“I had no reason to.”
Abruptly he stood and asked, “Can I get you some water? Or a sandwich?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
He left, locking the door behind him. Lara knew another officer was watching her on a monitor in a nearby room. How long would they keep her? Should she ask to call a lawyer? She didn’t know any defense attorneys, but she could ask Jackson to find someone in D.C. The thought of telling him about her situation made her ill. She would try to handle this on her own.
Lara paced the room, growing more anxious about her fate. Would she end up convicted of murder instead of winning the Gauntlet? Now that criminal justice budgets were minimal, judges cut the prosecution a lot more slack. Evidence rules had been overturned and reasonable doubt was defined more narrowly. Unless she could prove she was somewhere else or that someone else had done it, she could get convicted.
Lara dropped to the floor and did another thirty pushups, biceps aching for the last twenty. Rolling over, she started a rhythm of stomach crunches, not bothering to count. Desperately, she tried to construct a way to tell Detective Harper about the blond man she’d seen in the back of the auditorium during orientation-but without mentioning she’d first seen the guy after he shot the employment commissioner in his home in Eugene.
What were the consequences of betraying Thaddeus Morton? Getting booted from the Gauntlet? Minda might have done that already. Lara could also lose her freelance paramedic license in Oregon if the state board became aware she’d failed to report a gunshot wound. But how would the board find out? On the other hand, what good was a license to work if she was in prison?
Abs aching, Lara jumped up and began to pace. She had just decided to tell Harper everything when another thought hit her. What if they didn’t believe her? Finding the real killer would be a lot more work for them. And questioning the commissioner could cause the department some political fallout, especially if it disrupted the Gauntlet. Millions of viewers paid for the privilege of voting, and Washington D.C. received a small percentage for hosting the contest. Nobody wanted to mess with all that money. Harper might simply laugh off her story and book her into jail. He didn’t seem like that kind of cop, but the pressure of the job could twist the brain.
Twenty minutes later, Harper brought her some water, a blanket, and a turkey sandwich she couldn’t eat. “I have to go check out a few things. My supervisor wants to keep you for further questioning. He’ll be in to see you first thing in the morning.”
“You can’t leave me in here overnight.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anywhere else to put you and we can’t let you go. You’re a viable suspect in a homicide investigation as well as a flight risk.” He stepped toward her. “Please don’t do anything to make this worse for yourself.”
“I need to make a call and use the restroom.” The desk officer had taken her bag and her iCom for holding when they arrived.
“I’ll take you to the restroom, but you’re not entitled to a call until we charge you.”
Lara knew how the system worked. “You have the flexibility to let me make a call. I need to do what I can to keep from getting booted from the Gauntlet.”
“My boss says no calls.” Harper took another step toward her and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lara. You’re the last person on earth I ever wanted to arrest.”
They left her in the tiny interrogation room all night with the lights on and no air conditioning. Lara dozed on the floor for a while, then moved back to the chair and tried to sleep with her head on the metal table. The bright lights and suffocating heat made it nearly impossible. By morning, her body ached, she reeked of sweat, and her bladder was about to burst.
The door unlocked and she jumped to her feet. A wave of lightheadedness caught her off guard. She’d gone too long between protein drinks, and she had no surplus body fat to live on.
A man in his late fifties stepped into the room. His dark blue jacket was unbuttoned, leaving his potbelly free from constraint. She saw he was wearing a weapon and hoped he didn’t cuff her.
“Sit.”
The command made her jaw tighten, but Lara complied. She needed to do whatever it took to get out of there.
“I’m Sergeant Warzog and I’m an unhappy man.” He stared out of small pudgy eyes as he slumped into the chair on the other side of the table. His facial skin sagged into thick curves around his mouth, making him look like a bulldog. “Know why I’m unhappy? The Gauntlet happens once a year, shining a bright light on this city and bringing a tidy sum of money into our budget. And you”-he pointed for emphasis-“fucked that up with your petty violent temper. Now a woman is dead, and I want you to tell me how it happened.”
Lara struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. “I have no idea how it happened. She was fine when I went out for a run and dead when I got back.”
“Bullshit!” He slammed his fist against the table and Lara flinched. “We have video of you knocking Kirsten to the ground. You were jealous and angry because she called you
“No.” Lara shook her head. “I won the Challenge against her, so I had nothing to be jealous of. If you watched the footage, you know she started it. She was drunk and bitter, and all I wanted was to get away from her. That’s why I went out.”
“No one saw you go anywhere.”
“Have you checked all the security footage in the hotel?”
“Clearing you is not our job. You’re the only suspect we have and we intend to charge you with murder.”
Her chest tightened in a painful squeeze, and she shouted, “Meanwhile the actual killer is getting away.”
“The fact that you used to be law enforcement doesn’t impress me.” Warzog came around to her side of the table and squeezed her shoulder. Lara wanted to hit him. She locked her jaw and forced herself to breathe deeply.
“This should be an easy case,” Warzog said. He leaned in with his face so close she could smell the bacon grease in his pores. “If you make us work for this conviction, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Maybe you should investigate. You might be surprised at what you come up with.”
Warzog grabbed her chin in his meaty hand and squeezed. “I hate a smart ass.”
Lara glanced around to see if a camera was in place, but even if it was, Warzog had probably shut it off.
He put a recorder on the table. “I want a confession. Don’t make me hurt you.”
The door burst open and a younger, suited man rushed in. The briefcase in his hand made Lara apprehensive.
“I’m Mark Harris, assistant DA.” He grabbed the third chair and sat, but acted like a man who didn’t plan to stay long. “I can offer you aggravated manslaughter on a plea deal. We accept that you may not have meant to kill Kirsten when you stunned her. This deal works well for both of us.”
Lara understood that the offer of a deal meant their case was weaker than they wanted. What had they found out? “Did you get the autopsy results? How did Kirsten really die?”
“This deal is a take-it-or-leave-it proposition.” The DA pushed papers across the table. “If you don’t sign this, we’ll charge you with murder and book you into jail. The case against you is solid.”
Lara pushed the papers back. “I didn’t stun Kirsten and I’m not pleading guilty to anything.” Her stomach growled loud enough for them to hear.
“Why didn’t you eat your sandwich?” the DA asked, looking at the untouched food. “Feeling guilty?”
“It’s not in my program. I’d like a can of V8.”
Warzog laughed. “This ain’t a restaurant.” He stood and so did the DA. “Lara Evans, you’re under arrest for the murder of Kirsten Dornberg. Stand up and turn around.”
Lara’s heart sank as she let him cuff her.
“Anything you say, can and will be used against you…”
Lara tuned him out, breathing from her stomach to keep herself calm. She had to think straight. At the jail, they would let her make a call and she had to decide who to contact. If she called Jackson, he would probably be able to find a lawyer who would help her. But if she called the employment commissioner, he might post her bail to keep her from talking. Did she have even a chance of staying in the competition?
