just asking.”
The tension between them stretched, hitting me in the stomach. Curious, I shot Kite a knowing look. What happened with you two? I tried to ask him with my mind.
All he did was look away, itching his ear.
“Where did you guys go this morning?” she asked, uncrossing her legs. She had on striped socks, toes curling on the metal ledge of the stool.
Putting my elbows on the counter, it was the only barrier between her and me. “We were doing research.”
Marina swayed closer, clutching her cup. Her excitement turned her lips into a tunnel I ached to drive down. Maybe I needed to get laid, because this woman was getting me wound up.
“You went looking for him? ” she asked in a whisper.
Kite made a gritty noise. “Sort of. Marina, we actually need you to do something for us, to help this process along.”
“Of course,” she said. “Anything.”
Gently, I inched my hands towards her and took the mug away. She didn't stop me, but her eyes flickered with doubt. That increased when I linked my fingers with hers and smiled. “This might be difficult, but we need you to tell us everything about the murder of your family.”
Marina examined my fingers. I wondered if she was thinking about what they had done, picturing the history of hands that belonged to a hitman.
I was ready for her to crumble and fall apart. It was why I'd taken her drink away, the shock of my request might make her drop it.
Slipping out of my grip, she took her mug back. “I figured you guys would want to know. I haven't had to talk about it in years, and it's a terrible story, but...” Her smile was frail. “Sorry. It's just a little absurd that I'm finally going to tell this to people who can do something about it.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “We'll do whatever we can.”
“I know, I'm so happy I could meet you two.” Marina said it with relief, a pretty smile that took up her face. Would she maintain such ignorance, such joy, the instant we brought death to her door?
Unlike Kite, who was fidgeting, I remained stoic. “Start from the beginning, please,” I coaxed.
Composing herself, Marina looked down into her cocoa. “My dad and my mom ran a little sandwich shop over on the lower east side. Sometimes my older sister helped them out, little things like cleaning and stuff. Cece was nine, at the time.”
Nine years old.
The reminder was tragic. I didn't doubt that Kite was thinking the same thing I was. We'd read the article, we knew it talked about evidence of rape.
“Anyway,” Marina said, hunching around her drink like it was a source of comfort. “Some thugs started bothering him. They wanted him to pay them for 'protection' or some bullshit. My dad was a little... proud.” Her smile quivered. “He refused. He went to the police, but they said they couldn't do anything.” The tips of her fingers were bloodless on her mug. “Maybe they just wouldn't do anything. I don't know.”
Kite moved to stand beside her. He was silent; she didn't hear him, or she didn't act like she did. There was a mere hand's width between him and her shoulder, and I imagined he was struggling with soothing the girl or not.
He saw me watching, and his arm fell to his side. “Cops can be assholes,” he muttered.
Marina blinked, then gave him a tiny nod. “Yeah.”
“The thugs who threatened your dad, were they the ones...?” I asked gently.
“They were,” she whispered. Shaking herself, she put the mug down. “I was six years old, and I was terrified, but I remember their faces. I can't forget them.”
The deeper she went into the story, the more withdrawn she became. It was as if Marina was shrinking in front of us.
She said, “I was playing hide and seek with Cece. There was a closet in our home, it passed from our bedroom to my parent's. You couldn't see it from the living room, but it had these... slots, sort of.” She lifted a hand, made horizontal cuts in the air. “Right behind the television. I could