A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

much more confident with my iguana sitting on my shoulder.” She ruffed Haviland’s ears. “Now I’m going to have to fend off the press with sharp words instead.”
    Olivia wished Marlene good luck and resumed a pose of patience. However, she quickly grew restless as the station continued to hum with activity.
    Finally, Officer Cook strode into the lobby and waved for her to follow him to his desk.
    The young man’s appearance betrayed his exhaustion. The puffy skin around his eyes, his stubbly chin, and his rumpled uniform indicated an all-night shift.
    “I should have brought you coffee,” Olivia began, attempting friendliness.
    Cook waved off the suggestion. “I’ve had so much I can hardly hold my pen. I’m gonna fall flat on my face when I finally get home, but it’ll be worth it. I told you we’d nail the bastard.”
    Olivia studied the smug gleam in the officer’s eyes. There was no way to explain to someone half her age that there was nothing to celebrate. Many lives had been destroyed or altered beyond repair. The arrest of Atlas Kraus would never restore the damage already done. Instead, she dipped her chin ever so slightly, gifting Officer Cook with a show of respect. “So you did, Officer. So you did.”
    It took over an hour for Olivia to give her statement. Rawlings had put the fear of God in all his men, saying that each and every testimony, regardless of how brief or seemingly inaccurate, had to be recorded with the utmost precision. Olivia understood the chief’s position. After all, the cases were now a matter of national significance. Rawlings undoubtedly wanted to show the world that the members of the Oyster Bay Police Department knew how to wrap up a case with professional efficiency.
    Despite her appreciation of the circumstances, Olivia was thoroughly cross by the time Cook reviewed her statement for the third time. “Just let me read it and I’ll tell you if it’s accurate!” she snapped.
    At that moment, an officer walked by the desk and Haviland caught the scent lingering on his pant leg. He barked excitedly, causing all of the policemen in the room to shoot dirty glances at Cook.
    “He smells Greta, your K-9 unit,” Olivia explained in defense of her dog’s unwelcome clamor. “Quiet, Haviland!” she hissed at the poodle. “Your parts don’t even function, so it would be a futile flirtation in any case!”
    Haviland growled and stalked off after Greta’s partner.
    Olivia grabbed the printed statement from Cook’s hands, signed her name with a flourish, and marched out in search of her mutinous poodle. Cook pushed back his chair with a jerk but was simply too tired to wrangle with the obstinate woman. Instead, he placed her statement in a file folder and turned toward the lobby in order to retrieve another witness.
    Haviland had followed Greta’s partner into the station’s kitchen and was sitting in front of the refrigerator in a posture of angelic expectation.
    “Manners,” Olivia remonstrated, and together, they continued down the hall toward the exit. As they passed Rawlings’ office, the door opened. Roy and Annie Kraus stepped out into the hallway. They wore the numb expressions of car-accident survivors. Annie’s glazed eyes met Olivia’s but then the other woman rapidly looked away. She took her husband’s arm and hung on as though she couldn’t stand of her own volition. Roy put his hand on Annie’s lower back and Olivia noticed that every one of the cuticles on his free hand had been shredded. Several drops of blood beaded at the base of his index finger and Olivia wondered if Roy had been gnawing at his fingers throughout the entire interview with Rawlings.
    “Ms. Limoges,” Roy croaked, staring at some point beyond her head.
    Part of Olivia wanted to move toward the couple, but she recalled all too well how she’d felt after her mother’s death and her father’s disappearance. She didn’t want to speak a word or have anyone reach out to her. She only wanted to wander alone with her grief, her pain visible only to the anonymous ocean. Olivia was always deeply grateful to her grandmother for providing her with both safety and solitude. Jacqueline Limoges did not speak unless absolutely necessary and Olivia valued the long stretches of silence
    “I’m sorry,” Olivia said, knowing full well that the words were insufficient.
    Mechanically, the couple nodded and shuffled toward the lobby. Olivia ducked into the chief’s office and