Mark of the Loon (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 1)
Page 26
There was nothing to do. Ducane was dead.
A pair of San Francisco’s finest arrived not long after the EMTs gave up their attempts to revive the body. Thick and thin, Bree dubbed them. One was burned, both in manner and coloring, all stout muscles and barrel chest. The outline of a Kevlar vest was obvious beneath his uniform shirt.
The other was average-looking, sandy-haired and calm. He reminded her of a high school English teacher. She prayed he would take the lead and she’d be able to explain herself to him, not his hot-headed, flushed partner.
Bree held her position against the wall while the medics gave the officers the low-down. Next it was Vonnegon’s turn. As he listened, the thick cop crossed his arms and glowered at her. After twenty minutes or so, the thin cop approached.
“Miss,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“My name is Cambria Butler.”
“Mr. Vonnegon says he found you with the deceased.”
“That’s right. We had an appointment. I was here to interview him for a magazine.”
“Was he alive when you came in?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, he was on the floor and he wasn’t moving. There, where you found him. That’s where he was.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. He was unconscious. I didn’t know how to help him.”
He nodded, then gestured at the conference room behind her. “A detective is on his way. You need to wait here. He’ll take your statement.”
“All right.” Bree left the door open and checked her cell; it was nearly seven o’clock. She glanced around, looking for anything to help pass the time.
A stack of glossy Elergene brochures were fanned out on a side table. That would have to do.
She settled in and read sound bites about Vonnegon and his privately-owned company. Glamour shots showed the CEO glad-handing a group of no-name bigwigs.
The professional, PR-slanted content sounded great but didn’t reveal much. Nice work. They just might need to ask the copywriter’s help if tonight’s debacle made the news. Clearly she wouldn’t be considered for the job.
The suite’s kitchen must have been farther down the hall, because the woman she saw with Vonnegon earlier began to breeze back and forth with coffee and bottles of water. Not once did she send even a glance Bree’s way.
What kind of treatment was that?
A while later, Bree looked up to find Vonnegon glaring at her.
“Water? Coffee?” His tone was still icy.
“I could use some water. Please.”
He nodded and left, presumably headed toward the kitchen down the way. The woman was due to make another round, and she must have stopped him just beyond the door. Bree could almost hear their low-pitched conversation. She stood and moved closer.
No sense straining to eavesdrop.
“Taking charge again.” His voice was cold when he spoke to her, as well. Could be the freeze wasn’t all about Bree.
“Everything I do is in your best interests,” the woman said. “I can handle this. Let me do my job.”
“I understand that you think you’re helping,” Vonnegon replied. “But these sorts of decisions are above and beyond the scope of what I need from you. We’ve talked about it ad infinitum. I won’t be handled.”
Hmmm. The CEO didn’t approve of a staff member passing out beverages?
The voices stopped. Bree scooted back to her chair a heartbeat before Vonnegon once again appeared in the doorway, holding a bottle of Perrier and looking miles beyond grim.
A stranger walked up and stopped beside him. Yin and yang bookends. Both tall and handsome, but one was fair and blond and the other brown-skinned and dark-haired. She guessed this must be the plainclothes cop. Bree could almost picture them in cowboy hats, the pale one in black and the dark one in white.
The bad guy and the good.
“Detective Garcia, this is Cambria Butler,” Vonnegon said.
“So, Miss Butler.” The detective’s face was like a stone. “How’d you kill him?”
What a jerk. Maybe the dark-haired man wasn’t the good guy, after all.
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