Page 89 of Last Girls Alive
“Thanks, Jen,” said McGaven.
Outside the door, Katie skimmed through the reports and photographs of the items seized from Bramble’s car. There was also a brief resumé and background check for Bramble.
Katie said, “You want to do it?”
“It’s your party,” he said.
Opening the door, Katie stepped into the room followed closely by McGaven. She chose to stand while McGaven took a seat uncomfortably close to the prisoner.
Robert John Bramble, age 52, sat quietly in his orange jumpsuit, his eyes darting from Katie to McGaven and back to her again. His wrists were cuffed but kept moving nervously—which was common for many suspects.
Katie slammed down the file folder, making it snap loudly against the table. “Mr. Bramble, how did we get here? You were so helpful at the crime scene, and now you’re here in cuffs. What’s up?”
He stared at her, his eyes almost black, his skin washed out. He shook his head.
“C’mon, do I need to spell it out for you?” Katie paced the floor to keep him on his toes—to fix his eyes on her.
“I don’t know,” he said in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t,wedidn’t quite hear that.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you. I don’t know anything.”
“That’s a lot of ‘don’t knows’ you have.” She paused. “Wait, I’m sorry, but I didn’t properly introduce myself and my partner,” she said dramatically. “I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven.”
Bramble stared at her without any reaction.
“And we’re investigating the homicides of Carol Harlan and Mary Rodriguez. Did you know that?”
“I don’t know them.”
“It says in the police report that you’re being charged with drug possession, being a possible accomplice to murder, and impeding a murder investigation. What do you think about that?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Do you know Carol Harlan?”
“No.”
“Do you know Mary Rodriguez?”
“No, I don’t know those women.”
Katie was warming up for the real questions she wanted answered. “Have you ever been part of a murder investigation before?”
“No.”
“You seemed fairly competent when your crew found the body of Carol Harlan. You knew what to do: stop the work and keep everyone away from the murder scene. That says a lot, don’t you think?”
“I’ve seen enough TV to know that you’re not supposed to disturb a crime scene.”
“I see.”
“I have a daughter about that girl’s age.”
“You have two daughters,” she said. “What do you think they think about what’s going on right now?”
The mention of his daughters made him break and cry.
