Haunting Jordan pcm-1

by P. J. Alderman

  “Of course, most innocent people also don’t lie during a police investigation,” he said mildly. “I’d say that isn’t helping your stress level.”

  Busted. She closed her eyes. “I didn’t kill Ryland,” she insisted.

  “I never said I thought you did. But you have a pretty good idea why Drake thinks you did, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze. “Why are you agreeing to represent me, when you know I’m holding back on you?”

  “All clients lie to their lawyers, for all kinds of reasons.”

  “That’s certainly a cynical outlook.”

  He shrugged. “You’ll confide in me when you’re ready.”

  She took a deep breath, then another. Straightening her shoulders, she nodded to Jase. “Let’s do this.”

  “Attagirl.”

  Climbing out, she hit the button to lock the car, then pulled her jean jacket close, chilled. He placed a hand on her arm, stopping her before she could step off the curb. “Just remember, I’m here to protect you from any strategies Drake may use to trap you into saying something you shouldn’t. Check with me before you answer his questions, got it?”

  “Yeah. And Jase—don’t push this guy, okay? He’s passive-aggressive, and for some reason I don’t understand, he’s holding a grudge.”

  Jase cocked his head for a moment, studying her, then nodded. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

  They waited for a break in the traffic, then jogged across the street. Darcy stood waiting for them on the other side of the front door. The inside of the police station was utilitarian, furnished with standard-issue metal desks. Black file cabinets had been shoved against the walls at haphazard intervals. Rectangular fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. No jail cells in sight, thank God.

  “Drake’s already here and waiting.” Darcy directed them down a hallway to a room toward the back of the building. “I’ll be observing from the other side of that glass mirror.” Holding Jordan back for a moment, she said, “Simple answers, don’t volunteer information. And—”

  “—check with Jase before I say anything,” Jordan finished for her. “I know.”

  Darcy searched her face for a moment, then nodded. “Good luck.”

  The conference room was empty except for a gunmetal gray table and four folding metal chairs with padded seats. The walls were painted white but had their share of nicks and smudges. Arnold Drake rose from his chair as they entered.

  “Mrs. Marsh.” He shook her hand, his grip slightly damp. “Please, have a seat.”

  A man of slight stature, Drake had the rumpled look—though lacked the charm—of the fictional Lieutenant Columbo. She wondered whether he had a physical condition that caused his hands to sweat, or whether he was nervous. Observing his confident, relaxed demeanor, she suspected the former.

  “J. Cunningham,” Jase supplied as he indicated where he wanted Jordan to sit—across but kitty-corner from Drake. He chose the chair directly across. “Mrs. Marsh’s attorney.”

  Drake’s brow had risen at the mention of Jase’s name. “In my book, Counselor, people who retain high-priced legal talent such as yourself are guilty as hell.”

  “Come now, Detective—I just happen to live here in town.” Jase gave him a relaxed smile. “Mrs. Marsh has agreed to this interview for the purpose of helping you with your investigation. However, only a fool would talk to the police without legal representation.”

  Jordan gave him a sideways glance. He’d morphed into a glib, polished attorney, right before her eyes.

  He asked that they skip any small talk and get right to the business at hand, managing to leave the impression that Jordan’s time was valuable and not to be wasted. Even so, they were forced to wait while Drake reviewed his notes. Jordan’s tension grew as the silence stretched out, though she recognized the interrogation tactic for what it was—an attempt to rattle her even before the interview began.

  When she shifted in her chair, Jase shot her a quick warning glance.

  “I’d like to review once more the events leading up to the time of the accident, Mrs. Marsh,” Drake said finally. “What time did your husband arrive at your condominium in Malibu Canyon?”

  “Around seven P.M., I believe. Ryland had called around six to tell me he was leaving his office in Beverly Hills.” Jase pressed his foot down lightly on hers, reminding her to restrict herself to answering the question.

