John thought for a moment. "Miss Whitehall, I understand your concern, but there's nothing for you to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about? Someone—"
"Let me finish," Carrington interrupted.
Imogen looked at him and nodded.
"As I was saying, you don't need to worry about it because it was us."
"What?" I said, shocked. "You have no right to come into my house. To enter my property—"
"I'm afraid we do, Mr. Slade."
Oh no. We were back on a last-name, formal basis. Nothing good happened when people address you by your last name. Especially when people knew your first name.
"We have a warrant. And we acted on that warrant last night. Searched your place." He reached over and presented the signed warrant for my perusal. "You weren't home, so we took the liberty."
"Aren't you supposed to show me that first?"
He didn't answer.
I picked it up and read it. My mind was racing. They were going to pin this on me.
"But that's ridiculous. Max didn't—" Imogen started.
"Miss Whitehall, I'm going to ask you to remain silent. Or you can wait outside while I talk to Mr. Slade. What's it going to be?"
This was getting out of hand. Quickly. I would much prefer Imogen sitting here. Listening intently. Keeping mental notes of this conversation. So we could use anything that Carrington told us to our advantage later.
"I'll be quiet," she conceded.
"Thank you." Then Carrington turned his attention back to me. "You finished looking that over?"
I wasn't finished. I hadn't even started. It didn't matter. They had a warrant. A signed warrant. And they'd searched my house. Now I had to find out what they thought they had found.
I tried to act calm. "Yes, I'm finished." I pushed the document back across his desk.
"Seems you weren't very truthful with me the other day, Max."
At least we were back on a first-name basis.
I didn't comment. No, I hadn't been truthful. I didn't need this. I'd listened to Kitty. That was mistake number one.
I didn't respond.
"You and Mrs. Baxter were more than friends. Much more. So much more that you were engaged to be married. That slip your mind the other day?"
"I didn't think it was relevant."
Carrington smiled. "Well, I think otherwise. But it's not so much the fact that you were engaged to Mrs. Baxter. It's who stole her away that's the pièce de résistance."
"Ted," I said. "Yes, Ted Baxter stole her away from me."
"And that angered you. Enraged you."
"It certainly did at the time, John. I'm a human being."
"You hated him. You still hate him. You despise him so much that you decided to kill him."
I laughed. A deep belly laugh. I stared Carrington directly in his eyes. "You think I bided my time for eighteen years and then now decided to kill him? Are you nuts?"
Carrington looked at me. Stared at me. Tried to digest what I was saying. With a side of logic. What I was saying made sense. Eighteen years is forever. You could see him running through the facts in his head. Running through the various scenarios. He knew I wasn't lying. He had to know that I was telling the truth.
He opened a manila folder on his desk marked EVIDENCE in red. "They found this." He handed me a letter.
I took the letter from him and immediately recognized it. It was a letter from Kitty. From eighteen years ago. The letter detailed the entire breakup. It upset me. I didn't look up from the letter, but I could tell that Imogen's heart was breaking for me. I could also feel Carrington's eyes fixated on my face. Trying to read my expression. Waiting to read my guilt.
When I finally composed myself, I responded, "So. It's a letter from Kitty. What does that prove?"
"Nothing," Carrington said, and then reached back into the folder. He pulled out another couple of pieces of paper and handed them over to me. "But these prove something."
My heart leapt into my throat when I had them in my hands.
"That your handwriting?"
I didn't even hear him. He had asked me something, but I was too busy remembering. Recalling the anger. The heartbreak. The sadness.
"I said, is that your handwriting, Max?"
It was my handwriting. I had written this letter. But I had never sent it. I folded it up and put it in a box in my closet buried under a bunch of other things that I had forgotten about.
"Yes, that's my handwriting."
"There are a lot of interesting things in that letter, Max."
He was right. There were a lot of things in that letter that might not put me in the best light. I'd threatened Ted. I'd threatened Kitty. I'd threatened everything and everyone. I had been pissed. My life had been in shambles, and I had expressed my lust for revenge against Kitty and Ted in that letter. But I had never sent it. I'd stuffed it away and buried it, just like I'd buried my feelings about the whole mess.
"A lot of threats," Carrington added. "A lot of paragraphs that would lead one to believe that you were the one who killed Mr. Baxter. Even eighteen years later."
"I never sent this letter," I said.
"It doesn't add up, Max. You lied to me and then we found this. You're our man."
"I may not be a criminal attorney, but you can't believe that a letter from eighteen years ago is enough to pin a murder on."
"My sergeant certainly thinks so. Thinks you're our man. The one who killed Ted."
"But what about you? Do you think I killed Ted?"
Carrington sat there. Ignoring me. He looked lost. Seemingly in another world.
I piled on: "I know my rights, detective. And in case you forgot, I'm an attorney. I want to know if you are arresting me."
I wasn't sure if my little tirade would work. I didn't know if I was pushing my luck or rolling the dice and betting on the come. But Carrington looked like he wanted a reason to believe me. A reason to trust me.
After a moment, he seemed to snap out of his stupor. "Not quite yet."
