“Go ahead and have your lunch,” he said. “You can eat while we talk.”
He wanted the man at ease. And it was only a slight, passing thought to wonder what kind of lunch Katie had fixed for her father.
They went into the back room that took up the entire width of the shop. Full of metal shelving, boxes and stock items and bins that Gavin guessed were for mail on three walls, and the back door. Along the side wall was a tiny kitchenette, and in the center of the room was a large, high table with stools.
Moore went to the fridge and got out a reusable type of grocery bag.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as he took out several plastic storage containers and a round, foil-wrapped bundle about three inches high. “There’s way too much, as always. One of Katie’s lunches usually lasts me two days.”
“No, thank you.” So Moore had self-control, Gavin thought. He wasn’t one to eat just because it was there. It wasn’t always a sign of control in other areas, but he noted it just the same. You never knew in the beginning what might be useful by the end.
He waited until the man had taken a bite of a meat loaf sandwich that had been in the foil.
“She makes a mean sandwich,” Moore said, wiping a trace of grainy mustard from the corner of his mouth with the napkin from the bag.
“Have the police told you what they think your motive for killing Laurel is?”
The man reacted visibly to the abrupt question, his mouth and the muscles around his eyes tightening. He set the sandwich down. “No. Because there isn’t one. There’s nothing on this earth that could have made me hurt that girl, let alone do...what was done to her.”
He wondered if the police had identified a motive after all, and maybe they just weren’t tipping their hand yet. He took a stab at some possibilities.
“She didn’t make you angry? Or jealous of the time Katie spent with her?”
The incredulous look Moore gave him seemed genuine. “The only thing in my life I’ve been that angry about is that Katie’s mother didn’t get to live to see the amazing woman she’s become.”
“And Laurel? What did you think of her?”
No tightening of his mouth this time. But something flickered in those eyes so like Katie’s. Pain? Regret? Or was it simply a tell, that he was about to lie?
“I think that losing her hurt my girl more than anything has since her mother died. And anyone who thinks I would do that to her is vastly, vastly mistaken.”
Gavin let the answer hang in the air before saying, “That’s not what I asked.”
Moore grimaced then. He lowered his gaze to the sandwich with one bite missing. He swallowed as if he’d taken a second bite before speaking.
“Laurel was sweet, kind and incredibly generous. I was glad she was Katie’s best friend. She chose well.”
He meant it, Gavin thought. But he didn’t—or couldn’t—look at him when he said it.
A few minutes later he left the man to his food and returned to his car, knowing he needed to leave to make his meeting with the police detective. Cutter’s greeting was somewhat restrained, as if he sensed Gavin’s mood. It seemed likely, given what else the dog had done so far.
For a moment he sat, pondering what he’d learned. By all appearances Steven Moore was what his daughter thought he was. Kind, gentlemanly, hardworking, all of it. And he loved his daughter deeply; it fairly echoed in his voice every time he spoke of her. Gavin couldn’t quite make himself believe, at least not without a lot more evidence, that a man capable of such a brutal murder could have raised a daughter like his.
But he’d lied.
Moore had meant what he’d said, but he was hiding something. Something about Laurel. Not necessarily in so many words, but as he’d told Katie, lies of omission were still lies.
If all you do is look for lies, I’m not surprised you find them.
Oh, she had some fire, did Katie Moore. He’d already been singed by it. In more ways than one.
Was that it? Was his unexpected and unwanted attraction to her clouding his judgment? Was the fact that he was reacting to her as he hadn’t reacted to a woman in a very long time messing with his perception, stifling his instincts about people who lied to him, because he wanted to believe for her sake?
He wanted to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, as it always would have been. Gavin de Marco never let the personal interfere with a case.
But he’d also never met a woman quite like Katie Moore, either.
Chapter 19
“So who was that this morning?”
Katie turned to see Heather Burns, the assistant library branch manager and bookkeeper, looking at her with both eyebrows raised. Gavin hadn’t said anything about keeping his presence and involvement a secret. Not, she thought wryly, that that would be possible. He was bound to be recognized. And he certainly was the kind of man people noticed.
“He’s an attorney,” she said. “He’s helping with the murder case.”
She was almost proud of how even her voice was; she’d gotten to where she could say the words without her throat tightening or her eyes pooling with tears. But it was an effort, a battle every single time, and she wondered if that would ever change.
“I heard about them suspecting your dad,” Heather said, making Katie’s chest tighten. “That’s silly.”
“Yes,” she said. What else was there to say?
“I was kind of hoping he was somebody you’d met. You know. You need somebody in your life.”
Katie managed a credible scoff. “Does he look like my type?”
“Honey,” Heather said in a tone that matched her arched eyebrow, “that was any woman’s type. Makes you think of long, slow nights and lingering looks over morning coffee.”
Katie felt the heat rising to her cheeks at the images that tumbled through her head. “He is way out of my league.”
