Tempting Justice, Sons of Sydney 2

by Fiona Archer

  “But—” Harper went to speak.

  Adam cut her off. “Hold it. Is London under arrest?”

  “No, she’s a person of interest.” Snyder spoke swiftly and barely glanced at Adam, giving the impression the big man’s interference was more of a nuisance than a threat.

  “I know you’re doing you job, mate, but answering our questions isn’t exactly out of the norm.” Adam’s voice was deceptively low but the underlying thread of scorn was hot enough to strip paint. “More importantly, she’s the sister of two fellow detectives. She’s going willingly, and you’ve just stated she’s not under arrest.”

  London closed her eyes for a second. Derek and Aidan. Her parents. They’d be so worried. Her mother would be frantic.

  And Heath? He’d taken such good care of her last night, held her so protectively in his arms.

  She closed her fist and squeezed against the urge to plead for Seth to find him. Now. Right now. She wanted Heath’s arms around her, telling her this was all a bad dream.

  Adam glanced over at Detective Reed. “Do Heath or her brothers know you’re picking her up?”

  “That would be inappropriate under the circumstances, but I’m sure our sergeant will inform them shortly.” Reed glanced at his partner before he turned to London. “Let’s go, Ms. Shaw.” He gently placed a hand on London’s lower back and steered her around the table.

  Seth stepped closer. “London, I’ve left a message on Heath’s phone. Don’t answer another question. We’ll get a lawyer organized to meet you at the station.” He glanced to Adam who tapped the screen of his phone.

  She nodded. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion as Detective Reed pulled her forward.

  “Here’s your bag.” Harper reached over the table and handed London her work bag. “I’ll pack up your stuff for you.”

  London glanced back and held her free arm out to take her bag. She spied her laptop on the table and froze.

  The laptop’s screen showed her Facebook live feed was active.

  A new horror consumed her, nearly taking her legs out from under her.

  Her readers, fellow authors, and anyone else had just seen her being hauled away by the detectives. She could see a deluge of comments flashing up on the screen under the feed.

  “Turn it off,” she whispered to Harper.

  The café owner looked at the laptop’s screen and with now wide-eyes saw what was happening.

  At the moment, London needed to be focused and fighting to prove herself innocent; the floodgates of trial by gossip and innuendo had burst open around her.

  And she was powerless to stop it happening.

  ****

  Heath finished reading Vargas’s killer’s signed confession and tossed it back on his desk. He looked at Derek, sitting across from him at his own desk. “Montgomery practically boasted of his deed. All family vengeance and righting wrongs.”

  “Vargas was far from an innocent victim. The duty sergeant told me Montgomery and his sister had the same mother but different fathers and took their surnames. Regardless, there was no report of the sister’s rape. And since it appears Vargas didn’t know the girl beforehand, he would have no idea Montgomery was a threat.” Derek sighed. “For that matter, neither would the staff at the county jail.”

  “So Vargas walks into a shitstorm, and Montgomery must have thought all his psychotic filled Christmases had come at once.”

  “Our case is still unfinished.” Derek waved to the crime scene report from the wrecking yard. “No prints except for the teenagers. No DNA belonging to Vargas. There’s nothing to link him to the crime scene. All we have is Benny’s witness statement and that Vargas refused to provide an alibi.”

  “We need to track his movements during those missing days he was gone from Seattle. The owner of the car he supposedly drove—”

  “Shaw. Justice. In here. Now. Leave your phones at your desks. I don’t want any interruptions,” Sergeant Avery called from the doorway of the squad’s meeting room.

  Derek raised his eyebrows at Heath as both men rose from their seats, dropped their phones in their top drawers as ordered and headed over.

  “Close the door,” Avery ordered Heath as he followed Derek into the room.

  Heath obeyed. “What’s up, Sarge?” he asked as he sat next to Derek and across the table from their boss. “You getting heat from upstairs over Vargas?”

  “No,” Avery stated. “Lieutenant Brannigan called me to say he was pissed you guys would likely now be denied your collar, but that he’s expecting you’ll cover all the bases with the case.

