“Coming, Mother.” Terry laughed. “She’s a few years older than I am, and look at the abuse I have to endure.”
Cynthia waved him off. “What are you going to do? It’s Maddy. She’ll never change.”
-
Chapter 12
“PROUD YANKEES ISN’T GOING TO BE OPEN. You do realize that it’s Saturday,” Terry mumbled to her, while holding his phone to his ear. He was working on reaching out to the local banks.
Saturday. Sometimes the stark emptiness of her life would hit her. How she had gotten to this point where her life revolved around hunting down killers even on the weekends. She wasn’t like other women her age who were carting a van full of kids around to soccer practice. In fact, even the thought of children made her nauseous. Surprisingly, it wasn’t so much the childbirth or the resulting responsibility that came with kids, but rather the disappointment she would open herself up to. It would only be a matter of time before the father of her children let her down. Guess men were reliable for one thing.
That thought leapfrogged to Blake and what he needed to discuss with her at dinner. She replayed what he had said a million times, trying to hunt for any trace in his tone that would reveal whether it was good news or bad. And maybe it was that the conversation she’d had with him had been two days ago or her fear of being vulnerable, but the inflection in his voice changed with each playback, and she was starting to spin a negative connotation on his words. After all, there’s no way it could be good news. It was too early in their relationship for him to suggest moving in together, and surely, he would know that she’d shoot that proposal down.
Maybe she needed to end the relationship now. That would solve everything before it exploded anyhow, and it would prevent Blake from embarrassing himself. And protect her heart. Toby had worked her over enough, no doubt dooming any future romance because of what he’d done to her. He had broken her heart.
“Are you going to turn?” Terry blurted out.
He tore her from her thoughts, and she realized she had almost missed the parking lot for Proud Yankees. She cranked the steering wheel and pulled into a spot. A few vehicles were in the lot.
Terry ended his call and stuffed the phone into a pocket. “Not getting anywhere with the banks today. Most of them are closed now. On Monday, I’ll get started on them again if we haven’t caught this bastard yet.”
It was two in the afternoon, only six hours from her dinner date with Blake. She had to get it off her mind and focus on the investigation. Claire Reeves deserved as much. Maybe she should cancel the dinner.
“I don’t see Parsons’s Chevy.” She got out of the car and slammed the door shut when her cell rang. She answered formally.
“Oh, I love it when I call your cell.” Blake’s voice was playful.
It made her smile. Damn him. Just the sound of his voice sent her into a downward spiral despite her best intentions of not getting in too deep.
“You sound so professional. It turns me on.”
“I sound professional because I am professional, Blake,” she fired back.
His end of the line went silent, making her feel like an arse for using the tone she had. He hadn’t wronged her—at least not yet. “My mind’s on a case. I’m just about to question a suspect.”
“My girl’s playing cop again.” His smile lightened his voice.
“Yeah, that’s me. Playing cop.” She laughed.
“All right, I just wanted to let you know that I’m back in town and looking forward to tonight. We had quite the abrupt ending to our last conversation.” He paused, and she sensed he was fishing for an explanation as to why she had hung up on him.
The simple answer: Hershey, the demon dog.
“I’ll explain tonight,” she said.
“See you at eight. You want to meet there? Or do you want me to pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you there. Bye.” She ended the call.
Terry was watching her with an interested expression. “That must have been lover boy.”
“Oh, shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder as she brushed past him. “Hurry up. We have work to do.”
“So you’ve got yourself a hot date.” And Terry wasn’t going to let this go. “Are you going to wear those diamond earrings he bought you? The dangly ones?”
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction that she’d even heard him. She kept walking.
They reached the front door of the business, but it was locked. The lights were off inside. She was just about to leave when a couple of car doors slammed shut. She hurried off in their direction to the other side of the building from where she had parked. There was another lot.
Three cars were all running; the people must have exited from a side door.
Madison approached a man in a blue ski jacket who was working at scraping ice off the windshield.
He stopped what he was doing but didn’t look at them. “We’re closed,” he said and resumed chipping away at the ice.
Just the sound of it sent a chill up Madison’s back. “Is Barry Parsons here?”
He lifted a wiper, let it slam down, and then pointed toward an old Mazda. Rust was eating away at its body, making it look like it had a rash. The car was idling and someone was behind the wheel.
“Thanks,” Madison said.
“Yep.”
Madison and Terry made their way to the Mazda, a woman passed them a curious glance as she drove past them and out of the lot.
Closer up, it was clear to see the person in the rusted car was Barry Parsons. She recognized him from his DMV photo. She pegged him as tipping the scales at three hundred pounds judging only from what she could see through the window. He had a head of gray hair, and his face was heavily creased. His brown eyes were beady, the bridge of his nose was very narrow, and he had two chins.
