“You’re treating me like a suspect.” He avoided eye contact.
That wasn’t exactly an answer to her question, but it told her that stress was the trigger for his nosebleeds. At least this particular one. She pressed him further, though. “Why shouldn’t we think of you as a suspect?”
“Because—” he exchanged the tissues for fresh ones “—I couldn’t have done it.”
It wasn’t me? That’s his defense? She’d heard this too many times to count, and it even came from the mouths of killers. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Darren locked eyes with her and she sensed that if she kept prodding him, he’d clam up and demand a lawyer.
She’d let his protest go for now, play diplomat, and see where that attribute would take her, but he still hadn’t told them why he was in Tahiti. She’d veer the conversation back to that. “Why were you in Tahiti?”
“I had a job there.”
Darren was the second person in Claire’s circle who had recently been to Tahiti. Was that significant or coincidental? Intuition told Madison to ask something. “Where did you meet Claire?”
His eyes pulled from the photos to Madison, and he must have swallowed his saliva the wrong way because he started coughing. He dabbed the tissue to his nose one more time before putting his arm down. “We met in Bora Bora. Twenty-some years ago,” he added. “And before you assume that I hit her up because of her money, I had no idea what she worth at the time.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Can you prove I did?” he fired back. “Anyway, we hit it off. We were both in university and had businesses of our own. We had a lot in common, so we got married. Blame it on too many mojitos.”
“Mojitos?” Madison parroted.
“Yeah, awesome drink. It’s—”
“I know what it is,” Madison said drily.
Darren continued. “Do you know how much the ceremony cost? Over three grand. And, as it turned out, the marriage wasn’t even legally recognized.” Anger flickered in his eyes.
“She knew that it was a sham wedding, didn’t she?”
He rubbed the stubble on his face.
“You found out she was playing you,” Madison said and let that sink in. Why had Claire set this all up? She met Darren’s gaze. “You had something that she wanted, and she was willing to use you to get it.”
“You’d have to ask Claire.”
“But she’s not around to ask, is she? Is that because you silenced her?” Madison leaned across the table.
“What is it with you law enforcement types? You preach about people being innocent until proven guilty but you work the other way around. Thank God we’re not in nineteenth-century England with you suspecting me of treason or you’d already have me drawn and quartered.”
Madison ignored his rant. “What did you have that Claire would want?” Madison wasn’t going to let this aspect go.
“That sounds a little condescending.”
Terry leaned over the table and tapped his finger on Claire’s crime scene photo. “Then start talking.”
“Can we put those pictures away?”
“It bothers you to see her like this,” Terry said.
“We cared about each other.”
“Cared about each other, but you got married?” Madison took the interrogation back.
“Like I said, too many mojitos.”
Knowing what she did of Claire, that her interest in people usually included their businesses and running them into the ground for a personal pay day, she’d run with an assumption. “So she never drove you to bankruptcy or broke your heart when she revealed the marriage was a scam?”
He laughed. “Drove me to bankruptcy? Not exactly. It took a while to get back on my feet, but she didn’t have the power to break my heart. You see, Claire and I are of the same mind. We’re out for ourselves in this world, not for other people, and we both got what we wanted out of our quote, unquote marriage. We didn’t— I didn’t, and still don’t, believe in love. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to let any relationship get to that point.”
That sounds like someone I know.
She dismissed her personal feelings and picked up on what Darren had said. He had admitted that it took him a while to get back on his feet, but he hadn’t told them exactly what he’d offered Claire. “I’m going to ask again. Tell us how Claire would have benefited from the relationship.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” Darren said. “I developed a software that streamlines manufacturing processes.”
“How?” Terry asked.
Darren glanced at Terry and then back to Madison. “It’s basically a database, and it guides the administrator through every step of the manufacturing process from the purchasing of raw materials to fabrication to the sales funnels. It even includes accounting functions, accounts payable and receivable, tracking costs of goods. The business owner would be interviewed in depth, and the acquired information would then be keyed into the program in detail. That was the important part. If the details were off in any way, the result wouldn’t be as effective. The software would then assimilate the data and suggest modifications to make things more efficient and cost-effective.”
“How could that work exactly?” Madison asked.
“Well, think of it this way: there are main functions of any business, but by analyzing every step and every person’s position within a company, it can reveal overlaps in responsibilities.”
Barry Parsons had to let twenty-five employees go because he’d said Claire streamlined the processes at Proud Yankees. “We have spoken with some of Claire’s past business partners. Quite a few have lost their jobs because of this program.”
Darren smiled, which Madison found inappropriate given the context of people losing income due to his invention. “It’s an expected result and part of the appeal to struggling companies wanting to cut their overhead.”
“Huh.”
