Free Race Against Time by Christy Barritt

if I can figure out what.” She shifted her weight. “Any updates on the investigation?”
    “We’re working as hard as we can, but nothing yet. The man left no prints, no hairs, no fibers, nothing.”
    “He was like a ghost.”
    “It’s still early. Don’t get discouraged.”
    “Discouraged probably isn’t the right word. It’s more like terrified. I don’t like being afraid to be in my own house. I just don’t know who to trust or how to protect my son.” She attempted a weak smile. “As a certified control freak, this is really knocking me off-kilter.”
    Brody shifted. “What can I do, Madison?”
    She shrugged. “Nothing, Brody. I’m sorry I vented. I don’t expect anything from you. I just…” She blew the air from her lungs and looked into the distance. “I’m going to get back to dinner. Thanks for the note.”
    She slipped away before her emotions got the best of her.

SEVEN
    B rody remained at the front door, his hand on the knob, as he contemplated staying or going—the same song and dance he’d gone through earlier when he’d left his neighbor. He wanted to keep his distance, to remain professional. But another part of him, a part that he thought he’d buried, wanted desperately to help her, to ease her fears, to carry her burden.
    But, of course, he had to go. He had a job to do and that was the true way he could help Madison—by finding the would-be killer. The investigation was just moving much more slowly than he’d wanted and with every minute the culprit could be getting away.
    That was unacceptable.
    He wanted to go and talk to the families of the two other suicide victims also. He knew his colleagues had questioned them already and he didn’t want to make them stir up any of those devastating memories again. But Brody just felt like there was something they were missing…much like Madison with that suicide note.
    Right now, he’d go ask about the timers. That might be the best lead they had at the moment. He’d start with Victor’s family. They’d claimed from the beginning that Victor wasn’t the type to commit suicide, even if he had struggled with depression.
    It was a shame, on more than one level, that Victor was no longer with the Sheriff’s Department. Victor had been one of the first people to try and befriend Brody when he’d arrived at work the first day nearly a year ago. Then one morning in June Victor didn’t report in to work. Another deputy had gone to his place and discovered his body. No one had seemed too surprised by the suicide note. Family members never wanted to believe that their loved one had committed suicide, though.
    Brody hoped that Victor’s mom wouldn’t mind him showing up at the doorstep. He knocked tentatively, trying to gather every ounce of bedside manner that he had. A moment later Mrs. Hanson answered. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Brody wondered if she was still mourning the loss of her son. She’d probably be mourning for the rest of her life. People never seemed to get over the deaths of their children.
    “Detective, what can I do for you?” She sniffed and gripped the door handle like a lifeline.
    “Ma’am, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions concerning the death of your son.”
    “Detective Blackston was just here earlier today.”
    “A few additional questions have come up,” he explained gently.
    She hesitated before nodding and stepping back to invite Brody inside. “Of course, I’ll answer them. Especially if it means proving my son didn’t commit suicide. He loved me too much to take his own life.” She released a long, shuddering breath. “He was finally getting back on track. He loved his job with the Sheriff’s Office. I’ve said from the beginning that something doesn’t add up.”
    Brody sat in the armchair that Mrs. Hanson led him to. “I have one specific question for you, if you’ll humor me. There’s a key piece of evidence we might have missed, one that may have seemed insignificant