Her instincts were telling her now to keep pushing. “Who is it?”
He leaned forward. “David Masters. His assistant. Or former assistant now. Claims he quit because the guilt was too much. Interviewed him myself.”
“David Masters.” She thought back to that first day she went to Fenrir. Jared had stopped by the desk outside Lucas’s office.
“David,” Jared greeted.
Damn, she didn’t even notice him. She had a vague idea of what he looked like, but never really paid attention to him.
“What’s on your mind, Detective?” Sharpe asked.
“Do you know where Masters is?”
“We have an address,” he said. “Brooklyn. Red Hook.”
“We need to go see him.” Masters was the key to proving Lucas’s innocence.
“Now?”
She was already getting to her feet. “Something tells me if we don’t, we might not find him until it’s too late.”
They took a cab to Brooklyn in Red Hook, the traffic light enough that they made it fairly quickly. On the way, they discussed how they would approach Masters and ask him questions. In the last couple of hours, Sofia realized just how smart Sharpe was. He wasn’t just a good detective, but a strategist as well.
Anticipation thrummed in Sofia’s veins as well as anxiety and dread. Masters wouldn’t expect them this early in the morning. Unless he wasn’t there anymore.
No, Masters would stay where he was. If he really was out to frame Lucas, he wouldn’t disappear until the job was done. But was putting Lucas in jail really the endgame? If it was Masters, why frame him for this? Was he somehow connected to the kidnappers?
Masters’s neighborhood was one of those places that was on the cusp of being gentrified, but his building was still old and rundown. Good thing for them, because that meant that security was virtually nil. They were able to gain entry by simply waiting for a neighbor to leave and slip in before the front door closed.
“Apartment 2B,” Sharpe said.
They climbed up the steps and found themselves in front of Masters’s door. Sharpe lifted a hand and knocked. When there was no answer, he did it again, this time louder.
There was a shuffling from inside and then the door opened. “Detective? What are you doing here?”
Sofia blinked. This was David Masters? He looked so young. He was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, but she supposed if he was in a drab gray suit, no one would notice him. So … ordinary. Brown hair, brown eyes, straight nose, and a chin on the weak side.
“Good morning, Mr. Masters. Sorry to barge in on you so early. But we just wanted to inform you of Mr. Anderson’s arrest.”
He breathed a sigh, his hand going to the base of his throat. “Thank goodness. I hope you bring justice to those two dead men.”
“We wanted to make sure you were all right and to ask you some questions,” Sofia said.
Brown eyes looked straight at her as his fingers stroked his collarbone. “I remember you. You came to visit the office a while ago.”
“Yes, I went to interview Mr. Anderson,” she said. “About the murder of Thomas Dixon.”
"And you left without doing anything. Not even taking him in for questioning.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “As you know, he can be very convincing.”
“Well, thank you so much for stopping by.” He made a move to close the door. “I—”
She shoved a hand against the door. “We have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Just to make sure our case is solid,” Sharpe assured him.
Masters hesitated, but pulled the door wider. “All right.” He gestured for them to follow him.
Despite being small, the apartment looked tidy and clean. Again, it was so ordinary. There was a couch, a flat-screen TV, some books and magazines laying around. “Can I offer you some water? Tea?”
They declined, but accepted his invitation to sit on the couch, while he sat across from them on the easy chair. “What would you like to know, Detectives?”
“You said that Mr. Anderson was alone that night of Fraser’s murder?”
“Yes. His personal bodyguard, Mr. Reyes, had a family emergency that night, and the security team was shorthanded. So that night, he went home alone without any detail.”
Sofia mustered all her training to try and keep cool. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to arrest Lucas, but it was the shirt that tied it all together. “Do you have access to Mr. Anderson’s townhouse?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I’m not a personal assistant. I work strictly at the office.”
It was Sharpe who followed up. “And you never handed him any documents at home? Do errands? Or maybe he left his briefcase and you had to run it to him?”
“Never.”
They continued to grill Masters, but he was as cool as a cucumber and never wavered in his statements. Sofia was growing frustrated, because she just knew Masters was hiding something.
“I think we’re done here,” Sharpe declared as he got to his feet. “Thank you so much, Mr. Masters.”
Sofia took her time getting up. “Yes, thank you.” She wanted to wash her mouth after saying that to him.
“Anytime, Detectives.” He got up and walked them to the door. “Anything you need from me, just ask. I feel awful about the way those two died. And then those pictures …”
Sharpe turned around slowly. “Yes, it was terrible, wasn’t it?” His gaze turned down to the floor, but before that, it flickered at Sofia so quickly, she could have missed it.
“Yes. All the blood on Fraser. And Mr. Dixon … his head smashed in like that.” His chin trembled. “I still have nightmares.”
It took all her strength not to clap at Masters’s award-winning performance. Her heart rate picked up, and she prepared herself for what was to come.
“Yes, it was tragic. But,” Sharpe’s gaze lifted so it met his, “I didn’t show you any pictures. In fact, I never mentioned Dixon until you told me and the captain that he had his security team lie for him about the night of Dixon’s murder.”
He gave
