Whether he was the killer or not, he definitely had a reason to be distraught. He had just found out that his wife-to-be was cheating on him, and planned to run away. Or had he? Had he been hiding the letter?
“I guess.” Steven deflated, the wind going out of him like a balloon that had been popped. Even his eyes darkened.
“Where did you find the letter?” Ryan found a spare glove in her pocket and pulled it on, carefully putting the letter in an evidence bag.
Steven sat down in his chair, hanging his head in his hands. “It was in a drawer she kept at my house,” he said finally. “I was packing her belongings up.”
Ryan had worked long and hard to develop her poker face, so she didn’t let her expression change. Grief affected everyone differently. Maybe he was the type that couldn’t bear to see the reminders.
“Are you going to handcuff me?” Steven asked, defeat in his eyes.
Ryan and Dane exchanged a look, then Ryan shook her head, apparently having built a rapport with the seemingly broken man. “You’re not under arrest,” she assured him. “We just want to talk to you.”
“You think I killed Charles and Cairo.” Steven’s words slurred a little. That was worrisome. Ryan hadn’t seen any alcohol around. Was it sleep deprivation, or had he been drinking earlier? He had seemed fairly lucid.
By the time Ryan got in her patrol car, after putting Steven in the back, he was asleep.
“Sleep deprivation?” Dane asked quietly, looking at Steven in the backseat.
“Probably,” Ryan replied. She would keep an eye on him during interrogation and see how that went. If he showed any other signs of something, to the hospital he would go.
But if he was sleep deprived, why was that? Was it the reminders of Cairo? Or was it because he’d been up late last night staging Charles’s body as elaborately as he had staged Cairo’s?
An hour and a half later, Steven sat in an interrogation room, with Ryan and Dane =watching through a two-way mirror. He had been put there to stew, to think. Instead he just looked exhausted.
Ryan was going to go in first. She, above Dane, had developed a better rapport with the potential suspect. He wasn’t under arrest, not yet. They needed to hear a bit from forensics and put their ducks in a row before they could do that.
Ryan walked in and sat across from him, watching as he stifled a yawn. As those rude things always did, it made her hide a yawn behind her hand. “How are you doing?” she asked Steven, trying to keep her voice conversational. “Sorry about the wait.”
Steven shrugged. “Tired.”
“Not enough sleep?” Ryan didn’t have to try and sound sympathetic about that. She knew all too well the signs of severe sleep deprivation. But that was the life of a homicide detective, one who went after the worst people on Earth.
“Something like that.” Steven scrubbed a hand across his face.
“Let’s go over your whereabouts for the last twenty four hours.” Ryan flipped over a notebook, a pen next to it. Although questioning and interrogations were recorded, she preferred to have her own notes to refer to.
Surprise flickered across his face, something that surprised Ryan in turn. Was he surprised that they were starting with that? He had to know that he was a suspect. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation changing some of his patterns.
“Woke up, worked until about six pm, I think.” Steven’s gaze shifted to the right. “Then I went to Sports for the rest of the evening. Went home around nine. Slept until I got up to go to work at seven.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Ryan asked neutrally.
“I talked to the bartender,” Steven said. “But no, no one else was home. You could also talk to my secretary about when I left and when I arrived.”
But basically, the crucial time periods were not corroborated. Ryan wasn’t certain how she felt about that. Steven seemed like such a convenient suspect. It was true, however, that the majority of homicides were committed by someone known to the victim. And Steven was connected to both.
Ryan made a note to visit the bar later that afternoon to corroborate the times he gave. “Did you go to that bar often?”
Steven snorted. “Cairo was there almost every damn night.” His words turned derisive. “Probably seeing that bastard.”
“She met Charles there?” Ryan noted that down.
“Probably.” Steven scoffed. “And then there was that damn poker night.” He shook his head. “Bastards, all of them.” He was gritting his teeth now, as if he couldn’t stand to remember something. “I saw Charles there, last night.”
Dane and Ryan exchanged a look. That… was significant. “About when did you see him?” Ryan checked the quick timeline the ME had established about his death. He had likely died within a few hours on either side of 9pm. That put Steven without an alibi right in the middle of the prime window.
“Dunno.” Steven scowled. “I was three drinks in.”
“What were you drinking?” She was guessing it wasn’t beer.
“Bourbon.” Steven’s gaze was challenging.
Ryan just nodded. They continued working their way through the rest of his timeline, establishing details, the little things. But there was still nothing he could give to establish when he had gotten home, no witnesses that could corroborate it.
“Would you be okay if we talked to your neighbors to see if anyone remembers you getting home?” Ryan asked, sitting up in her chair. They’d been in there for an hour or two, and she was starting to get sore.
Even worse, Liv was still tugging at her conscience. She wanted to go check on her and make sure she was okay, but she had to stay with the suspect.
“Let me guess