“Uh-huh. I saw the way he was looking at your cute butt on that ladder. That was not an uninterested man.”
“Heather!”
“And speaking of cute butts,” Heather began, undaunted. “His is—”
“Let’s not,” Katie said. “I need to order cupcakes for tomorrow night.”
She headed for her office to do just that, but nothing could keep her from hearing Heather’s laughing voice. “You not talking about it doesn’t change it!”
She closed the door behind her and only realized when she got to her desk and sat down that she was actually trembling slightly. She shouldn’t have skipped lunch today; she was just wobbly, that’s all.
But that didn’t explain the images racing through her mind.
Makes you think of long, slow nights and lingering looks over morning coffee.
Oh, yes. And cute butts.
“He’s only here for the case. Then he’ll leave, go back home.”
She said it aloud, with more fervor than she was feeling. She didn’t stop to assess whether she’d convinced herself. Instead, she picked up her phone and pulled up the number for the local bakery. She’d spoken to them before, so now it was only a matter of confirming the numbers. Ordering three dozen cupcakes got her mind back to business, where it belonged.
* * *
Detective Greg Davidson was an old hand. Gavin had suspected that from the moment the man had suggested they meet at one of the more expensive coffee outlets in his town. After all, he was doing Gavin a favor by meeting with him, so obviously Gavin could pick up the tab. Sitting across the small, round table from him now, Gavin sensed he was more than an old hand, he was good. He looked to be midforties, had a lean, wiry build, and a manner that put Gavin in mind of a hunting dog, never to be diverted once he was on the track.
“So,” the man said, leaning back in the chair and looking at Gavin assessingly, “it really is you. The famous Gavin de Mar
co.”
“Guilty,” Gavin said with a shrug.
“Nothing less would get me to meet with a prime suspect’s defense attorney.”
Gavin shook his head. “I’m not. I work for Foxworth, who was approached by his daughter.”
“Heard good things about them.”
“All true. And then some.”
“You’re making my life harder just by being connected to this,” Davidson said. “Your reputation is making everybody second-guess every step we take. Dunbar’s rock solid, or I wouldn’t even be here.”
Gavin knew the sheriff investigator’s stellar reputation was well earned, after working with him on the governor’s mess. “He is.”
“If you’re not Moore’s lawyer, what are you doing here?”
“What Foxworth does. Looking for the truth.”
Davidson studied him for a long moment over the rim of his cup of double espresso, which the barista had turned to get the moment she saw him; obviously the man frequented the place. The potent brew was the fuel of many cops, he thought, to cope with long hours, ugly memories and the high risk of carrying the badge.
“Funny,” Davidson said, “I didn’t think defense attorneys cared all that much for truth, only getting their guy off.”
“Some don’t,” Gavin agreed, his tone neutral. One reason why I quit.
“Well, you’ve sure got things hopping,” Davidson said, and he didn’t sound happy about it. “We’re averaging a couple dozen media calls a day since it leaked you were involved.”
“Not my intent.” He looked at the detective, whose weary eyes looked like he could use every bit of the caffeine in that espresso. “And probably the less time we’re seen together, the easier it will be on you.”
“Thought about that. About suggesting we meet somewhere more...discreet.”
Gavin glanced pointedly around at the very public, busy place in which they were sitting. He’d been aware since shortly after he’d walked in that the buzz of conversation in the room had picked up, and soon after that a few phones had appeared, no doubt with cameras activated.
Davidson grinned suddenly. “Why have a meeting with the famous Gavin de Marco and not get the perks?” Then he turned serious. “What is it you want?”
“Knowing you can’t discuss details of an open investigation, just some answers. Starting with these. Is there a reason, beyond the fact that there’s no one else, that made you settle on Moore? And what’s the theory on his motive?”
Gavin watched the detective consider his words. Carefully, likely deciding what he could and couldn’t say, and filtering what he wanted to say to a man on the other side.
“What,” Davidson asked after a moment, “are the odds you’re going to end up representing Moore down the road?”
“Zero,” Gavin said flatly.
Davidson drew back slightly. “That was pretty definite. Don’t like the guy?”
Gavin wasn’t out of practice enough to miss the sudden interest. “In fact, I do. But it has nothing to do with him. The only way I’ll be in a criminal court again is as an observer or a witness.”
“I wouldn’t like it much if you ended up testifying to what I tell you,” Davidson said. “Assuming I do tell you anything.”
Gavin understood that. “How about I provide the information, and you just say yes or no. That way you haven’t told me anything.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer,” Davidson said with a wry smile. “Go ahead. But I reserve the right not to answer.”
“A given,” Gavin agreed. “First, are you working on the assumption that the victim’s one brush with the law when she was eighteen has no connection?”
“Yes.”
He had to take a moment to fight back the image of Katie’s face when she’d lit into him about that subject before he moved to his next question.
“The boyfriend’s alibi is truly solid?”
