Luka liked how she made the choice seem easy—talk to the mean policeman or the nice doctor who might get you what you want.
Tassi seemed to realize it was her best option as well, meekly walking with Leah past the men. “No, I don’t need to call Matthew. Whatever it takes to get this all over with, that’s what I need. Where are we going?”
“Not far. Just upstairs,” Leah assured her.
Dean and Hansen seemed at a loss at first, but quickly fell in line behind the two women, both unwilling to let Tassi out of their sight. Luka hobbled behind the group as Leah escorted Tassi, Dean, and Hansen from the morgue, through the ER and into the secured CIC suite of interview rooms.
Luka was starting to see the new partnership with Leah and her CIC as his secret weapon. She’d personally facilitated a number of confessions, closing cases that he might not have been able to otherwise. He appreciated the way she treated every subject—witness, victim, or perpetrator—with the same care and consideration she’d given her patients in the ER, and as a result, interview subjects seemed willing to talk to her even when it wasn’t necessarily in their best interests.
Waiting for him in the hallway outside the monitoring room between the CIC interview rooms were Ray and Krichek.
“Perfect timing,” Luka told them. “Ray, can you take Mr. Dean into Interview Room One, please?” It was the room filled with toys and child-sized furniture, designed for their pediatric victims. Luka rather enjoyed the idea of the oversized former fed being forced into such an unfamiliar environment. Anything to knock him off his game. “I’ll talk with Mr. Hansen in the waiting area while Dr. Wright begins with Mrs.—with Tassi,” he amended after she gave him an admonishing glance.
“Me?” Hansen asked. “I’m here for Tassi. I’d like to stay—”
“Confidentiality issues, I’m sure you understand, Dr. Hansen,” Leah interjected. Before anyone could protest, she led Tassi into the second monitored room, the lock clicking shut behind them.
Ray sized up Dean, the two exchanging the challenging grins of alpha males preparing for battle, and they vanished into the first room.
“Krichek, you can monitor,” Luka told the other detective.
“Where’s Harper?” Krichek asked impatiently. “Why isn’t she here?” Usually mundane tasks like recording and monitoring interviews fell to the most junior member of the team.
“She’s dealing with an OD victim in the ER. Unless you’d prefer to trade places?”
“An OD? Yeah, no thanks.” He headed into the monitoring room where he could observe and record the interviews from the two rooms. Luka would have to improvise, relying on his phone to record his discussion with Hansen, but he didn’t mind. His main objective had been to separate Hansen and Tassi. Dean and Tassi’s objectives were easy to read, but the chiropractor’s motives intrigued him.
“Right this way,” he told Hansen, leading him around the corner to the small waiting room. Thankfully it was empty. They took seats in the vinyl chairs so that they were facing each other. Luka set his phone on the coffee table between them. “I’ll be recording this interview. And, of course, you’re free to leave at any time.” One of the advantages of interviewing subjects at the CIC was that there was no issue of police custody—the CIC was a neutral, civilian-run location. He clicked the recording app, gave the date, time, and identifying information, all the while observing Hansen.
The chiropractor sat leaning forward, his gaze darting past Luka to the doorway as if searching for escape. Was he that desperate to be with Tassi? Was he afraid of something she knew and might tell Leah? Did Hansen have something to hide? Luka took his time, adjusting the phone’s volume and positioning it in front of Hansen. A bead of sweat dribbled into the other man’s eyebrow.
“I want to thank you for your help and cooperation,” Luka started. “I know how upsetting it was, finding your friend’s body yesterday. I’d like you to walk me through everything that happened. Take your time; no detail is too small.”
Hansen stared at him, his knuckles white as they clenched his knees, the effort of keeping in his seat so great. “I already told you everything.” He half stood. “I really should see if Tassi needs—”
“Sit down and let’s start from the beginning,” Luka said in a firm yet non-confrontational tone. “It won’t take long and we’ll have you back with Tassi. It’s good that she has such supportive friends to help her in this time of grief.”
“Thank you,” Hansen murmured as he sank back into the chair.
“How long have you known Tassi? And Spencer?”
“Pretty much since they moved here—they hadn’t even unpacked when I met Tassi at the club looking for a tennis partner. Then she introduced me to Spence later that night over drinks.”
“And your wife? Is she also friends with the Standishes?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “My wife and I are separated—well, not physically, but emotionally. We don’t spend any time together anymore. The house is in both of our names, and with the market the way it is, we’d lose too much money selling, so we each have our own wing, barely ever see each other.”
“And is she acquainted with the Standishes?” Luka repeated his question.
“She knows them, sure. Everyone at the club does. But she has nothing to do with any of this—she couldn’t have, she’s been in Italy all month, isn’t due back for another two weeks.”
Nice of him to rule out his almost-ex as a potential killer, but Luka was much more interested in Hansen’s own viability as a suspect. “You mentioned that you were invested in Spence’s fund?”
“Yes. Not the first round, though. I got in on the second, thanks to Tassi putting in a good word for me.”
“Were you ever concerned about the fund? Any irregularities? Any suspicions?”
Hansen seemed taken aback. “No. Never. Wait, you’re not
