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I blinked. “Wow.”

“Then my mother’s mother’s mother—who was one of four girls—decided that she’d had enough time on this earth, too. Though, this was after she’d already attempted suicide four other times. She decided a blaze of glory was the best for her, too. So she also robbed a bank. Only, she didn’t get out of the bank before they figured out what was going on. So she decided to light the bank up with her still inside of it. Burned every drop of money they had and herself in the process.”

The coffee was done, so I got the both of us some.

“My grandmother was a little less suicidal, but a whole lot more criminal. She stole, cheated, lied. You name it, she did it.” She laughed humorlessly. “She pretended to be a nurse and switched a few kids at birth just for the hell of the thrill—every last one of my family was an adrenaline junky. We also all suffer with a mental illness. Every single person in my family line has either been in jail, in prison, or dead because they wanted to feel something. When they didn’t…”

“You seem to be doing all right,” I pointed out as I placed the cup in front of her.

“My sister committed suicide on her twenty-first birthday.” She paused. “Which also happened to be my twenty-first birthday. My mom had committed suicide on that very same day when we’d turned sixteen. My grandmother, who had done pretty well until then other than a few minor issues law-wise, fractured. Burned the house we were living in to the ground. Then was admitted to a psych hospital where she still resides.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I promised myself I’d never go either of those routes. So I did the exact opposite. Went the route of law enforcement.”

“Which is why you have such a problem with Jessamy.”

She nodded once.

“Jessamy isn’t like you,” I said. “Or your family. She was forced into her life by her parents. I don’t have the whole story, but I know what I’ve heard her tell others. Her brother is different. He’s always been different. A little too sweet. A little too accommodating. A little too much. And it wasn’t until recently, after overhearing Jessamy tell Zinnia Cottonwood about Leo and her growing-up years, that I realized that Leo is playing a game.”

She tilted her head, letting me know that she was listening.

“If you’re around him, you can almost see the calculation in his eyes. As if he’s trying to decide what the best emotion is for the situation. On top of that, it’s like he’s trying to see which emotion or reaction will get him what he wants. Plus, from what interactions with all of the Darling family that I’ve had over the years, I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that in the beginning, it really wasn’t her. Whether it was Leo, or her parents, I don’t know. But I do know that every single incident that they accused her of doing something, she almost always had an alibi. She was a perfect straight-A student until her brother was born, then everything started to go downhill. When she quit school at seventeen and got her GED, she was living in her car. I found her a hundred times throughout town sleeping in it in parking lots. Got so many calls of her showering in public bathroom sinks. She’s not a bad kid. I think that she was just fucked over.”

Dempsey nodded. “I’ve known a few of those.”

“I also overheard her talking about her suspicions that Leo not only killed her grandmother, but her parents as well. He also could have been involved in his grandfather’s death.”

“Did he?”

“Evidence concerning the grandmother doesn’t suggest that he did,” I said. “At the time of his grandmother’s death, he would’ve been ten at max. I didn’t investigate him as a possible suspect. He was barely four and a half feet tall. I didn’t think it was possible for him to push her down the stairs, but hell, maybe he did.”

“And the parents?”

I gave her the rundown of the case.

“Do you have the case file?”

I had copies of four case files.

The Darling deaths being one of those four case files.

I pulled it out of the safe and brought it back to her.

She sipped her coffee and looked through the file.

“The medical examiner,” she said. “His notes aren’t very thorough.”

“He was going through a divorce as well as battling cancer at the time,” I explained. “Plus, that was right around the time when we had that serial killer come through the area. I was working with multiple agencies on it.”

“The one that was killing the dog and the owners across I90?” she asked, pausing with the cup halfway to her face.

“One and the same.”

“I can see why you didn’t question it then,” she said. “Between all those gruesome murders, and then your medical examiner, who is supposed to be an expert in his field. You don’t have a Doctor of Medicine. Ask your new medical examiner to go through these notes and find out what he thinks?”

“I’ll send the file over in the morning,” I murmured, swiping tiredly at my eyes.

“Do you mind if I stay here and go through this?” she asked, picking it up and shaking the folder.

“No.” I paused. “But only here. Feel free to pull up a couch. With that serial killer never being found, and their suspicion that it’s a cop in the area…”