“You don’t want to hear what really I think.” Averting my gaze, I look down at my paperwork. “It’s all just conjecture, anyway, until I get some facts. Like whether she was sexually assaulted.” “Humor me,” he says. Huffing, I glance up at him. We’ve done this so many times before. “I’m thinking this is premeditated murder. The work of a sadist. And I’m thinking the boyfriend might be innocent. At least, of this.”
