that night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The interrogation room at the Tacoma Police Department was windowless. The only break in the pale gray drywall was the grate for the heating duct that filled the room with stifling warmth on a cold winter’s day and so much cold air during the summer that a pair of gangbangers actually asked for—
“Trying to do something about the AC,” Eddie Kaminski said as he led Maddie Crane and client Darius Fulton to a pair of plastic molded chairs that would be more appropriate for a campus dining hall. Maddie dropped her coat onto the table to demonstrate that she was bored and irritated. It was a couture label, but so convoluted in its design that one had to know it by sight and not read it. To be sure, Kaminski didn’t care about those things. There was a good bet that the man sitting across from him was exactly who he was looking for. Maddie was as high priced as she was shrewd. She wasn’t about to show up with her client if she didn’t think she could persuade the police to back off and look somewhere else.
“What you have so far is annoyingly circumstantial,” she said, her flinty eyes bearing down on Kaminski.
“The gun was his,” he said, glancing at Darius before returning his gaze to the lawyer with the great coat and imperious demeanor.
“So? It was stolen.”
“Wasn’t reported.”
“He didn’t know that.”
“Are you kidding me?” He glanced at Darius, who looked passively in the direction of the vent as it funneled hot air right at his face.
“Look, everything about your client suggests that he runs a tight ship. He knows where everything is.” The lawyer had quick answer.
“He’s had some personal problems as of late. He’s recently divorced. His wife took things from the house and he wasn’t exactly sure what she pilfered. She absconded with his stamp collection, for crying out loud.”
“And my dad’s antique decoys,” Darius said. Maddie shot him a look.
“You’ll talk when I say so.” Kaminski almost felt a blush of embarrassment for the guy just then. His wife took his stamp collection and his lawyer had snipped him of his manhood.
“All right. That’s your explanation for the whereabouts of the gun—that, by the way, conveniently turned up in a murder across the street.”
“Yes, Detective,” she said.
“That really is an interesting coincidence.”
“All right, then,” Kaminski said, reaching for a file folder that both the person of interest and the lawyer had been keeping an eye on like it was some scorpion sitting on the table in front of them.
“What can you tell me about the e-mails?” Darius seemed confused.
“What e-mails?” Maddie leaned across the table.
“I’m talking here. What e-mails?” Kaminski pulled out a sheet of paper, making sure that it was obvious that there were many, many others inside.
I want you. I need you.You are everything to me.
Darius shook his head.
“I didn’t write that. I didn’t even know her e-mail address.” Maddie touched his shoulder with the tip of her index finger. It was not a gesture meant to calm and show support, but to pointedly get him to zip it.
“Please, I’ll handle this,” she said. Darius wasn’t having any of that. He was flustered.
“Handle this? This thing is beginning to spin out of control. This damn
“Sorry. We’ll get you out of here in a minute.”
“We’re going now,” Maddie said. She snatched up her coat and moved toward the door, motioning for her client to follow. Kaminski went in for the kill just then. He didn’t want Darius Fulton to drop dead, but he was all but certain this was the last chance they’d be able to speak unencumbered by a legal process that would send up walls to keep them apart.
“Your hair was in a ski mask hidden between the cushions on your sofa. Tori Connelly confirms that it was the mask that the intruder wore the night she and her husband were shot. Will you stop lying just for a second?” Darius looked like he was going to have a heart attack. His eyes popped like a hermit crab.
“I’m not lying,” he said. Maddie shook her head at Kaminski.
“This interview is over. Mr. Fulton wanted to be helpful—against my advice.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Just one more.” Darius looked at the bottled water but didn’t touch it. He’d crawl on his hands and knees through Death Valley before he’d fall for that ruse a second time.
“Drink it. We don’t need your prints again,” Kaminski said.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Maddie said, still hovering with her coat. He took the bottle and guzzled.
“You really want me to believe that you’ve been set up by Tori Connelly? That she screwed you one time to spin a web around you and make you the fall guy? Why in the world should I believe that? You haven’t given me any reason to make that seem one bit plausible.” Darius blinked hard.
“I wish I had some answer that would satisfy you, Detective. I wish that I hadn’t been a big, dumb, old fool.”
“Did you think that the plan to kill Alex would allow you to step right in?” The lawyer glanced at her client, telegraphing with a finger to her glossed lips for him to remain mute.
“We’ve already told you, Detective,” she said.
“Mr. Fulton had absolutely nothing to do with the murder—the planning, the execution of it. None of it. If I were you, I’d focus on the merry widow. We’re done here.” When she opened the door, the air felt like a blast from a freezer as it met the Panama heat of the interrogation room. Darius lingered.
“I didn’t hurt anyone. I would never shoot anyone.”
“Shut up, Darius. We’re leaving.” His eyes were pleading.
“Now!” she said, snapping him to attention the way his wife had done throughout their whole marriage. Darius jumped to his feet.
Their father had always said that one had to “break some eggs to make an omelet,” but Tori Connelly highly doubted that he was referring to murdering people in order to get one’s heart’s desire. Yet the thought circled through her brain. She would not always be beautiful. She might not always be rich, but she was willing to do what she had to do to try to get that way. She owed it to herself. Tori looked at the date on her phone. In just a few days, Parker would turn eighteen. Her sister would be dead. She’d be rich. Life would be so, so good.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Instead of meeting a stone wall, Eddie Kaminski was greeted with the offer of coffee or a drink when he knocked on Tori Connelly’s front door to relay the latest updates to the case, though some details had already been on the news.
“Chilly out there, maybe you’d like something that would really warm you up,” Tori said as she led the detective into the living room where her sister was sitting with an open laptop.
“A break in the case,” she said.
“I’ve offered him a drink, but he’s on duty.”
“Just like on TV,” Lainie said. She’d grown weary of her sister’s antics with men. She could see how Tori used her body to call attention to herself. That day she wore a fuchsia-colored scoop-neck sweater that left very little to the imagination.
