by Rita Herron
“I don’t like him a bit—and that goes double for his lawyer.”
“Pretty slick, aren’t they?” Ethan sighed. “But unless Whitley got his attorney to come over here and pop Sills, I’m not sure how he could be involved. At least we know he was where he says he was.”
“I wouldn’t believe Whitley if he told me his name was Whitley,” Dixon said. “But no matter what I think, those alibis are good. Still, that doesn’t mean one or both of them couldn’t have hired someone.”
“Stamps doesn’t have any money—or at least none we know about. And like I said, I can’t see Whitley.” He thought about something. “Who went through their financial records during the kidnapping case?”
“No idea, but I’m going to check,” Dixon said. “Seems like I heard that Whitley had a couple of big deposits and payouts that matched the time frame of the kidnapping. That’s when Whitley tried to implicate Sills, but the forensic accountants couldn’t find any proof of where the money came from.”
“The amounts matched exactly the amount of money that Bentley Woods deposited in Chicago. With all Whitley’s whining about Sills, I’ll bet the senator’s records were subpoenaed, too,” Dixon responded. “No sense reinventing the wheel, if they’re already there in the case file.”
“Good point. You want to check on that?” Ethan asked.
“Yep. And you’re going to tackle Elaine Montgomery,” Dixon said, not a question.
Ethan nodded toward the glass. “I’m going to find out what she’s holding back.”
“Holding back?” Dixon asked him. “What do you think she’s holding back on?”
“I don’t know, but I can see it in her eyes. She’s hiding something.”
“You can see it in her eyes,” Dixon said, his voice sounding choked, as if he were trying to suppress a laugh. “Those big blue ones?”
“Bite me,” Ethan muttered.
“Come on Delancey. You’ve seen her for what, maybe ten minutes total, and now you can read her mind?” He paused before continuing. “Or maybe it’s not her mind you’re interested in. Last night you were all about her legs.”
“Don’t be crass. She’s our only witness and she’s a victim. Look at her.” Ethan gestured toward the glass as Laney wet her lips, then clamped a hand tightly over her mouth as if she were holding back tears or a scream as she stared into space. “There’s something on her mind and it’s not just the murder of her boss.”
“She looks nervous, but lots of people are terrified of being questioned by the police.”
“Nope. She’s hiding something,” Ethan muttered, his gaze still on her. After a moment, he said to Dixon, “So what are you up to now?”
“You don’t want to double-team her like we did Whitley and Stamps?” Dixon pressed.
“No,” Ethan said with exaggerated patience. “I think I can handle her alone.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. One thing I’m going to do is check with the CSI folks about what they’ve pulled from the hotel room. I’m afraid we’re not going to have much, if all the guy did was sneak in, pop the senator, try to take her out, then hightail it out of there. We’ll probably be lucky to get anything other than what was found on the fire stairs. Then I’ll get started on pulling the Chalmet kidnapping file and see what they got on Sills.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then.”
“Watch yourself in there,” Dixon said as he left.
Ethan stepped out of the viewing room and into the interview room.
Laney Montgomery looked up from inspecting her fingernails. “You know, I was printed when I started work for Senator Sills,” she said, holding up her hands, palms out. “I tried to tell them but nobody would listen to me.”
Ethan sat down without speaking.
“In case you’re not familiar with state government policy,” she went on, “employees of any public official are required to be fingerprinted. My prints are on file, here and with the FBI.”
Ethan picked up one of the folders he’d brought into the room with him and paged through it. “According to the information I have, you’re not a government employee. You’re an independent contractor working directly for Senator Sills.”
“I still had to declare my allegiance to the United States and to Louisiana and be fingerprinted and photographed before I could go to work for him. About thirty seconds of listening to me could have saved the police department about a pint of ink,” she finished drily.
Ethan looked back at the page in front of him, waiting to see what she would say next.
She glanced around the room, then looked at the mirror. “Is everyone else staying in there to watch?” she asked, nodding toward the mirror.
“In there?” Ethan asked.
The look she sent him was equal parts disgust and irritation. A “you don’t think I’m that dumb, do you?” expression. “The room behind the mirror.”
“Nobody’s in there now,” he said as he sat down in a wooden straight-backed chair and tipped it backward onto two legs. He watched her.
She sat silent for a few moments, casting about for something to settle her gaze on, then she looked directly at him. “What?” she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Stop trying to make me say something by being silent.”
He lowered the front legs of the chair to the floor. He liked that she wasn’t easily rattled. But he wasn’t fooled by her outburst. She’d turned a favorite tactic of his back onto him. Break a silence with a noncommittal comment or an attack on the other person. But he knew how to play this game. “Okay. I’ll stop being quiet. Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her gaze stayed on his face and her mouth turned up slightly. “No. Is there something you want to tell me?”
Copyright © 2013 by Rickey R. Mallory
ISBN-13: 9781460323113
COLD CASE AT CAMDEN CROSSING
Copyright © 2013 by Rita B. Herron
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