Page 105 of The Grave Artist
Chapter 52
Carmen wanted Lauren Brock, Ms. Person of Interest, to feel comfortable.
It was always best to start things off in a nonconfrontational manner. That way, if she needed to turn up the heat, it would be even more jarring for the subject of the interview. She’d learned from experience that if you started off yelling, you had nowhere to go.
Not that it would become an issue. Carmen was a bit peeved the woman had not returned her calls and not come forward to help but understood that she’d just lost her brother—the man who had been her savior.
She just wanted answers to some basic questions, the ones she’d ask any potential witness.
Or person of interest.
Carmen assessed Lauren’s appearance. Clearly, she hadn’t been able to keep up the polished appearance she’d managed at the funeral. Her attractive face was makeup-free, and her dark hair only casually brushed. Her gray blouse was wrinkled and the jeans had two coffee stains on the right leg. Perhaps, as Heron had suggested, she’d been holed up in a motel on that bender Allison had mentioned.
There was no obvious odor of liquor, but Lauren was wearing perfume—a cloying, sweet scent—which was maybe intended to cover up the scent of any booze.
“Now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way,” Carmen said in a casual tone, “why don’t you start by explaining why you were reluctant to talk to us.”
Lauren looked around. This was one of the more comfortable rooms at HSI in Long Beach, designed for victims and witnesses rather than suspects.
Heron had made it clear he wanted to participate but satisfied himself with watching the video monitor in another room. The dynamics of a two-interviewer session are very different from a solo.
Lauren fidgeted in her chair, making the faux leather squeak. “I was so shattered, I wanted to be by myself. And, anyway, I really didn’t see anything at the hotel that night.”
Carmen had been trained to listen for subtle qualifiers when people made statements. In this case, the witness said she didn’t “really” see anything.
Implying that she saw something, but didn’t think it worth reporting. Or that she saw something, but felt it was against herinterestto report it.
“I would have told the police if I had. Why wouldn’t I?” A bit of an edge to her voice.
But Carmen always cut victims—and Lauren was a victim in a way—a lot of slack.
Still, she sensed something more was going on. Perhaps the woman knew something but didn’t know she did.
“Ms. Brock.” She moved in closer. “Can I call you Lauren?”
A nod.
“And I’m Carmen. By all accounts, Lauren, you loved your brother dearly.”
Her eyes began to well. “He was the only person in my family—the only person in my life—who believed in me. Everyone else gave up.” A small sob escaped her. “Even my own parents called me a junkie. Wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Then you’d want to help find his killer, no?”
Lauren swept at a tear with her knuckle. “Of course.”
“Could you tell us where you were when it happened?”
“I’d already left. I didn’t know a lot of people. Anthony and our parents live on the East Coast. I’m pretty much out here by myself. And my past ... well, the substance-abuse issue. You know about it, I’m sure. Allison wouldn’t miss a chance to bring it up. So I went there for him, then I left.”
“Is that why you went to the service at Cedar Hills alone and stayed out of sight?”
Lauren blinked, clearly surprised at the quality of their intelligence. A nod.
“What’s the story about your sister-in-law?”
“Controlling, serious, no sense of humor. And hot. Ah, men ... my poor brother. I admit I haven’t had a lot of luck with money, not with the drinking and everything. That Camry? It’s thirdhand and Anthony gave me the money for it. And he was going to cosign on a mortgage so I could buy a house. Allison didn’t like that one bit. And she’ll freeze me out. I get something in his will, but she’ll find a lawyer and look for loopholes, I know she will. I can barely make the rent as it is. Fuck. I’m not going back on the street.”
“The street?”