  “And he came to your residence—excuse me, the residence you both still owned until the divorce finalized, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Drake made a note, then continued. “He remained at the condo for how long?”

  “Until just after nine P.M.”

  “Two hours. That’s quite a long time, Mrs. Marsh. What did the two of you talk about for two whole hours? You weren’t on good terms, according to the newspapers.”

  “Don’t answer that,” Jase interrupted. “Respond only to the content of your conversations with your husband.”

  “We discussed the upcoming court date and the terms of the settlement.” That much was true, though “discussed” was probably too mild of a term. Ryland had been furious with her.

  “Did you offer your husband any alcoholic beverages?”

  Jordan hesitated, wondering what he was getting at. “He asked for, and I gave him, Scotch on the rocks.”

  “Why would you give him hard liquor if you knew he would be driving back after dark on dangerous, winding canyon roads? Was it your intent to get him drunk? Did you hope that he would lose control of his car?”

  “Don’t answer that.” Jase pinned the cop with a hard look. “You know better, Detective.”

  Drake shrugged. “How many drinks did your husband have?” he asked, acting as if he found it absurd to have to rephrase the question.

  Jordan’s breathing sped up slightly. “Just the one drink, Detective. Ryland knew better than to drive while intoxicated.”

  “Surely the autopsy included a blood alcohol test,” Jase said. “What were the results of that test?”

  “That his blood alcohol level was within legal limits,” Drake admitted.

  “Then move on.”

  Drake gave Jase a quiet look, then returned to his notes. “Did you and your husband argue about the terms of the divorce settlement?”

  Jordan waited for Jase’s nod, then answered truthfully. “No.” They hadn’t argued about the settlement, per se, but she knew she was splitting hairs. Dangerously.

  “Then what did the two of you take two whole hours to chat about?”

  “You’re fishing,” Jase said. “Do you have any more questions for my client of a substantive nature?”

  “Who suggested you meet that evening, Mrs. Marsh? Was your little get-together your idea, or your husband’s?”

  Jordan tensed, knowing they were now on quicksand. “Ryland had called me earlier in the week, expressing a desire to talk. I suggested that he meet me at the condo after we’d both dealt with the workweek.”

  “So the rendezvous was your idea.”

  Jordan frowned at his use of the term “rendezvous,” and Jase held up a hand. “Asked and answered, Detective. Ryland Marsh initially suggested the meeting, and my client suggested the location and time.”

  “Which is odd, don’t you think?” Drake asked in a bland tone. “After all, wouldn’t it have been more convenient to meet in town, closer to both of your offices? Did you have a reason for luring your husband out to the condo?”

  “I didn’t lure Ryland anywhere,” Jordan answered, increasingly irritated with his innuendos. “If you’ll recall from our original conversation, I wasn’t at work that day. The paparazzi were being annoyingly persistent because of the civil suit, so having Ryland come out to the condo, where we could talk in privacy, made sense.”

  “But you suggested the location, didn’t you? Had Mr. Marsh wanted the meeting to take place closer to his office?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And you demanded th
at he meet you at the condo, which conveniently happens to be located at the end of a very dangerous canyon road—”

  “Don’t answer that,” Jase interrupted, placing his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Move on, Detective.”

  Drake glared at Jase, then seemed to pull himself back. “Did you and Mr. Marsh argue that night?” he asked abruptly.

  “We weren’t on good terms,” Jordan replied vaguely. She felt Jase tense beside her.

  “So you argued.”

  Jordan hesitated. “Yes,” she said finally.

  Drake pounced. “What about?”

  She tried to think of a way to answer without revealing the whole truth. “The divorce.”

  “But that’s not exactly true, is it?”

  “What are you getting at?” Jase asked.

  “What I’m getting at, Counselor, is that we have a reliable witness who claims that prior to that evening, Mrs. Marsh knew her husband was hoping for a reconciliation, and that she suggested the meeting to discuss it. That Mr. Marsh drove out to the condo, hoping to reconcile with his wife, who, it now appears, had no intention of doing so. That they argued violently. And further, that she had to have understood that her chances of a substantial divorce settlement were evaporating.”

