He was in his early forties, with tired eyes and a voice that made no promises.
“Ms. Davis, I understand you’re in pain. I’ll keep this brief.”
“My family planned it.”
Wyatt glanced at me.
Detective Beckett pulled a chair closer.
“What makes you believe that?”
“They kept saying I wouldn’t move. My sister said they had asked nicely. My father told Wyatt he had to marry Melanie. And then—”
My voice cracked.
“There was an old man inside the house.”
“What old man?”
“I don’t know. I saw him behind the curtain when the ambulance took me away.”
Detective Beckett wrote it down.
“Had you ever seen him before?”
“No.”
“Did he appear to be in danger?”
“I don’t know. He looked frightened.”
The detective nodded.
“We’ll check the residence.”
A second officer appeared at the doorway and motioned to him.
Detective Beckett stepped outside, but the door did not fully close.