  “We plan to,” Derek assured him.

  “Good.” Their sergeant sighed. “Look, Derek, there’s no easy way to break this news. Your sister, London, is being picked up as a person of interest in the murder of Henry Banks.”

  Heath jerked back in his chair.

  “What the fuck?’ Derek roared as he sprang to his feet.

  Heath joined him.

  “Henry Banks, the author?” The weird guy they’d met last night? “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  But Avery’s face was a stony mask. “Reed and Snyder looked her up on Facebook and saw she was holding some fan chat thing at Seven Dishes.”

  Harper’s café?

  A rolling heat coiled in Heath’s gut. Snyder, the arrogant prick, would drag London out of there.

  Christ, she must be terrified.

  He wanted to call her, reassure her, but, Jesus, what could he say?

  He needed facts.

  Heath started with the obvious. “Why is London a suspect?”

  “Banks was stabbed in the eye with a pen engraved with London’s name. We believe the murder weapon belongs to her.”

  Heath let that sink in a moment. “You’re saying London overcame a grown man and stabbed him in the eye?”

  Avery shook his head. “Banks was knocked out first. He’s got a head injury. Then he was stabbed.”

  Stabbing someone in the eye was a cold, deliberate act, especially if the victim was unconscious. He couldn’t imagine London being that ruthless.

  Then the obvious dawned on Heath. “I was with London last night. In fact, both Derek and I were at London’s book signing when Banks turned up for a few minutes then left.”

  Avery’s eyes widened, and he cast a quick glance at Derek who was glaring back at their sergeant. “You both need to give statements. In fact, you can do that before you leave this room. Did either of you have any interaction with Banks?”

  Christ, talk about one complication after another. “The guy grabbed London’s arm during a short conversation they shared, and I told him to let her go. That’s it. He ran out of the bookstore a minute or so later.”

  Avery turned to Derek. “What about you?”

  “No.”

  “Sarge, you’re missing the point. I was with London last night.”

  Avery frowned. “All night?”

  Heath shrugged. “I had to leave for a meeting at 2:30 a.m.”

  Avery sighed, and Heath would swear he saw regret flash in the man’s eyes. “Banks was killed sometime after 4 a.m. His neighbor, a doctor, saw Banks enter his apartment when the doctor came home from his shift at Swedish Medical Center.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous. My sister is no killer.” Derek leaned over the table, his weight resting on his closed fists. “I want to see her.”

  “No. Your actions would be in breach of more regulations than I care to count. Don’t bother asking again.” Avery slid his gaze to Heath. “And considering what you just shared, you’ll stay away as well.”

  Heath started to tell their sergeant to go file something in a dark place of his anatomy, but the man glanced at his phone as a message came through.

  “They have her and are on their way.” Avery surveyed Derek and Heath. “I know you’re both pissed, but we are doing this by the book. That way I won’t have to suspend your asses when, hopefully, we confirm London is in the clear. I’ll send in someone t
o take your statements.” He sent both men a pointed look. “Stay away from the interrogation rooms. I’ve left orders you’re to be removed if seen in the area.”

  Faulkner came in and led Heath to Avery’s office to take his statement. Kennedy stayed in the meeting room with Derek. The process was relatively quick, helped by fact Heath knew to clearly state the facts as they happened and leave out any supposition.

  Once back at their desks, the men checked their phones.

  Two messages. Both from Seth relaying what had gone down at the cafe. Thank fuck his brothers were at Seven Dishes when Snyder and Reed arrived.

  He relayed the news to Derek, who sucked in a deep breath.

  “I owe Seth and Adam a beer or twenty.” Derek lifted up his phone. “I need to call Aidan, then Dad. I don’t want mom and gran to hear this shit from anyone but us.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll go downstairs. Adam and Seth were following Reed and Snyder all the way here. Seth says Adam’s lawyer is en route.”

  At Derek’s nod, Heath ran to the elevator.