  Jordan managed—just barely—not to show her dismay. He knew everything. Who had told him? “There wouldn’t have been a huge cash settlement, regardless,” she managed calmly as her mind raced. “Ryland had used most of our joint assets to fight the civil suits against him.”

  “Which means your only hope of benefiting from any kind of financial settlement was to ensure that your husband died, so that you could receive an insurance settlement.”

  “Don’t answer that,” Jase said, but Jordan slashed her hand through the air.

  “Any assets that still existed were in my trust fund, set up by my maternal grandmother at her death,” she said. “I didn’t need an insurance payout.”

  Drake flipped through his notes. “It says here that you purchased a home in Port Chatham recently, is that true? And that you needed a down payment for that home that exceeded the amount you could legally withdraw from the trust fund, correct? So you had planned to use any money you received from the divorce settlement to make that down payment.”

  “I didn’t expect to receive—”

  “If so, an insurance death benefit would’ve come in mighty handy, now, wouldn’t it?”

  “Don’t—” Jase began.

  “We also have witnesses who claim to have overheard an extremely heated argument between the two of you that night, just prior to Mr. Marsh storming out of the condo and driving away.” Drake leaned across the table, his gaze triumphant. “You had motive and means and opportunity, Mrs. Marsh. I should just arrest your ass right now.”

  Darcy opened the door to the conference room and came inside, leaning against the wall. Jordan found her presence enormously reassuring, given that she was moments away from hyperventilating.

  “This interview is terminated.” Jase’s tone was arctic.

  “Not by a long shot,” Drake snapped. “I still have questions for Mrs. Marsh.”

  “Even if your witnesses are as reliable as you claim,” Jase pointed out, “cutting the brake lines on a car is a premeditated act. And my client was inside with the victim at the time the lines would have been cut.”

  “She could’ve had an accomplice.”

  “And the moon could be made of cheese,” Jase retorted. “People like Mrs. Marsh don’t normally come into contact with killers for hire, as you well know. You can’t have it both ways, Detective. Either they argued and Ryland Marsh left in anger, with my client remaining inside the condo, indicating that she in fact had no opportunity to cut the brake lines, or the murder was planned in advance, which would mean that your questions regarding any argument that took place at the condo would have no basis for the crime committed.”

  “Bullshit, Counselor. She could’ve planned the whole thing in advance, then used the meeting to goad Marsh into an argument, in an attempt to ensure that he would drive more recklessly. Between the anger and the cut brake lines, the crash would’ve been a slam dunk.”

  “Ryland’s anger was always cold and controlled,” Jordan pointed out. “He never drove recklessly, and if he’d been angry, he would’ve driven even more methodically.”

  “Perhaps, but his judgment would’ve been impaired by the booze you insisted he drink, now, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’ve got nothing but circumstantial evidence and speculation, Drake.” Jase stood, his fingers tightening on Jordan’s elbow as he pulled her from her chair. “You have no forensic evidence to tie my client to the crime, and you’re basing all your suppositions on eyewitness accounts, which we both know can be flawed. Either arrest my client or let her go.”

  Jordan felt the blood drain from her head. Really, really bad way to phrase it.

  Drake shrugged. “Fine with me.” He stood and reached behind his back to produce a set of handcuffs. “Given Mrs. Marsh’s propensity to flit about the country, I have no guarantee she will stay put in Port Chatham during the investigation. I believe an arrest is warranted at this time.”

  Jordan’s breathing deteriorated to shallow gasps. “Easy,” Jase said under his breath.

  Darcy stepped forward. “I’ll place her under surveillance and guarantee that she remains in my jurisdiction for the duration.”

  Drake glared at her. “Just whose side are you on, Chief Moran?”

