Now she recognized him.
He was younger than Detective Raymond Pike.
Maybe twenty-five.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
Same last name.
Officer Monroe stared at the screen.
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
Harper swallowed.
“But I know his father.”
By nine that evening, the house was no longer merely a burglary scene.
Internal Affairs had arrived.
So had an investigator from the district attorney’s public integrity unit.
Daniel Hensley did not come.
Neither did Detective Pike.
Harper sat at the kitchen table while two investigators questioned her.
She answered carefully.
No theories.
No accusations she could not support.
Only facts.
That discipline became more difficult when the public integrity investigator mentioned that Robert Pike was Detective Raymond Pike’s son.
Harper had already guessed.
Hearing it confirmed was different.
“Does Robert work for the police department?” she asked.
“No.”
“Does BrightShield have law-enforcement contracts?”
The investigator hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because if the company services police facilities, his access matters.”
The investigator looked toward his partner.
“We’ll examine it.”
Harper leaned back.
Maya touched her shoulder.
Enough.
Harper understood the signal.
She stopped asking questions.
At eleven-thirty, the investigators finally left.
The house felt violated after they were gone.
Desk drawers remained open.
Books had been moved.
A framed photograph of Harper and her mother had been knocked facedown.
Maya picked it up.
“You’re leaving this alone.”
Harper looked at her.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“I’m involved whether I want to be or not.”
“That does not mean you become a detective.”
“I’m an attorney.”
“You’re also seventeen.”
“I was seventeen this morning.”
“And this morning nobody had broken into our house.”
Harper said nothing.
Maya stepped closer.
“You proved your point in court.”
“This isn’t about proving a point.”
“Then what is it about?”