"Good. Then let me the fuck out of here. I want to go home."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"I'm afraid it doesn't quite work that way, Max."
"Then how does it work, John? If I'm not being arrested then I'm free to go. And I'd like to go."
"I can't do that."
"I don't understand. The other day things were fine. I passed along information to help you and the investigation. Now you're telling me that things have changed. Just like that?"
"You lied, Max. You hated Ted. You have motive. The letters prove that."
"You don't believe that, do you? You think my feelings from two decades ago constitute motive? You guys must really be grasping at straws."
Carrington was buying what I was selling. I could tell. He didn't like what he was doing one bit. I could read that in his face. He didn't think that I had a motive. He was just toeing the company line. Toeing his sergeant's line. That guy was the problem. I needed to find a workaround.
"Listen to me. I didn't kill Ted. I was driving home from work. Did you guys follow up on that lead yet? That's my alibi. And it's airtight. And what about the threatening email from Mike Miller? At least that threat is from the last decade. Who's doing this to me? Who's behind this? Your sergeant?"
I was pushing. I knew it. Carrington didn't say a word. That was when I realized that it was the sergeant. He was the one on a fast track to wrap this investigation up. Solve the murder of the bigwig in record time. Earn himself a nice promotion. Quickly. Even if that meant throwing an innocent guy in jail. He'd roll the dice at trial. Maybe a jury would believe me, maybe they wouldn't. He didn't care. By then, he'd be behind a captain's desk.
"Max, it's out of my control. It's just a matter of time before they press charges."
"Then let me help you. Let me help myself. In a couple of days, I've already made progress. I got the email. Give me some time."
"Sit here." He got up from the desk, walked across the ro
om, and shut the door.
I turned to Ginny. "Shit."
"You're bloody well right. Shite, indeed. What are we going to do?"
"Try to find out who the hell killed Ted. That's if they don't lock me up today."
The door opened. In walked Carrington, and he went back over to his desk and sat down. Picked up his coffee, took a sip. He looked at me, put the coffee cup down, and then said, "You're free to go."
I shook my head just to make sure that I had heard him correctly. I couldn't believe it. I had talked my way out of this mess. I started to stand.
"Don't get too excited. They're going to press charges, Max. It's just a matter of time. I don't know how long you have. I don't know how long I can hold off the inevitable."
Sitting again, I answered, "Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"It's not confidence, Max. It's a hunch. But my neck is on the line if I'm wrong."
Whatever you wanted to label it, I'd take it. Call it kindness, a hunch, stupidity; it would be fine with me. I was going to be walking out of this station momentarily.
"One more thing: don't disappear. You need to be accessible. When I call, you need to be around."
"I don't have any cruises planned, so I think we're good."
"And save the wisecracks."
* * *
Ginny and I spent the rest of the day at my house lounging around. I wasn't very much in the mood to do any work. I knew Imogen felt the same way.
"Max, what are we doing?" Imogen asked as she put her head on my shoulder while we reclined on the couch. Sinatra was playing in the background.
"Relaxing, my dear. We had quite an eventful morning," I said, trying to sound unmoved by the events of the day. I ran my one free hand through Ginny's straight hair. The other one was tensely choking a glass of scotch.
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Despite my impending arrest, I'm quite enjoying this private eye stuff," I said.
That comment elicited a slight giggle. Probably a nervous reaction.
"You do? I find it all a little frightening after this morning."
"I don't blame you. It's uncharted territory for both of us."
"Uncharted territory? We spent the better part of today in a police station being grilled by a detective and just narrowly escaping your arrest!" Imogen lifted her head off my shoulder for added emphasis.
"Pardon me, my dear, maybe those were not the most appropriate words." I took a sip of my scotch. Ginny laid her head back down on my shoulder. "Look, we're in this mess, like it or not. We're both smart. We'll get to the bottom of this."
"That's a lot of we, Dutch," she said, smirking.
"Now you're calling me that?"
"I like it. It's catchy."
"Jesus Christ, Imogen."
"Figured it was a good time to test it out."
"Yes, perfect," I said. "Right in the middle of a romantic moment."
"Speaking of which, we're quite a team. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Team. Yes. I quite like that," I said.
"Me too." Imogen nuzzled in a little closer between my neck and my collarbone. "Maybe it's time we make this official."
There it was. No maître d' to save me this time. I took a sip of my scotch and contemplated this statement. I sat there silent for a moment and then took another sip.
"I think we're nearly there, my dear," I said. "If I don't end up behind bars."
That was a terrible answer. I knew that, but I couldn't think of anything better.
"Nearly there? Jail? Jesus, Max, you're impossible sometimes."
"Better than at the beginning of the journey, wouldn't you agree?"
"Indeed, but we should be doing a victory lap by now." Imogen turned her face toward my eyes and put her finger on my lips. "Close the deal. It's time."
Ginny motioned me to lean down toward her with her finger then lifted her head slightly, and we kissed.
"I love you, Max."
