gun in the suspect’s hand, felt fearful?”
“By the time I got there, Trent had the situation under control.”
“So you never saw that Roy Archer was armed?”
“I didn’t.” Amanda shied away from Trent’s piercing gaze. “But there was a gun present in the vicinity, and I believe Trent feared for his safety and was justified in his actions.” She felt her cheeks heat at the embellishment.
Graves never said a word for several seconds, passing her gaze back and forth between Amanda and Trent. “Okay, well, if it happened as you say, there should be nothing to worry about.”
Amanda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and nodded. She was relieved that Graves hadn’t pressed further and ironed out the order of events. Technically, Roy was already disarmed when Trent had punched him. She’d advise Trent not to press charges at the risk of this backfiring on him. His defense—that Roy could have gone for the gun again—was weak and unsubstantiated.
“Thanks, Sarge,” Trent said.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet. And you’re still benched for this interrogation.”
Trent clenched his jaw, his evident temper not aiding his cause.
“Sarge, if I may make a request,” Amanda began. “I’d like Trent to join me. He may make valuable observations—”
“Which he can do from in here.”
“Sure. But he can’t address them as they arise. As you know timing is crucial in an interrogation.” Amanda wasn’t going to soften what the interview actually was.
Both Amanda and Trent looked at Graves.
“Fine,” she eventually pushed out. “But don’t make me regret this decision. And know that I’ll be right here the entire time.”
“You won’t regret it. I promise,” Trent told her.
Amanda led the way into the room. Willis Merritt was seated next to Roy Archer on the side of the table that faced the door. She dropped into the chair directly across from Roy, and Trent sat beside her.
Roy’s nose was blossoming vibrant shades of blue and purple, and he was breathing through his mouth. “What the hell are you doing here? You broke my effin’ nose.”
“Not according to the paramedic,” Trent countered.
Roy narrowed his eyes menacingly, and his mouth opened as if he were about to say something. He shut it when his lawyer put a hand on his forearm.
Amanda set the folder on the table and laid a hand over it. “Everything you say or do in this room is being recorded.” She pointed out the surveillance equipment mounted in the corner of the room. “Do you acknowledge?”
“We do,” Willis said on behalf of his client.
She pulled a photograph of the soles from Roy’s work boots and put it in front of him. “Does this look familiar to you?”
Willis met Amanda’s eye, and she knew he’d seen the potential for a trap, but it was a fair question.
“Mr. Archer,” Amanda prompted.
“I guess.”
She took a picture of the partial boot print near the grave site and set it beside the first photo. “I’d say they look alike. You?” She drew a pointed finger from one to the other.
“Sure, but…” He stopped speaking at the slight downward tug of her lips.
She pressed her fingertip to the second picture. “This was a print left near your wife and daughter’s grave.” She let silence pass for a few beats. “Could you tell us why prints from your boots were there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Your question is unreasonable. How should my client know? Surely, he’s not the only one who owns these boots,” Willis said.
“All right, well, let me ask this,” Amanda began. “Were you in Prince Park recently? More specifically, the last five days?”
“No.”
She shuffled the initial photos aside and pulled photographs of Jill and Charlotte Archer from the crime scene. She pushed them across the table.
Roy shuddered at the image of his dead wife and daughter and drew back.
“Why did you kill your family, Mr. Archer? Was your wife threatening to leave you? Had she left, and you caught up with her and Charlotte?”
“I never killed them.” His voice now hollow, like a broken man. And his eyes glistened with tears.
She couldn’t let herself be swayed. Her job was to push him for the truth—no matter how painful or uncomfortable it might be to get there. “Say their names, Mr. Archer. Jill and Charlotte.”
“Detective, this is completely unnecessary and cruel,” Willis interjected. “The man has lost his wife and daughter.”
“I loved them.” Roy stared across the room to the door. “Why would I kill them?”
“Control, power, or maybe you had an insurance policy on her?” Trent kicked out several motives and glanced at Amanda. “We haven’t looked into that yet.”
“I don’t have life insurance on my wife.”
“So it leaves control and power. You couldn’t have her, so no one could.”
“No.”
Trent narrowed his eyes. “Why did you delay in reporting them missing, Mr. Archer?”
“I didn’t.”
“You said that you came home a week ago Tuesday and they weren’t there,” Trent added.
“That’s the truth.”
“Charlotte wasn’t in school since the Friday before. Monday is unaccounted for. Why wasn’t Charlotte in class?” Amanda asked.
“She had the tummy flu, carried over from Sunday.”
“Did you or your wife take her to see a doctor?” Trent asked.
“Why? It was just an upset stomach.”
“I didn’t realize you were a pediatrician,” Trent replied drily.
“I’m with my partner here, Mr. Archer,” Amanda said. “Your daughter was sick for two days and kept home from school for at least one.”
