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It was rare that Hank went to a crime scene with other people- actually, this was only the third time ever. The overwhelming majority of his days at work (and at home) were spent alone. The current situation made him supremely uncomfortable.
Smiley’s angry confidence was also making him nervous. She was a smart lady, Smiley, and she could handle herself. But she didn’t know Brackington like he did, and she wasn’t in the mood to listen to Hank. Nobody ever listens to poor ol’ Hank. No, no- what does he know? Only what a psychopathic monster James Brackington is. This was the beginning of the end. He would trap her in his fucked up murder web, and use her- and use her, and use her- until there was nothing left. Then- what do you do with used things?
Still, he understood where she was coming from. It was partially how Brackington had gotten him in the first place. Money. She had started a business, and she needed money. Customers. And Brackington was playing the part well. Money talks.
704 Emerson was, despite its gloomy aura, a beautiful house- large, surrounded by big Oak trees and tastefully decorated inside. The path down from the dead end lane led straight to the front door, which opened into a huge airy living room with exposed wooden beams running along the ceiling in the German style.