She tapped on the glass. “Stiles PD. We’d like a word with you.”
He reached for the door panel and a motor whirred, but it wasn’t having any effect on getting the window to lower.
“We need to talk to you,” Madison repeated, adding more urgency to her voice.
But Barry still didn’t make an effort to open the door. He kept pushing the window button, though.
“It’s frozen shut,” Terry said.
Madison glanced at him, then back to Barry. “We have questions about Claire Reeves.”
Barry stopped moving. He stared straight ahead, and Madison sensed he was scheming something.
“Open your door, Mr. Parsons,” she demanded.
He cast her a nervous glance and put the car into gear.
“Stop!” Madison drew her gun, held it level with his head. “Stop there!”
He gunned the gas. Ice and snow projected from under the spinning tires, and the car failed to get any traction. He held up his hand closest to the window, put the vehicle into park, and then held up both his hands.
She put her gun back in her holster. “Turn the car off and get out. Now!”
He nodded and complied. The minute his feet hit the pavement, she spun him around, pushed him against the car, and cuffed his hands behind his back. “You’re coming with us.”
“I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t do it.”
Madison rolled her eyes at Terry as they loaded him into the back of the department car. “We’ve never heard that before.”
But, wait a minute… Do what? They hadn’t told him that Claire was murdered.
-
Chapter 13
BARRY PARSONS WAS SEATED ACROSS from Madison and Terry in interrogation room one.
“You said you didn’t do it,” Madison began. “Do what exactly?”
“She’s dead, isn’t she? I heard about it on the news.”
Madison scanned his eyes and that part seemed to be the truth.
Barry tapped his fingers on the
table. “She was such a bitch.”
Madison tossed crime scene photos across the table. “Is that why you killed her?”
“I didn’t do it.” He fidgeted in his chair as if he had ants crawling on his rear end.
“Then why did you try and run from us?” Madison glared at him, holding her ground. Maybe she could have this tied up in time for dinner. That would be worthy of a celebration.
“I knew how it would look given all that she had done to me.”
“What did she do to you?”
Barry sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He avoided all eye contact.
“Never mind, we’ll get back to that question.” They knew about the business aspect, but Madison wondered if that’s all there was to the conflict between Barry and Claire.
Barry swallowed audibly. “I’m talking too much. It’s just when I heard about her murder, I figured it was just a matter of time before you came after me. I thought it would take you longer.”
“We’re not slow, Mr. Parsons,” Madison began. “We take our jobs seriously, and finding killers is our main priority.”
“And I didn’t do it.”
“As you’ve said.”
“Then maybe you should believe me.”
“The guilty say that, Mr. Parsons. The guilty make that plea repeatedly, trying to convince themselves of their innocence.”
“No. That’s not the case with me.” His chest rose and fell at a faster rate. Sweat glistened on his brow. “Oh God.”
“Why don’t you tell us where you were on Wednesday morning between two and three?” Madison leaned across the table, her arms extended, hands clasped. Her persistent gaze forced his eyes to hers.
“Sleeping.”
“So someone can attest to that?”
Barry got up and started pacing on his side of the room. “No, no one can.” He ran a flattened hand over his mouth.
“Sit down,” Madison commanded.
Barry looked at her and glanced at Terry, who was next to Madison taking notes.
“Fine.” Barry dropped into his chair again.
“You’re telling me that sleeping was your alibi, but no one can verify this?”
He shook his head. “I know how this looks. I look guilty. I’d have motive to kill her—” He choked on his words. “But I couldn’t kill another human being. Not even Claire.” His beady eyes were full of panic.
“Tell us how you knew Claire Reeves.” She knew the basics from the file, but she wanted to know more. Something in his eyes and his body language made her suspicious of his innocence. There were the obvious hesitation marks, easily explained by a nervous, inexperienced hand, one that was exacting its own revenge in a fire of emotion. “Mr. Parsons, answer the—”
“Fine.” He took a labored breath. “When I met Claire, I thought she was a godsend. She came in, rescued my company, but as the saying goes, when something looks too good to be true, it usually is.”
“How did she rescue your company?”
“She was really good with computers. She streamlined all our processes, brought us up to this century. We went from fifty on staff to about half because we upgraded to advanced machinery that could do the same job for less than their salaries.”
This just expanded their pool of murder suspects by another twenty-five people. “We’re going to need a list of everyone let go.”
“Sure, I can get that for you.” He made a movement as if he was about to get up again.
Madison motioned with her hand for him to remain seated. “Later. How did the partnership break up?”
“She wanted out.”
“She forced you to buy her out?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t like the improvements had even affected cash flow yet, at least not enough to cover her buyout. It takes years for automation changes to show on the bottom line.”
“How did you feel about her forcing you to buy her out?”
He remained silent.
“Mr. Parsons?”
