Detective Briggs Does Not Enjoy Weddings
Chapter 08 - Detective Briggs Does Not Enjoy Weddings
Detective Mona Briggs had planned to retire twice.
The first time, her sister got sick. The second time, a mayor’s nephew drove drunk through a Christmas market and everyone suddenly needed the oldest detective in Charleston to remember where the city had buried its favors.
By the morning after the Vale wedding, Mona had developed a new reason not to retire.
Rich people.
They committed crimes with stationery.
Ana Morales had arrived at the station the previous night with a bruised cheek, a broken heel, and the expression of a woman who expected authority to disappoint her. Mona had seen that expression too often, mostly on women carrying evidence men would call emotional until a court clerk stamped it.
At first, Mona had treated her like a trespasser.
Then Ana showed her the first video.
Then the second.
Then Helena Vale’s name appeared on a document dated after her death, and Mona stopped thinking about wedding drama.
Now she stood in Evelyn March’s kitchen at 7:40 a.m. with coffee she did not want and four civilians staring at her like she was a weather report.
Julian Vale looked worse than the videos. Viral clips made humiliation bright. In person, he looked hollowed out.
Evelyn looked calm, which Mona distrusted because calm older women usually knew where bodies were buried emotionally, legally, or both.
Ana looked angry.
Good.
Anger kept people awake.
“What exactly did Brielle say on the call?” Mona asked.
Julian repeated it.
“I didn’t sign it. Please. He has Willa.”
“Willa being?”
“Her younger sister,” Ana said. “College student. Nineteen. Graham mentioned her before.”
Mona wrote that down.
Julian leaned forward. “Can you trace the call?”
“Not quickly enough to make television happy.”
“This isn’t television.”
“No,” Mona said. “That’s why we’ll do it correctly.”
He shut up.
She appreciated that.
Mona took copies of the flash drive, photographed Helena’s letter with Julian’s permission, and instructed everyone not to contact Graham, Thomas, Preston Ashford, Brielle, or any lawyer who looked like he used the phrase reputational harm more than once in conversation.
“Can you arrest Graham?” Ana asked.
“Not because we dislike him.”
“We have video.”
“We have video that needs authentication, context, and a prosecutor who does not faint when a defense attorney says chain of custody.”
Ana’s jaw tightened.
Mona softened her voice by one degree. “I believe you. Now let me make it useful.”
That reached her.
Barely.
Julian looked at the table. “What should I do?”
Mona studied him.
She had watched the slap video three times. Not because she enjoyed it. Because details mattered. The speed of his movement. Ana’s position. Brielle’s reaction. Graham’s arrival. Thomas’s hand reaching for the phone.
Julian had done something wrong.
He also looked like he knew it.
That did not erase the harm. But it made him less boring than most men Mona arrested.
“You make a public apology,” she said.
Evelyn nodded once.
Julian swallowed. “To Ana?”
“To Ana. Not to your image. Not to your mother’s memory. Not to all women everywhere in some vague cowardly way. To Ana Morales. You struck her. You name it.”
He looked at Ana.
Ana looked away.
Mona continued. “Then you tell the public evidence has been given to law enforcement. You do not accuse people by name unless counsel approves. You do not look unstable. You do not punch anyone. You do not be useful to your enemies.”
Evelyn almost smiled.
Ana’s phone buzzed.
Everyone turned.
Unknown number.
Ana answered before Mona could stop her.
A distorted voice spoke, low and close to the microphone.
“You should have stayed at the wedding, Ana.”
Mona held out her hand. Ana put the phone on speaker.
The voice continued. “You wanted attention. Now you have it. Go home before someone checks on your little brother.”
Ana’s face changed.
Julian noticed. “Your brother?”
The line clicked dead.
Mona pointed at Ana. “Name.”
“Mateo Morales. Twenty-two. He’s in Tampa. He has nothing to do with this.”
“Address.”
Ana gave it.
Mona sent a text to a contact in Florida, then looked up. “Threatening witnesses is a helpful habit criminals have because arrogance makes them stupid.”
Ana’s hands trembled.
Evelyn guided her into a chair despite her resistance.
Julian stood helplessly near the sink.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But he had learned in the last twelve hours that wanting to comfort someone did not mean he was entitled to.
So he poured water and placed the glass near Ana without touching her.
She looked at it, then at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
It was not forgiveness.
It was water.
For that morning, water was enough.
Mona’s phone rang twenty minutes later.
She listened, expression changing from irritated to focused.
“When?” she asked.
A pause.
“Send me the footage.”
She ended the call.
“Campus security says Willa Ashford left her dorm at 11:12 last night with a woman matching Brielle’s assistant’s description. She never came back.”
Julian’s face went hard.
Ana stood.
Mona lifted one hand. “Nobody runs into anything. I mean it. We do this with warrants and backup.”
Evelyn looked toward the window.
Outside, a black SUV drove slowly past her cottage.
Not stopping.
Just reminding.
Mona saw it too.
May you like
Her mouth flattened.
“Then again,” she said, reaching for her coat, “backup may have just volunteered a license plate.”
