“Do you know where he is now?” Mendez asked.
“I don’t know. He could be at work. He probably is. It’s raining. He can’t golf.”
Mendez got up and left the interview room, going across the hall to the break room where Dixon and Hicks stood watching the closed-circuit television showing the interview.
“Has that information been leaked to the press?” he asked. “The number of stab wounds?”
“Not officially,” Dixon said. “Multiple stab wounds is all we’ve released. If the press has a number, they might have gotten it from the morgue.”
“I can’t believe whoever did that to Marissa Fordham would have counted the number of times he stabbed her,” Hicks said. “He was in a rage, a frenzy.”
“I know,” Mendez said. “But forty-seven? That’s pretty damn close to right. We can’t discount that out of hand just because it seems unlikely. What do we know? Maybe that’s a significant number to him for whatever reason. We need to talk to him.”
“He’s not going to come in voluntarily,” Dixon said. “We’ve got no evidence of anything, Tony. Remember evidence? It’s what we use to prove guilt in a court of law. If we try to bring him in for an official questioning now and he lawyers up—which he’ll do because, hello, he’s a lawyer—we’re fucked.”
“He could be a killer.”
“You’re not going near him,” Dixon said calmly.
“No, because I would fucking kill him for what he’s putting her through,” he said honestly, pointing at Sara on the monitor.
“We need to get him to talk to Vince,” Dixon said. “And you need to calm down.”
61
“Bill,” Dixon said, “would you give us a minute?”
“Sure, Boss.” Hicks raised his brows at Mendez as he exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.
Dixon looked at him hard with the laser blue eyes. “Are you sleeping with Sara Morgan?”
“No!” Mendez said, sure he probably looked more guilty than offended.
“Because I’m watching your body language with her, and I’m seeing ownership there.”
“Vince is holding her hands!”
“I’m not worried about Vince. I’m worried about you,” Dixon said. “He’s giving her the Uncle Vince treatment. You busted her husband’s face yesterday—and don’t give me that ‘he hit me first’ bullshit. He may have hit you first, but you hit him to hurt him. I don’t like that, Tony.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that. He looked down at the floor. Dixon waited with the patience of a man who had interviewed a few hundred criminals in his time.
“I feel bad for her,” Mendez confessed. “She’s a beautiful, talented, intelligent woman. She doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he’s treated her.”
“And you’re the white knight riding to her rescue.”
Mendez said nothing.
“That’s admirable, Tony,” Dixon said. “I mean that. You’re a good guy. Any mother would be proud to have you for a son. But you’re walking a fine line here. If it pans out that we like Steve Morgan for this murder, I can’t have one single solitary drop of impropriety muddy the waters.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dixon studied him for long enough that he wanted to move away from his boss’s scrutiny, but he held his ground like a good marine.
“I’m not trying to be a hard-ass here, Tony,” Dixon said. “But I want you to remember two things. First, you’re a detective and you’ve got a murder to close. Second, Sara Morgan is vulnerable right now. She’s going to go for the first safe port in the storm. Don’t jeopardize your case or your career just to get your heart broken.”
Mendez worked the muscles in his wide jaw, embarrassed at the whole conversation. Jesus. He felt like a high school kid getting dressed down by some girl’s father for trying to unhook her bra in the movie theater.
“No, sir,” he said.
Dixon, sitting on the break room table with his arms crossed over his chest, looked completely unconvinced.
“You’re not to be alone with her,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
The sheriff heaved a sigh. “Darren Bordain is waiting for you in two. I want you to take a few minutes and get your head where it needs to be, then you and Bill go have a talk with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dixon gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder as he left the room. Hicks came back in with a Snickers bar from the vending machine down the hall and the same raised-brow expression he had left the room with.
They both sat down on the table and stared at the television monitor. Vince was still talking with Sara, asking her questions about Marissa Fordham.
“Did Marissa ever hint or let on to you that she and Steve might be involved?”
“No. She was never anything but friendly and kind. It’s hard to describe Marissa. There was always this feeling of openness about her, and yet, you knew there was something more going on deeper down. I’m sure that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, I think I know what you mean,” Vince said. “Some people have a lot of layers. Only the top one looks uncomplicated.”
She nodded.
“So, even though Marissa wasn’t giving off that vibe, you still had that feeling something was going on.”
“From Steve. He avoided talking about her. He was secretive about meeting with her.” She paused, weighing what she was about to say next. “Steve and Wendy and I ran into Marissa and Haley during the music festival, and Haley looked at Steve and called him Daddy.”
The admission clearly hurt her. Vince patted her shoulder.
“Don’t take that too much to heart, Sara,” he said. “Haley has some confusion about the daddy issue.”
Turning from the monitor, Hicks gave Mendez a sideways look. “You going back in there?”
“No.”
“You need a cup of coffee?”
“I need a drink.”
“Later.”
“Damn straight.”
“Bordain is in two waiting for us.”
“I know,” Mendez said, still staring at the monitor screen. It irritated him that Vince was touching her. Just as it irritated Vince when Mendez came within two feet of Anne. Hmmm ...
“Come on,” Hicks said, sliding off the table. “Let’s go see what the Golden Child has to say for himself.”
Darren Bordain sat in the interview room impeccably dressed in a pinstriped suit that looked like it might cost more than Mendez’s car. He smiled easily as Mendez approached the table and stretched out his hand.
“How is your mother doing today?”
“She’s been busy telling everyone about her harrowing brush with death last night,” Bordain said. He sat back in his chair, relaxed, with his legs crossed. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter lay on the table in front of him. “I’m sure you’ll see it on the news at eleven.”
“Do you not believe her?” Hicks asked.
“My mother isn’t given to lying.”
“But you don’t seem very concerned about it if someone really did try to kill her.”
“They didn’t succeed,” Bordain pointed out.
“You all left the restaurant last night around ten thirty, right?” Mendez asked.
“Yes.”
