Page 33 of Girl, Fractured

Ripley was leaning against the wall beside her.She looked one yawn away from falling asleep.

‘Mia, stay awake.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re nearly done.’

Ripley shook herself back to life.She blinked the tiredness from her eyes.‘I’ll give her credit.At least she didn’t spout some of the garbage theories about that case.’

‘Like what?’

‘Dunno.Unlike Frank, I choose to forget.I’m sure Webb touched on some of the misinformation though.’

‘Why don’t you go out there and set the record straight?’

‘Do a run-in?’

‘Yeah.Imagine the look on Webb’s face if one of the actual investigators made a surprise appearance.Push her out of the way and take the mic.It would be like something out of WWE.’

‘People don’t want the truth.They want the story.’

Ella said, ‘You don’t like people like Webb, do you?’

‘Is it obvious?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then no, I don’t.They profit off tragedy, and worst of all, they get it wrong.They make shit up.It’s easy to be an armchair detective, but none of them would last a day as real cops.’

Through the walls, they heard a smattering of applause.Final ovation.Webb would be heading their way soon, unaware that her night was about to pivot from public speaking event to person of interest in an active homicide investigation.

‘Game face on,’ Ella said.‘Let’s see what Webb knows about Frank’s last days.’

The sound of footsteps approached from the hallway.Webb’s voice drifted ahead of her, thanking someone for their help with the audiovisual equipment.Ella stepped forward and cut Sarah off.She held up her badge.

‘Hi, Miss Webb.’

‘Yes?’Sarah Webb looked exactly like her author photo.Fifties, angular glasses, hair pulled back so tightly it might have been responsible for her perpetually alert expression.

‘My name’s Agent Dark and this here is Agent Ripley.We’re with the FBI.’

‘Oh?Did you come for the talk?’

Ripley stepped forward.‘Definitely not.We need to speak with you about Frank Sullivan.’

Sarah had looked hopeful, but that expression quickly crumbled.‘Frank?Is he okay?’

Time to be the messenger of death again.Twice in one day.The burden never got any easier.But delivering bad news was like a bandage – cleaner when done quickly.

‘I’m sorry, but Frank is dead.’

Webb’s body went still in that particular way people did when their brain was frantically rejecting information their ears had just received.It was like someone had reached inside and disconnected vital wires.

‘Dead?How?’Her voice came out hollow.

‘There’s a lot to talk about.Can we go somewhere more private?’

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