Darren continued with pride, his shoulders straighter than before, his chin slightly upward. “There were even preset results that suited most manufacturing environments. It was up to the administrator to determine which would be best suited to a particular client. Although the system would evaluate which scenarios would have the highest payoffs, the administrator needed to have a background in business to put it into effect. They also needed to know what key info to enter to get the desired results.”
The first thing that came to Madison’s mind was Darcy Simms, formerly Anita Smith, and the framed diploma on her wall for a MBA, or master of business administration. Was Darcy involved somehow? Madison shook this reoccurring thought aside and went back to focusing on Claire. “Did Claire steal the program?” she asked.
“I didn’t have the money to patent it.” His eyes glazed over. “So, yes, she took it from me. I could be really rich off it by now.”
He sounded bitter and Madison didn’t blame him, but his mention of money lent itself to the fact he probably didn’t know about being a benefactor of Claire’s will. Madison wasn’t going to bring it up just yet, though. “What was the name of your program?”
“I wanted to call it Globacon, but she didn’t think it sounded professional enough. Once she got ahold of it, she ended up calling it Capital Quest. Anyway, like I said, too many mojitos. She came up to me on the beach and—”
“She targeted you,” Madison spat.
“Targeted me?”
“Somehow she knew what you had before you met.”
“I don’t see how.” But there was something in the flicker of his eyes, the subtle strain in his voice… He wasn’t being forthcoming. “I don’t see how,” he repeated.
“Claire got the program, but what did you get?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Why not?”
He smirked. “Amazing sex.”
“You expect me to believe that you exchanged a lay for millions of dollars?”
He opened his arms, palms upward. He pressed his lips and directed his gaze toward the ceiling briefly.
“Is that why you were at her house the night she died?” Madison held her composure outwardly even though flashbacks to her last night with Blake streamed through her mind.
He leaned in. “You’d like to know?” Based on the light in his eyes and the sexual energy coming from him, he was flirting with her.
“I am investigating the murder of Claire Reeves—” Madison clasped her hands on the table “—and you said you were there the night she died. I’d like to know why.”
Darren bobbed his eyebrows. “I was there for sex.”
“After all these years and after she screwed you over. Excuse the pun.”
Darren winced. “First off, I understand why she did what she had. It was to advance herself. It wasn’t personal. I was the idiot for rambling on about my program with a stranger. Besides, love is a fabrication. Something we tell ourselves we’re in to excuse our vulnerability. It’s a weakness.”
“A weakness?” Madison gulped.
“Definitely. I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times.”
Not recently. Oh, she’d be so much better off without Blake in her life. Who needed all this drama?
“I take it by your dazed expression that no one’s said it to you recently.”
How can you read my eyes so easily?
“I find that hard to believe,” Darren added.
Is he coming on to me?
“Then again, you’re probably too smart for all the love crap. Men speak words of love as a manipulation tactic. If a woman can be manipulated, she is weak.”
The conversation was quickly steering away from the investigation and into the personal arena—her personal arena—and she didn’t like it. “When did you leave Claire’s?”
“Around three in the morning Wednesday.”
“That is within the estimated time of death.”
His eyes hardened over. “Do I need a lawyer?”
If Madison could play things less aggressive, maybe she could keep him speaking. She thought of Claire’s bedroom and all the used condoms found in the trash. “Did you go over to see her often?”
He rubbed at his jaw. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that question. And the answer is, fairly often. Not often enough.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Guess it depends on the viewpoint. I had forgiven Claire for what she had done to me years before. It was in the past.”
“At what point did you become friends again?”
“I’m confused by your question.”
“What’s confusing about it? Given what she’d done to you, I’m sure there was a time you didn’t speak.”
“Actually—” Darren’s face scrunched up “—Claire came back to me. Guess she liked the sex, too.” He winked at Madison.
“Really? I find that hard to believe,” Madison treaded cautiously. “A woman like Claire could have had sex from anyone she wanted. Maybe you hunted her down, manipulated your way back into her world, and struck when you had the opportunity.”
“If you had any proof of that, we wouldn’t be passing the time talking about my sex life.”
Madison cleared her throat. “We are not discussing your sex life.”
“What would you call this, then? You’re curious about me. I could tell the second I looked at you”—Darren splayed his hands on his chest—“but I am hard for a woman to resist.” His lingering gaze emphasized the enclosed double entendre.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she stated nonchalantly, resisting the urge to allow this man any control over her feminine instincts. “As I was saying, we aren’t interested in your sex life, but we are in your relationship with Claire Reeves. What made you leave at three in the morning?”
“You know what?” He paused. “I’ve changed my mind. I want a lawyer.” Darren stood up, scrunched up the bloody tissues, and put them in his pocket. “I’m not that stupid. But if you’d like a DNA sample, Detective, I’d be more than willing to provide one for you personally.” He winked at her again before leaving the room.