  He and his brothers had their moments, but whenever Heath had waded into the proverbial crocodile-infested waters of life, Adam, Zach, and Seth had been there with a boat and a carton of beer covering his back.

  This time, he needed their help for London and her family. Had Henry simply picked up her pen by mistake with all the other free stuff she had on her table at the signing? Maybe Henry had tried to use the pen as a weapon and the killer stole it from him and turned the tables?

  Who the hell knew? But he and Derek needed to find those answers and in a way that didn’t cost them their jobs and London her freedom.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  London gripped her hands in her lap. The interview room’s gray walls crowded in on her as she avoided glancing at the large mirrored window on the opposite wall. Two-way. Who was standing on the other side watching her? Detective Snyder with his hard stare? Derek? Heath?

  Her belly knotted. Heath. What would he be thinking? He was with her last night. Had he told the detectives? Would that be enough to prove she wasn’t at Henry’s place?

  How long had she been here? Thirty minutes? An hour? After refusing to say anything other than declining Detective Reed’s offer to get her some water, she’d been left sitting in a black plastic chair next to a table. There were three other chairs—two opposite and one beside her.

  She glanced at the chair next to her. Reserved for her lawyer?

  Had Adam called one like he said? She didn’t know the older Justice brother at all. Maybe he’d changed his mind, thought she could be guilty? Had someone called Derek? Her parents?

  She dragged in a breath, hating the way it hitched, but unable to stop herself. As each second passed in the too warm, silent room, panic rose inside her, threatening to sweep her away like a flooded river washing over its banks.

  Here she was, having been escorted to Police Headquarters by two detectives. Surely this was a mistake? How could they think she’d murder her friend?

  And with her pen?

  Stabbed through the eye, right into the brain.

  How could… She swallowed, not able to stop the shudder running through her body. How could anyone do such a thing?

  And to someone like Henry? Tears flooded her eyes. She wiped at them with her now crumbling Kleenex. Her sweet friend would never have that kind of enemy. For God’s sake, Henry avoided human contact. The idea he’d go out and antagonize anyone was ludicrous. The fact he’d befriended London was totally out of character.

  And, oh heavens, endeared him to her even more.

  Oh, Henry.

  She spun in her seat at the sound of the door opening behind her.

  Detective Snyder walked in holding a manila folder in his hand. Reed followed carrying a notepad. Both men sat in the chairs opposite her. The second detective’s expression was more guarded than the shorter blond haired Snyder, whose challenging gaze didn’t leave her.

  Was this good cop, bad cop?

  She opened her mouth to ask what was happening, but was interrupted when a man entered the interview room.

  Tall, with short brown hair and dressed in a charcoal gray suit that looked tailored, along with his crisp white shirt, he strode to the chair beside London. “Detectives, I’m Braedon Justice for Ms. Shaw.”

  London stared. Justice? A relative of Heath’s? He hadn’t mentioned another brother.

  Braedon placed his leather briefcase on the desk but remained standing—forcing the detectives to look up to meet his gaze. “I’m aware my client came voluntarily to answer questions surrounding the death of her friend Mr. Henry Banks.” He removed a yellow legal pad from his briefcase before setting the case beside the table. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a shiny ebony pen from the inside jacket pocket. Only then did he sit down next to London.

  London stared at the man next to her as he removed the lid of his pen. “I, uh—” she broke off, not sure where to start.

  Snyder opened the case file as he addressed Braedon. “Detective Justice called you?”

  “Is it any of your business which of my cousins contacted me?” Braedon Justice’s tone was mild, but his espresso gaze bored through Snyder.

  London caught the way Snyder sat up straighter in his chair before she glanced back to her…lawyer.

  Cousins? From Heath’s adopted mom’s family?

  Braedon looked to London. “Adam called me while Seth called Heath.”

  So Heath knew. She glanced over to the huge mirrored window. Was he there?

  “London.”