“That’s right. Two whole days. It’s not the end of the world.”
Amanda bristled. If Zoe was sick, the doctor’s office would be her first stop. Let the person with the medical license determine if there was anything to worry about. “Was Charlotte still unwell on Tuesday?”
“Yep. Jill was keeping her home. So, unwell for three days then.” Roy rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you see that I’m hurting here? And I wasn’t going to hold the gun on you. I was going to end… my life.” He sniffled and turned away.
The room turned dark and solemn. Mention of suicide did that. But if he were going to kill himself, was it due to regretting what he’d done, being caught, or from overwhelming grief? Remorse certainly fit the placement of the bodies in the grave—the toy an addition for Charlotte, as if she could enjoy it in an afterlife. In this moment, she wasn’t about to pass judgment. “We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Archer,” Amanda said softly, cutting through the tension.
“Thank you.”
“We asked before about a stuffed toy elephant.” She put a picture of it on the table.
Roy barely looked at it. “I told you. I never saw her with one. She carried around”—he snapped his fingers a few times—“a seal that Jill and I bought her at the aquarium in the summer.”
Likely the one under the bed. If she was attached to the toy though, why was it secreted away? “We found the seal.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“In your daughter’s room, under her bed.” Any glimmering compassion Amanda had started to feel for Roy was slipping away. “You say she carried it around, then what is it doing there?”
“I have no idea, but it was her favorite.”
It was possible Roy didn’t know his daughter that well. When Zoe was younger, she wouldn’t have a moment’s separation from her dog, Lucky. And if Charlotte had been attached to the seal, how did it come to be left behind in the home? But Amanda would leave that avenue for now and divert to another path. She opened her folder and took out the picture CSI Donnelly had sent over of the torn fabric found in Roy’s trunk. “Does this look familiar to you?”
Roy studied the image. “Looks like it’s from a sweater of Charlotte’s.”
“Investigators found this in the trunk of your car. Can you tell us how it might have gotten there?” Of course, Amanda had her own idea. Roy had transported his wife’s and daughter’s dead bodies in his vehicle and the clothing was snagged then.
“Detective, you are asking that my client speculate,” Willis inserted.
Amanda was watching Roy. He was staring at the photo, his eyes shadowed. “He knows how and when. Don’t you, Mr. Archer?”
Willis turned to his client. Roy broke the silence.
“Charlotte threw temper tantrums, and time-outs were the only way to calm her down.” Roy swirled his fingertip on the table in the shape of a circle. Over and over. And over.
Nausea and rage rolled over Amanda, as she pieced what he wasn’t saying together. “You’re telling us you’d punish your daughter by putting her in the trunk of your car?”
“It didn’t hurt her. She—”
“You’re a monster,” Trent blurted out, beating Amanda to the same allegation. “You abused your wife and your daughter. Your wife had bruises and broken bones, but your daughter’s scars were on the inside. Mental and emotional.”
“Charlotte was six years old,” Amanda said, feeling cold. “You shut your little girl away in a dark compartment because you couldn’t handle her mood swings?” She snapped her mouth shut before she said something that jeopardized the case. And she didn’t want to know how long these time-outs lasted.
“Abuse, Detectives? Please,” Willis said, jumping on Trent’s comment.
Trent flailed a hand toward Roy. “You need to talk with your client. The bruises and broken bones inflicted over months, possibly years, don’t lie. Go ahead, Roy, and tell your lawyer about the animal you are.”
Willis turned to Roy.
“Jill pushed my buttons,” Roy snarled. “It doesn’t mean I killed her or Charlotte.”
Trent opened his mouth to speak, but Amanda nudged his foot.
“Let us see your hands, Mr. Archer,” she said.
“Why should he?” the lawyer flipped back.
“As we told Mr. Archer before, his wife’s and daughter’s necks were broken. But not long prior to death they were hugged so tight it caused bruising on their backs.” Amanda produced the pictures to support this. “The killer left us his handspan and finger size. So I ask again, hands,” she prompted Roy.
He held them out, and Trent took the measurements.
He returned to his seat. “Both are a match.”
“Oh, please.” Willis sighed dramatically and threw his arms up. “You can’t make it an exact match.”
“Not exact, but we can determine within a measure of accuracy the size and shape that caused a bruise,” she told him, though it was likely knowledge the attorney already possessed. “Mr. Archer, we have enough evidence against you to charge you with the murders of your wife and daughter. And I’d bet more will turn up to support our case against you. The search continues of your house and vehicle while we sit here.”
“You’re not going to find anything,” Roy said nonchalantly.
“Because you hid the evidence?” Amanda countered.
“There’s nothing to find.”
Amanda didn’t repeat her earlier words, but they already had plenty to charge him.