He had spent Christmas Eve in a muddy trailer with me once because a bridge project had failed inspection and neither of us trusted the subcontractor to fix it alone.
He was not merely a colleague.
He was one of the few people I had trusted with almost every important financial detail of my life.
Detective Aaron Mills placed the photograph on the table.
“Mrs. Sutter, when did you last speak with Mr. Vale?”
“Yesterday morning.”
The detective paused.
“Before or after your son assaulted you?”
“Before.”
My cheek still throbbed.
The swelling around my mouth made speaking uncomfortable.
I had already been examined at the hospital.
Photographs had been taken.
My ribs were bruised but not broken.
Thirty blows.
No fractures.
Apparently Trevor had inherited my strong bones if nothing else.
“What did you discuss?”
“Quarterly cash reserves.”
The detective and Daniel Pierce, my attorney, exchanged glances.
I hated that.
