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Bobby barely felt anything as he walked away from the airport to the waiting cab. He was heading to see Detective Munroe first. He didn't want to go home to an empty house just yet. He needed more information. Everything felt so familiar as they drove along. Bobby could see all the places he'd hung out growing up, and he felt sadder. Time had gone too fast. He had no idea it would come to this. He'd always thought he'd be married with children and much older before he lost his parents. He paid the cabbie and got out at the police station. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked up the steps.

"Good afternoon. How can I help?" the receptionist asked.

"I'm looking for Detective Munroe," Bobby told her.

"May I say who's looking for him?"

"Bobby Manning."

Her face grew sad for a fraction of a second before becoming neutral again. Bobby bristled inside. So she knew who he was. She picked up the phone and dialed, giving his information to the person on the other end.

"He'll come get you. You can have a seat," she instructed. He sat, bag in his lap. He bounced his leg up and down anxiously.

"Mr. Manning," Munroe said, coming out. Bobby stood. "Follow me." They went down a maze of hallways until they reached Munroe's office. Bobby noticed the family photo on his desk.

"First of all, I'm so sorry we had to meet like this," Munroe said. "Mr. Manning..."

"Please, call me Bobby."

"Bobby," Munroe corrected himself. "I have some news."

"What kind of news?" Bobby asked, feeling afraid. Munroe rubbed his head hard and sighed long and loud.

"Things just got complicated."

"How so?"

"Well, it turns out that the autopsy of your parents shows they did not die an accidental death."

"WHAT?!" Bobby exploded.

"Just calm down," Munroe said, holding out his hand. Bobby was standing again, the bag on the floor now.

"You just told me my parents were murdered," Bobby said tightly. "Do explain."

"The coroner found bullets," Munroe hesitated. "He didn't find any on the other bodies...just your parents'. We feel the fire was a coverup."

"I don't believe this," Bobby said, gripping is head hard. He felt like he was underwater and everything just slowed down.

"We are looking into it, but we have to delay the funeral for a few days because of it so the coroner can finish up his exam," Munroe finished.

"I want to help," Bobby said immediately.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm FBI. I want to help solve this. You can give me jurisdiction."

"Bobby, you just lost your parents. I don't think it's a good time to be playing cop..."

"I'm playing FBI not cop," Bobby interrupted. "And I do this for a living. I don't care if it's my parents. I'm helping. Either you let me or I do it on my own." He glared at Munroe, who sighed.

"All right. Let me talk to my supervisor. For the record, I think this is a really bad idea..."

"Wouldn't you want to help?" Bobby cut him off. He grabbed Munroe's family photo and held it up to his eye level. "If it was your family, would you let anyone stop you from solving it?" Munroe flicked his eyes back and forth from Bobby to his family picture.

"You're absolutely right," Munroe nodded after a moment. "Let me clear it and get you to sign some papers."

"I want a gun too," Bobby declared.

"All right," Munroe agreed. Bobby watched him leave the office and sat back down again. He was shaking all over. His parents had been murdered. He was not going to rest until he found the person who did it and got his revenge.

...

"Wait, wait, wait," Lucy said, holding up her hand. "You did what?!"

"I bought a ticket to Australia. I'm going to be there for Bobby at his parents' funeral," Tara repeated. Lucy and Sue both stared at her.

"What about Stanley?" Sue asked finally.

"What about him?" Tara challenged.

"He might think it's a little odd," Lucy pointed out.

"I'm a friend going to support a friend. There is nothing wrong with that," Tara defended herself. Lucy gave her a look, which Tara ignored.

"Are you sure Bobby even wants you there?" Sue asked.

"I'm his friend. He'll be happy to see me," Tara answered. She grabbed her coat and bag. She was rushing home to pack to get onto her flight. She figured she'd make it in time. It took two to three days sometimes to prepare a funeral, sometimes longer. She wanted to help.

"You're crazy," Lucy said.

"Thanks for your support," Tara snorted. She started to leave.

"We're just worried," Sue piped up. Tara turned to face them.

"About what? That Stanley is going to think I'm cheating? He's not an idiot. I'd respect his decision to go support a friend at a funeral."

"Oh really? A woman's parents' funeral all the way across the world?!" Lucy exclaimed.

"I'd be fine with it," Tara said firmly. She knew what Lucy was driving at, and a part of her wasn't really entirely sure what she was doing either. Was her motive purely innocent? She wasn't sure anymore. The image of Bobby sitting alone on a pew was too hard to bear.

"I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week," Tara said, finally leaving. Lucy looked at Sue.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Lucy asked.

"I'm not sure," Sue admitted. They both looked at Tara's receding back, wondering if their friend was up to something.

...

Bobby holstered his new weapon and tucked the papers giving him clearance into his back pocket. It was time to face his parents' house. Munroe had offered to accompany him, but he knew he needed to do it alone. He rented a truck and tossed his bag onto the passenger seat. Cranking the radio, he drove home. His thoughts were all over the place, and the radio noise wasn't doing a very good job at distracting him. He turned it off after a while and listened to the tires hitting gravel. When he hit the familiar driveway, he felt his heart rate pick up. It had been almost a year since he'd been home. He cursed himself for not coming back sooner. If only he'd known...

"Ah geez," he said, wiping at his eyes when the house came into view. He saw the goats running around panicked and felt badly for them. One of his mum's dogs, an Australian Shepherd, came running at his truck once he got closer. When he finally parked, he got out and was ambushed by the dog.

"Hey, hey," he said, dodging the wet tongue that was trying to get into his mouth. "Buster, boy, back up now." Buster dropped to four paws and whined. Bobby knew the dog knew something was wrong. He looked at the house and shivered. It was empty, and it looked forlorn almost. He got his bag and walked slowly up the steps and stood staring at the door. Buster pressed himself against Bobby's legs. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Bobby opened the door. His mother's perfume hit him hard and fast, making his knees buckle a little. The radio was playing in the background, something his stepfather liked to have on 24/7. Bobby took a step inside and closed the door behind him. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. It felt so wrong to be here by himself. The house had no idea it's owners were never coming back. He made it to the kitchen and gave a strangled sob when he saw a box of fresh cookies on the counter. A note saying "Call Bobby again" was beside them. He gripped the counter tightly until his hands went numb. Sometimes his mother would call him and eat some favorite dish or dessert of his to feel closer to him while they talked. Bobby saw an unfinished crossword on the table with his stepfather's glasses beside it. He imagined what their last day together was like, and he felt tears fall down his cheeks. They had no idea. He finally sat on the barstool and rested his head into his hands. Buster sat down at his feet. Bobby had no idea where to even start. He felt so broken. He wished more than anything that he wasn't alone right now.