Davidson apparently felt confident enough to go beyond yes or no on this. “As solid as multiple witnesses can make it. They all saw him at a party, a good ten miles away from the scene, and the host swore his car never moved. It was blocked in by a couple of others.”
Gavin nodded before proceeding. While he knew better than most the unreliability of the fabled “eyewitness,” this seemed fairly straightforward. “Do you have anything on Moore beyond his regular and frequent contacts with the victim for several weeks before her death, and that his alibi is unprovable?”
“Yes.”
Gavin knew there was no point in asking what; Davidson wouldn’t tell him, nor should he.
“Anything that’s not circumstantial?”
Davidson studied him for a moment before saying, “Not answering that.”
Which was, Gavin thought, an answer in itself.
Davidson was getting restless. Gavin could see it in his tapping of his finger on the rim of his cup, and the way he slid the insulating ring up and down repeatedly.
“Do you have a motive?”
There was a moment’s hesitation before Davidson said, “Yes,” but it was enough to tell Gavin what they had was questionable. At least in Davidson’s mind.
“Do you believe it?”
Davidson gave him a sideways look. “Not answering that.”
Also telling.
“So how about a little quid pro quo, de Marco?” the detective asked. “What do you think? You’re famous for your instincts. What are they telling you about Moore?”
Now he was the one in the tough spot. Were he representing Moore, he would have answered one way. But he was not. But in this case, the truth would do nicely.
“I’m not sure yet. But something.”
And that, he supposed, was as much an answer to the obviously sharp detective as the man’s responses had been to him. He sensed Davidson was on the verge of calling a halt to this meeting, and he had one more question to ask. And it had nothing to do with Steven Moore’s guilt or innocence.
“How certain are you that Laurel Brisbane was the intended victim?”
Davidson studied him for a moment before asking, “Wondering if your...client, the daughter, might have been the target?”
“It occurred to me,” Gavin said, his voice even, despite the roiling in his gut at the idea, which should have been another kind of warning in itself.
“We considered it, since it was her apartment. The multiple stab wounds could have been frustration at not being able to get to his real target.”
Gavin had read Ty’s thorough research, and with Dunbar’s help the public copy of the reports, but the cold recounting still made him wince inwardly. In his previous life he’d learned to dissociate himself enough to avoid that reaction, but since coming to Foxworth he’d lost both the need and the knack.
“But you decided not to pursue it,” he said.
“We dropped it,” Davidson said. “Because there were indications in the locations of the wounds that it was personal. Angry. Enough to strongly suggest the killer knew the victim, or at least his target. And Ms. Moore had a routine. She worked every day, the same hours, including those study nights. There was no reason for anyone who knew her to assume she would be home at that time on a Thursday because she never was.”
Gavin nodded. It made sense. So why wouldn’t that knot in his gut loosen up?
“And that also,” Davidson added, “points more toward Moore. He knew his daughter wouldn’t be there.”
“But it still doesn’t tell you why.”
“Right now I’m more worried about who,” Davidson said, and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee.”
They’d reached the end of the interview, Gavin thought. He got up more slowly, accepting that he would gain nothing by trying to extend this except to put the detective in a more uncomfortable position, and he didn’t w
ant to do that. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated to hold the detective’s feet to the fire, but that had been when he was a practicing attorney representing a client and had standing in a case.
His outlook had been different then.
“My pleasure,” he answered. Davidson looked a little surprised, and Gavin supposed that he’d given in easily. “I’m not the enemy anymore, Detective. Unless you’re hiding the truth.”
Davidson’s mouth twisted upward. “Can’t hide what you don’t know.”
The man tilted his cup in a mock salute, then left the shop. Gavin sat back down, taking a minute to process what he’d learned. Which was more than he’d expected. Most important, that while the police were focused on Moore because they had little else, the lead detective wasn’t convinced.
So at least he could tell Katie her father wasn’t, at the moment, being railroaded.
He tossed his empty cup in the bin and walked back out to the car, telling himself he wasn’t feeling that kick of anticipation at that thought of talking to her again. A text would do, he told himself firmly.
When Cutter greeted him with a soft woof, he had the crazy thought that had it been allowed, he would have liked to take the dog in with him, and get his assessment of Detective Davidson.
He nearly laughed aloud at himself. Gavin de Marco consulting his partner, who happened to be a dog. Now that would be a headline, most likely coupled with speculation that he’d gone completely off the rails.
At the moment, he wasn’t certain they wouldn’t be right.
Chapter 20
“Well, at least it’s not midnight yet,” Katie muttered to herself as she got in her car to leave the library. She couldn’t blame the late hour entirely on finishing the Halloween decorations in the meeting room, after the library had closed.
No, a good half of that time she could blame entirely on Gavin de Marco. Well, and her own need to know. She’d set up an internet alert on him after he’d left this morning, setting the date parameter at when he’d arrived here to weed out the countless references and stories from his headline career. It had surprised her to see how much had popped up. Even now, Gavin de Marco being in town was apparently a big deal.
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