“I suppose it’s best that I disclose everything?”
“Most definitely.” Madison crossed her arms. She cast a glance at the clock, and for a moment wondered if she’d have to cancel her plans for the evening.
“We were involved personally, as well.”
Barry looked at them. “As I can tell by your faces neither of you believe me.” They remained quiet. “I didn’t always look like this.” His face turned red from anger. “But when your life turns to shit, getting fat tends to happen. The drinking, the eating, the gambling.” He paused, locking eyes with Madison. “Again, I can tell you that don’t believe me, Detective. Well, here’s your proof.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a wallet, took out a photograph, and slid it across to Madison.
It was a picture of him with Claire—at least a portion of his current self. Madison showed it to Terry. Her inclination was to dismiss the authenticity. What you saw in a picture wasn’t always the truth, and the fact he carried the picture around only testified to his attachment to Claire.
She put it back on the table and pushed it toward Barry Parsons. She didn’t say a word. He picked it up and looked at it. Tears filled his eyes, and he sniffled, seemingly lost in a memory.
“They were good times. She was so beautiful.” His voice faltered. “I lost my wife because of her, too.” He wiped at his chubby face, trying to make the stains of tears and heartbreak disappear.
“To me, you had every reason to kill Claire. You lost everything because of her. Your wife, your business suffered, your—”
“Health. Just say what you’re thinking. I’m one big, fat, ugly bastard now, and I blame her. I’ve spent the last few years wishing that I could go back in time. I nearly went bankrupt! I was left with only the literal shirt on my back. I had to refinance my home to help scrounge up enough money to buy her out.”
“How could she force you to buy her out?”
He let out a rush of air. “It was in the contract. All stipulated in the contract.” He shook his head. “Can’t believe that I was such an idiot. So naive.”
“The contract stipulated that should she wish to leave, you would have to buy her out, no matter when that was?”
“Yes, and pay the current market value for her share of the business.” His cheeks reddened. “Which at the time, with all her damned improvements, came to over one point five million.”
“One point five million?” That was the size of the one deposit in Claire’s account.
“She bought in for half.” He stopped talking a moment. “She used her damned charm and pocketbook to get her in the door. My wife warned me, too, but I just wouldn’t listen. I was too distracted by her tight dress pants and low-cut blouses.”
“We’re going to need a sample of your DNA.”
He sat straighter. “For what?”
“For comparison to what was found at the crime scene. Were you sleeping with Claire on Tuesday night, Mr. Parsons?”
“Hell no!” He slammed his fists on the table. “Like I told you, I was sleeping alone!”
“We can get a warrant for your DNA.” Madison was on the hunt. Barry had one point five million reasons and his pride to want Claire dead. She got up and knocked on the door for an officer to come in.
“No, please,” he begged. “There were more she did this to…what she did to me.”
The officer looked at Madison, and she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“Tell us,” she said. He was likely referring to the people whose names Cynthia was compiling from the USB sticks, but it was best to hear him out.
“I-I don’t have names.”
“You’re going to have to tell me something more convincing, Mr. Parsons. We’re aware there are more people she did this to.”
“But do you know about the one after me?”
> “How do you know about this other company?” Based on the information from the USB sticks, Barry Parsons was the most recent business partner.
“That part doesn’t matter, does it?”
She hitched her shoulders. “It might.”
“I followed her and confronted her with what she had done to me, how she ruined my life. She laughed.” He snorted. “Can you believe that? My entire life had become a pile of shit, and she found amusement in it. Anyway, she wasn’t too happy to see me. She pretty much forced me out of her house—”
“You were in her house?”
“Within the last year, yes. But, anyway, I noticed legal paperwork on her coffee table. I recognized it from before. It was the same contract as ours. I confronted her about it and asked how she could go and do what she’d done to me to someone else. My expressed concern for others was met with another arrogant laugh. I didn’t even know the woman I had slept with behind my wife’s back.” His eyes glazed over. “My wife, she was a good woman. She didn’t deserve all I put her through.”
Madison’s patience level was quickly reaching its limit. “And the contract…from the table?”
“I’m getting there. Now, I just caught a glimpse of a first name.”
“One name? A glimpse? That’s all?” She was irritated that he had dragged this ordeal out as if he had some rare jewel to offer.
Barry crossed his arms. “I would think one would be better than none?” He looked at Terry, who nodded. “Aaron.”
-
Chapter 14
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT IDIOT thinks that one name is earth-shattering news. One name, that’s all?” Madison was complaining to Terry after Barry was shuffled off to have his DNA taken. “What is one name going to do for us? He doesn’t even have a company name.”
“It might make a difference.”
“Guess we’ll just run around Stiles calling out all Aarons.”
“You can be very pessimistic. Has anyone told you that?”
“My mother, all the time.”
Justified Page 7
