Miller is speaking to one of the uniformed cops outside the open bedroom door, taking some notes. He steps back into the room, shifts his focus to me.
“You gonna be okay, Jobz?” he says. “Perfectly understandable you wanna walk away.”
I swallow some of the bile that’s regurgitated into my mouth. Inhaling a deep, calming breath that is anything but calming, I shake my head.
“I’m okay,” I mumble, my voice heavy and guttural. “I assume you’re assessing the situation for what it is. So, what’s your assessment?”
He c***s his head. “Uniforms tell me there is no sign of a break in. No jimmied door frame out front. No jimmied window frames. No broken window panes, no busted door openers or locks. Which tells you what?”
The answer comes to me without my having to think.
“Henry was familiar