"I love you too, Imogen."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We were back at my house. Confident that we were not in any imminent danger. I'd planned on heading into the office around 11 a.m. this morning, but my plans were derailed slightly when I saw a police car driving slowly up my driveway. It finally stopped, the policeman, dressed in full uniform, got out, and before I knew it the doorbell rang. I invited him in, he entered, and we stood two feet from the front door.
"Mr. Slade."
"Yes, officer."
"I'm Officer Sam Chen. I hope I'm not intruding."
"No, no. Don't be silly. What can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to pop by and to make sure that everything was OK here."
"Yes, everything is fine he—"
"Who is at the door?" Imogen inquired as she strolled down the stairs.
By the time I could answer, she had a visual on the cop.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Well, good morning, officer. What brings you here this morning?"
"As I was telling your husband here—"
"We're not married," Imogen stated for the record. "Although I'm working on it," she added.
I stood there listening to this conversation unfold. Imogen was on a mission to bring this union about. I was slowly beginning to agree. Although airing our race to the altar in front of a random cop was not necessarily an endearing quality.
The officer ignored Imogen's revelation.
"As I was telling Mr. Slade, I stopped by to check on you both to make sure that everything was OK this morning."
Imogen descended the stairs and was now standing next to me in the foyer.
"Everything is just fine, officer. Is there something we should be worried about?" Imogen asked.
"No, no. Sergeant Williams just asked me to do him a favor. I was happy to oblige."
"Well, we certainly appreciate your help, officer. As Imogen said, we're both doing just fine."
Sergeant Williams. That was the name of the man who was making my life miserable. Checking up on us as if I was some sort of a flight risk. Hell, checking up on me as if I had done anything wrong.
"I'm glad to hear it." He paused. "I'll tell you what—if you two don't mind, I'm going to stop by every now and then to see how you're doing."
Keep tabs on me. That was what the sergeant wanted to do. Make sure I was being a good boy while he tried to build a bogus case against me. If that was what Daddy wanted, that was what Daddy was going to get. At least to his face.
"That would be great," I said. "I'm honored the police care that deeply for our well-being."
Imogen didn't say a word.
Officer Chen didn't acknowledge my sarcasm. "My pleasure," he said as he shook my hand. "You two stay safe now."
Imogen and I walked the officer to the door and watched him get into his car. Moments later, he pulled out of the driveway.
I turned to Imogen. "We're getting the hell out of here."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Not two seconds later my phone rang. It was Kitty. Imogen was not happy when I answered the phone, and when she realized with whom I was speaking, she left the living room and walked into the kitchen. Jabber must have been in agreement, because she followed Ginny away from me. I sat down on the couch, quickly coming to the realization that I would not be going into work today, and proceeded to talk to Kitty. She told me about the funeral, how nice it was, and how Ted would have been touched to see that so many of his friends and colleagues had come out to honor his life.
"I want to apologize for my behavior the other day, Dutch."
"There's nothing to apologize for, Kitty."
"There is. I was rude. Rude for arriving unannounced and rude for interrupting your dinner with Miss Whitehall."
"I thought we covered all of that already, Kitty."
"We did. But I wanted to make sure that you understood how very sorry I am."
"Duly noted." I said, trying to get to the real reason that she had called.
"I als
o wanted to apologize for losing my temper the other day," Kitty said, fishing around for something.
"I hadn't even noticed," I lied. Of course I had noticed.
"Come now, Dutch. We both know that you can tell when I'm miffed. You always could," Kitty said, bringing a rush of flashbacks into my consciousness.
I smiled a bit, but Kitty couldn't see that across our mobile connection.
"I really should have thanked you for sharing that email with the police. We certainly need their help if we're going to get to the bottom of this mess."
"We?" That certainly seemed to be the word of the day.
"Of course, we. With you passing along materials to the police and meeting with Mike, I assumed, naturally, that you've decided to help with the investigation."
She'd caught me off guard. How did she know that I had met with Mike?
"I met with Mike about a business opportunity, Kitty." I was fishing for more information.
"Oh well, I didn't realize, pardon me. He mentioned that you two met when I saw him at the funeral. He didn't mention what you two had discussed. I just assumed you had spoken to him about the email."
Kitty was lying. It wasn't just that I could sense the subtle change in her tone. I felt it in my gut. Maybe Carrington and I shared the same internal organ. I was inclined to trust mine as well.
"Oh, Kitty, how is one supposed to broach that subject? 'Oh hey, I saw you sent a nasty, possibly threatening email to your colleague who, as it happens, recently wound up murdered?' We didn't discuss it."
Ginny walked back into the living room. Jabber was still following her.
"Silly me," Kitty said then added, "What about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean are you all right? Have the police bothered you?"
I wasn't sure how much I should divulge to Kitty. There was something odd going on here. She had just lied moments before, or at least I thought she had lied. And it was a little odd that she cared so much about my well-being all of a sudden.
Until the other day, I had not spoken to Kitty in years. Of course, I had seen her now and again at the occasional social function. I would usually just give a wave from across the room. And if by chance we ended up face to face, it was usually two air kisses, a quick hello, and I would exit stage left. Minimal contact.
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