  “I’m simply protecting the rights of my citizens, Detective Drake.” He started to explode, and Darcy held up a hand. “Your case is circumstantial, Detective. You know as well as I do that Mr. Cunningham will have Mrs. Marsh out on bail ten minutes after your plane touches down in California, and your D.A. will be gunning for you.”

  “At least she’d be back in my jurisdiction.”

  “Bring me evidence of her fingerprints on the brake lines, or a fingerprint that can be tied to a person who has been in contact with Mrs. Marsh and received some form of payment from her. Better yet, corroborate your witness’s account of the events that night. Until then, I will guarantee that Mrs. Marsh won’t flee my jurisdiction.”

  Drake tossed his handcuffs onto the table, then gathered his notes together, his movements jerky. “If she has a passport, I want her to surrender it to you immediately.”

  “Though your demand typically requires a court order, my client would be more than happy to voluntarily hand over her passport to the Port Chatham police, since she has no reason to flee,” Jase inserted smoothly.

  Jordan was glad he had confidence in her willingness to stay put—frankly, fleeing was looking damn good to her at the moment.

  Drake shoved files into his briefcase, locking it. Straightening, he shot Jordan a look full of loathing. “This isn’t over, Mrs. Marsh. I’ll be back.”

  Jordan started breathing again.

  * * *

  DARCY suggested they go to lunch at a Chinese restaurant a block from the police station. The hostess seated them quickly, and a waitress immediately came over to take their order. Jordan wasn’t even certain she could eat, and the tension among them was only increasing the acid production in her stomach.

  “Of all the monumentally stupid things to do,” Darcy began, breaking the silence after the waitress departed, “keeping us in the dark tops the list.”

  Jordan shook her head. “I come to town, and I find out you already know I’m part of an ongoing investigation. So I say, casually, ‘Oh, by the way, Ryland decided he didn’t want a divorce after all, and we had a hell of a fight the night he died—’”

  “Yeah, you figured we’d think you’d done it—I get that.” Darcy rubbed her face. “But dammit, we can’t help you if we don’t know the facts. Drake blindsided both of us back there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what really went down that night.” Jase’s tone was mild.

  “All right.” She took a deep br
eath. “Ryland called me Monday night—three nights before the accident. He claimed he wanted to reconcile, that he’d made a huge mistake letting me go.” She shook her head. “I was stunned. He’d spent almost a year directing his lawyer to pull every stunt in the book to keep all of our assets in the divorce, and now he wanted me to take him back? I said no way and hung up on him.”

  “What reason did he give for the reconciliation?” Darcy asked.

  “That’s just it—he didn’t have one, at least not one that made sense. He called right back, begging me to listen and making a big deal out of how much he missed me, how the other women hadn’t meant anything, how much he loved me.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Right. I didn’t buy that for one minute. But after I calmed down, I thought the kindest thing I could do was to meet with him, hear him out, and try to find a way to let him down gently.”

  Darcy gave her a look of disbelief.

  “I know, I know. But I was married to him for seven years—I figured I owed him the chance to explain himself. Besides, I’d already committed to the house up here, and I didn’t want the divorce to drag out. Yes, I could’ve handled the down payment out of the small inheritance from my grandmother and some outstanding receivables from my therapy practice, but it would’ve required me to cash out long-term investments on short notice. The settlement from the divorce—a small amount from the sale of the condo—was sufficient and simply more convenient. So I called Ryland and asked him to meet me at the condo Thursday evening after work. My plan was to minimize the conflict between us, not goad him into a heated argument.”

  “Why meet him at the condo?” Jase asked.

  “You mean, did I lure him out there with the intent of murdering him?”

  He gave her a chiding look. “Drake was right to ask—the condo was much farther away for both of you than some bar or restaurant closer to town, right?”

  “But much less public,” Jordan pointed out. “And believe me, the paparazzi had taken every opportunity to follow us around. The last thing I wanted was to be the subject of another front-page article claiming that the divorce settlement was in contention again. We’d just managed in recent weeks to make it off the front page.”