“Urgh.” She slammed her fist on the table and lifted her wounded hand, cradling it to her chest. “How dare that asshole come in here and speak to me like that? He’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.”
Terry looked at her and calmly said, “I have no doubt you will.”
-
Chapter 25
MADISON OPENED THE DOOR TO the hallway and Winston was blocking her path.
“What the hell was that?” he asked. “Why did you let him leave?”
“We didn’t have enough to hold him.”
“Bullshit, Knight! You’ve held people for a lot less.” His face reddened all the way up and over his brow, to the top of his bald head. “You didn’t get to the vital questions, Knight. You skirted around them, flirting with him like a teen at her prom.”
Terry tensed up beside her as if anticipating a full-blown confrontation. The sergeant was staring at her, expecting a response, challenging her to say something smart aleck, but she was in shock. A part of her was strongly offended and another part of her felt the sting because his accusation held some truth. Her focus was off. But instead of lashing out with a bitter and fiery mouthful, she hurried past the two men, going after Darren Taylor.
“Mr. Taylor,” she called out, hoping he’d stop.
He turned around and flashed her a cocky smile. “You want the sample here and now?”
She envisioned her fist connecting with his nose. “I never said we were finished in there.”
“You didn’t have to. I called for a lawyer.”
“You’re a suspect in a murder investigation. You will await your representation here.”
“You’re putting me under arrest?”
“I am holding you for question—”
“This is bullshit,” he exclaimed, cutting her off. He dropped the bag from his shoulder to the floor.
“We are fully within our rights to detain you for twenty-four hours without a formal charge. Seeing as you’re a potential murder suspect, I could apply to hold you longer than that.” Madison motioned for a nearby officer to escort him to holding.
Darren’s face had fallen sober. “Are you really doing this?”
Madison smiled briefly and held up an index finger. “You get one call.” She nodded to the officer.
“Come with me, please,” the officer said to Darren.
“So this is the way it’s going to be between us?” Darren called out over his shoulder. She didn’t give any indication she heard him.
Winston and Terry came over to her.
“Much better,” Winston said before walking away.
Another vision of a fist connecting with a nose flashed in her mind. He had no right to say what he had earlier. She took her job seriously and always had at the expense of everything else, including a social life. Her heart ached at the memory of Darren speaking about love and brought with it the misery caused by Blake.
He still hadn’t called her, and it was Tuesday afternoon. She’d slipped up on Sunday. Based on his history, even if his workload had intensified, he would have at least e-mailed by this point. She had refreshed her inbox a few times in the hope of seeing his name filter in.
“Maddy?” Terry broke her sulking thoughts.
“Uh, yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her response didn’t sound convincing to her own ears, but he seemed to accept them at face value, or maybe he was biding his time to delve into the matter at a future time. Either way, fresh air might do her some good. “I’m just going to step out for a
bit.”
“Sure.” He forced a smile and it confirmed her suspicions. He didn’t believe she was fine, and he’d bring up the matter at some point—probably when she was least expecting it and her guard would be down.
Madison stepped out the back doors of the station, assuming she’d head to the parking lot, get in her car, and pass some time at her apartment, but she opted for a walk instead. She must have been crazy because the snow was falling in flakes the size of cotton balls, and with the wind chill it was easily fourteen degrees Fahrenheit.
But she needed to step back from the case and mull over her personal issues. It wasn’t just Blake affecting her focus. The thought of the upcoming visit from her parents made her uneasy. She couldn’t be herself around them. They weren’t interested in hearing about her work. They didn’t care how many closed-by-arrests she had on her record. Chelsea and the grandchildren were all that mattered.
Madison walked along the sidewalk and a shiver laced up her spine. She hugged her coat tighter with one hand and pulled out a pair of gloves from her pockets with the other. At least she had gloves thanks to Cynthia. They’d gotten together and celebrated the holidays early. Cynthia had bought her a scarf and glove set, and she had bought Cynthia a pack of toe warmers, as her feet were always cold, and scented candles for her apartment.
The buildings weren’t doing much for abating the gusts of wind and blowing snow, and she wished she had her scarf with her. After a couple blocks, she sought refuge and a break at her favorite place—Starbucks.
Blake thought it was a yuppie place to go, something that people got in the habit of to impress others with their fancy coffees. She’d laugh at him for saying stuff like that. Really, who was putting on the show, the person who had distinguished taste in their caffeine or those who paid forty bucks for an entree at Piccolo Italia? She shrugged her shoulders in response to her thinking process.
Madison opened the door and warmth blanketed her face in a welcoming embrace. Her cheeks tingled at the temperature variance.
Baked goods teased her nose. There was only one thing better and that was when a Starbucks was in a bookstore. She found the irony in her opinion, as she never picked up a book. When did she have the time? But the smell of paperbacks, the paper, the glue, the binding, whatever it was, combined with the smells she experienced now, made her feel safe and at home.
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