She nodded. “Some of the couch cushions were pulled up, like someone had moved them. The police wondered if it might’ve been a robbery gone bad.”
“Did Trent have any enemies, any issues with anyone?”
She shook her head. “Trent was a good guy. He was well-liked.”
“How long had you been dating?”
Melanie sighed. “About five years. We’d been talking about getting married . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Trent was an investigative journalist?”
“He worked the crime beat at CBS 11.”
“And before that, he worked freelance?”
“Yes. He liked the flexibility in his schedule, and he could accept the assignments he wanted, which gave him time to chase down other stories he was interested in. But it could be risky.”
“Risky?”
“Some of the things he researched might not sell, and there was legal risk too. He didn’t tell me a lot, but several years ago, someone threatened to sue him. I know Trent, though. He would never do anything wrong, never libel anyone. He resourced his material, checked his facts well, and he always vetted his sources. But when you’re freelance, you don’t have station lawyers or their money to back you. That’s when he started looking for a permanent job. It took him a while, but he got on with the station, and he seemed to be happier. At least . . .”
Jo leaned forward. “What?”
The sound of the TV droned on from the kitchen, underlining their whole conversation. Melanie glanced away with a heavy sigh. “He’d been under a lot of stress lately. He told me there was a story he’d been working on, and he didn’t know where it would lead. One time, he said he had to be careful. He wouldn’t tell me more, but he was edgy and seemed to be looking over his shoulder a lot.”
“Not a hint about the story?”
“No. He could get like that, where he wouldn’t want to tell me anything. Whatever this story was, it was something he’d worked on freelance, and he was closemouthed about that. He’d been at it for a long time, and he told me it was something big, and that it could lead to better opportunities for him. But I don’t know what happened with all of that. I told the other detective that you should ask Trent’s producer about what he was working on.”
“His name?”
“John Atchison.” She stared at Jo. “You didn’t know that?”
Jo felt she was getting suspicious, but she tried to keep the lie going. “Just verifying.”
“Did you talk to John?”
“Yes.” The lie fell easily from her lips.
Melanie tensed a little. “Do you know something more?”
Jo shook her head. “Did you ever read any of Trent’s notes, anything like that?”
She shook her head. “He had to protect his sources, even from me.”
“He kept his research on his computer?”
She nodded. “As far as I know.”
Trent’s electronic devices would’ve been taken by law enforcement and analyzed, and Jo had no way of knowing what they’d discovered.
“Did Trent talk about leaving anything in a safety deposit box?” she asked.
“The other detective asked about that as well, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I have no idea about that. He never mentioned a safety deposit box.” Melanie blew her nose and then studied the crumpled Kleenex. “Excuse me, I need to get another one.”
She got up and went into the kitchen. She shuffled around, taking her time, and after a minute or so, Jo started to grow worried. She peered out the front window to the quiet street. Melanie continued delaying, and Jo called out.
“Is everything okay?”
“Just a second,” Melanie replied. Another minute passed, and then she said, “You be a good boy.” She appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I was getting my cat a treat.”
Jo nodded as Melanie sat back down, fiddling nervously with a fresh tissue.
“Did Trent mention seeing anyone suspicious, maybe at his house, or when he was working?” Jo asked.
Melanie nodded, then paled. “Who are you really? Do you have ID?”
There it was. Jo tried to work around that. “I thought I showed you my badge.”
“No,” Melanie said. “You’re not with the police, are you?”
Jo didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Then something out the window caught her eye. A squad car had pulled up across the street. Melanie saw something in Jo’s gaze, and she glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Jo.
“I don’t know who you are, or why you’re asking about Trent,” she said. “I texted the detective I talked to before, and he sent someone to help. You can talk to them.”
“I can’t,” Jo said.
“Who are you?” Melanie repeated.