  Braedon’s firm tone drew her gaze and held it even as the two detectives opposite moved in their chairs, clearly impatient to get started. “When you’re asked a question and are in any doubt, look to me. If at any time I step in, let me do my job.” He spoke with such authority she didn’t dare disobey. Even so, it was his aura of confidence and his compelling stare that had her nodding.

  “Okay.” She faced the detectives.

  Reed pushed a button on a controller to begin the video recording and named everyone in the room for the record. “Ms. Shaw, you’re here to answer questions regarding the death of Mr. Henry Banks.”

  “And Ms. Shaw is also here of her own free will,” Braedon stated.

  “She is.” Reed nodded. “For now.”

  Her belly dropped at the detective’s qualifier. As if at any moment he’d formally charge her.

  But she could clear herself. “Look, I’ve got an alibi for last night. We could—”

  “We’ll get to that soon, Ms. Shaw.” Snyder dismissed her words and opened the manila folder. “Mr. Banks’s body has been formally identified by his building’s supervisor, but for the record,”—he pulled out a photo and slid it across the table—“is this the man you know as Henry Banks?

  The photo was one his publisher used on his book jackets.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded croaky. She licked her lips and concentrated on the blond detective.

  Snyder nodded as he slid over another picture. “And is this your pen?”

  The photo showed a purple fountain pen lying on a stainless steel surface. The pen was engraved with her name and stained with blood. Henry’s blood. She closed her eyes. Her throat muscles tightened as a mixture of grief and horror engulfed her.

  “Ms. Shaw?” Snyder prompted.

  “Y—” Her voice caught in her throat. She coughed and forced out the words. “Yes, that’s my pen.”

  Detective Reed wrote a note on his pad before looking up. “When did you last see Mr. Banks?”

  “Last night at my book signing.” She tried to keep her breathing even as she spoke. Just answer what you know. “Henry turned up unexpectedly. He’d been invited but declined.”

  Snyder’s gaze sharpened. “Why did he decline?”

  “Social events aren’t his thing.” Weren’t. “He, uh…”—she swallowed—“he came and wanted to speak to me, but I had readers waiting for me to sign their books.” She shrugged
. “I couldn’t leave them. Henry seemed agitated when I said I would talk to him later, and he headed to another part of the store.”

  “So he was upset with you?”

  “Ms. Shaw can’t explain the thinking behind Mr. Banks’s rationale or state if he was upset with her. She can only impart what she witnessed,” Braedon stated. The underlying censure in his tone could not be missed as he addressed Snyder.

  Reed took the lead. “Tell us exactly what happened during the time Mr. Banks was with you last night.”

  London shared both conversations with Henry up to and including his dashing out of the store. “He just didn’t seem himself.” She raised her hands, palms up, in front of her. “I left a message on his phone, asking if he was okay, but he never called back.”

  Snyder glanced at a piece of paper in the file. “And that phone message was last night?”

  “Yeah, I called him from the restaurant I went to with my family.” She sighed. Was this part of their tactics, to draw out the process so she’d fold like a poker player with a dud hand? “This is a waste of time. I was with Heath last night. You can ask him. He’ll vouch for me.”

  “We have spoken to Detective Justice, and he confirmed you spent the night with him.”

  Relief washed through her. She let out a loud breath. “Then why—”

  “Mr. Banks’s estimated time of death was around 4:00 a.m., an hour after Heath left you this morning.”

  She could only stare at Snyder as her alibi evaporated into dust.

  London slumped in the chair, feeling buried under the weight of their suspicion.

  Braedon wrote on his pad as he asked, “That’s still to be confirmed by a post-mortem?”

  “True.” Reed agreed. “But Banks has a neighbor, a doctor coming home from his shift at Swedish Medical Center. Banks was entering his apartment when the guy got out of the elevator.”

  London glanced at Braedon. He said nothing more, but wrote a note on his paid.

  “Is there any way you can prove you never left your house?” Detective Reed asked, pen in hand poised over his notepad.

  She hadn’t phoned anyone. Who would at 4 a.m.? All she’d done was chat on Facebook.