Free The Switch by Sandra Brown

indicate the bedroom down the hall, "the less contamination of the scene and the better chance we'll have of gathering clues that'll point us to a suspect. You want to know who killed Gillian, don't you? And you want to know why, right?"
    The detective's technique was straight out of Psychology 101. Obviously he had experience dealing with the hysterical relatives of violent crime victims. In any case, his calm manner steadied her. She stopped struggling against the officers holding her back.
    Lawson's eyes held hers with the power of a hypnotist. Any other time, this man wouldn't have exercised that kind of control over her, but in the saner regions of her mind, she realized that she wanted someone to take control. She wanted someone to restore a semblance of order to her life, which, suddenly and without warning, had been pitched into chaos.
    "We're going to work together to get some answers, right?" he asked.
    She bobbed her head.
    "Right. I want whoever did this caught, prosecuted, and convicted. So it's best if we stay clear of the scene. Otherwise, it could be mucked up and whoever murdered your sister would get away with it."
    "I don't want ..." She stopped to swallow emotionally. "I don't want him to get away with it. I want him captured and punished."
    "Then we're in agreement." He motioned brusquely, and the officers cautiously released her and fell back several steps.
    She clasped her hands tightly, literally getting a grip on herself. "Do you know what happened?"
    He motioned her toward the living room. "Why don't we sit down? I have some questions for you."
    Her view into the bedroom was obstructed by a technician dusting the doorframe for fingerprints. Maybe she had deluded herself into believing that she was steeled for whatever she might see in there. Similar scenes on TV and in movies hadn't prepared her for the harsh reality. Being caught in such a circumstance was much worse than she could ever have imagined or any film could have depicted. Every sensory stimulation was vivid and jolting. In addition to the strange sights and sounds was an unfamiliar smell that was making her queasy.
    Once she was seated on the sofa, Lawson asked if he could get her anything. She shook her head. "Nothing to drink?"
    "No, thank you."
    The detective settled himself on the ottoman in front of the sofa. "Is there someone we should call?"
    "My—" The tears came abruptly. One second her eyes were dry; the next, tears were overflowing her eyelids and streaming down her cheeks. Her nose began to run. Lawson motioned for a policewoman to bring her some Kleenex and a box was brought immediately.
    She blotted her eyes and blew her nose. "I was about to say you should call my sister. You see, we are—were—very close." Grimly, he nodded. "Your parents?"
    "Deceased."
    "Other siblings?"
    "No," she s aid, clearing her throat. " Just us."
    The detective frowned his regret. "I know this is tough, Ms. Lloyd. You'll be asked to identify the body."
    She swallowed thickly but nodded her understanding.
    "The neighbor who found her identified her immediately. And you bear a remarkable resemblance to her."
    "What happened to her, Detective?" She couldn't remember his official rank, but he didn't correct her.
    Her first impression of Lawson was that he was square in shape. He had a boxy torso that had been squeezed into a jacket that was an inch or two too short and a size too small. His flattop haircut made his head look square. His neck was thick, his eyebrows a straight bushy line across his forehead.
    In early life, he'd probably been an athlete. A football lineman or a wrestler. His bulky appearance made him look mean. His eyes were world-weary and a bit cynical. But his manner toward her was kind and sympathetic.
    "I won't spare you, Ms. Lloyd. It was a brutal attack. She was killed with a sharp object, probably a knife."
    "She was stabbed?"
    "Repeatedly."
    A low moan escaped her. She crossed her arms over her middle and bent from the