“Thank you for coming,” I said. “I’m Denise Parker. I filed the report.”
The officers nodded. One held a tablet. The other scanned the room, taking in the tense faces, the gathered relatives, the attorney standing stiffly with papers in his hand.
“The affected areas are the guest room upstairs,” I continued, “as well as the kitchen and the wine cellar.”
My father surged forward. “Wait—this is a mistake.”
One officer held up a hand, stopping him.
“I’m the homeowner’s father,” my father insisted. “This is just a family dispute. There’s no need for police involvement. This lawyer here can prove that.”
Morris looked like he wanted to disappear. His eyes darted to the officers, then back to my father, then to me, and for the first time his confidence wavered.
The officer’s gaze sharpened. “Mr. Parker, according to the report, the security system detected an intrusion using an unauthorized duplicate key. There is evidence of repeated unlawful entry over several days. We’ll need to inspect the premises.”
Morris swallowed. His fountain pen—apparently ready for signatures—stayed frozen in his hand.