by Barker, Kira
The brief smile she flashed me told me that she was actually proud of me—the first pleasant surprise of the day, really.
“You do that. If they only give you one call, call me. I’ll make sure that everything is taken care of before you can get bored in a holding cell.”
I hugged her briefly, desperately needing the human contact to align my inner turmoil with the tough facade I’d donned. Inside, I was both shaking with fear and screaming with anguish—but outside I was calm and collected, with only a hint of nerves showing. After all, that was only appropriate in a situation like this.
Then I grabbed my coat and purse and stepped into the elevator, ready to face whatever the world would sling in my face.
Chapter 19
Detective Donahue turned out to be younger than I’d expected, only a few years my senior. He was wearing a tan coat over his suit, the tie knotted perfectly, his short salt-and-pepper hair lending him an air of sophistication that I wouldn’t have associated with someone of his chosen profession. His eyes were alert and missed nothing, I was sure, snagging to mine immediately as soon as I stepped out of the elevator.
“Ms. Thompson,” he more stated than asked as I came to a halt in front of him, shaking his offered hand. “I’m Detective Donahue, with the Chicago police department. May I ask you a few questions, if this isn’t a bad time for you?”
Very polite, but I didn’t quite buy it. He definitely subscribed to the creed that you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar—but as I had no reason to get grumpy with him, I inclined my head.
“Of course. I’m just surprised that you would come here to look for me.” He must have seen the stampede of agents pass, but I hoped that the police didn’t have a tracker in my phone, too.
“I was told that I might find you here,” he offered. “Would you mind coming down to the precinct with me?”
I’d expected as much, even if it made me uncomfortable.
“Am I a suspect in whatever you are investigating?”
He was quick to shake his head and even offered a small smile. “Of course not. But unless you want to be escorted there by some uniforms, I thought I would spare you that hassle and drop by myself. My car is parked just outside. No need to ride there in the back of a squad car. I hear that can be bad for business.”
So much for the question of how long it would take for the kid gloves to come off, but I appreciated him being so circumspect about this. It boded well, compared to Agent Smith’s tirade.
“Lead the way, detective. I know a good donut shop on the way downtown if you have a few minutes to spare?”
“Thank you, but we aren’t allowed to accept anything that could be viewed as bribes,” he replied. “Unless, of course, you’re hungry?”
I shook my head as I followed him outside, in passing nodding at the slightly anxious doorman. “No, thank you.”
I would have preferred taking a cab over arriving in the unmarked sedan, but it was better than the squad car. Just as the detective helped me disembark, the doors to the precinct opened, admitting Darren. He looked tired and gaunt, the perfect picture of the devastated fiancé who had just been informed that the woman he’d intended to marry was dead, and had likely spent half of the day in a harshly lit interrogation room. I didn’t buy any of that for a second, but then I knew what a phenomenal actor he was when he wanted to be. His eyes briefly skipped over me but moved on after a second, so I did the same as I walked in the opposite direction from him, looking somber but neither alarmed nor panicked, I hoped. Donahue stopped behind me to give Darren his condolences as he shook his hand, making me guess the source for the information of my whereabouts. Of course Darren knew about the Sunday meetings—and it wasn’t like the real-time information wasn’t just a click away for him.
Anger raced up from the churning pit of my stomach, but I forced myself to remain outwardly calm. If I was going to do this, I’d better get it right the first time, and emotions had no place in this scheme.
The detective led me inside, then through the rabbit warrens of desks and on into what looked more like a TV prop of an interrogation room than I’d expected the real deal to be. The two-way mirror looked so fake that there was no mistaking it, and both the table and chairs had seen better days. I was glad that I’d worn a somewhat longer dress today so that I wouldn’t snag my pantyhose on the seat. There was a second man in rolled-up shirt-sleeves and no jacket already in the room, looking like he would kill for a cigarette and a burger—Detective Wessex, he introduced himself. Detective Donahue took my coat and offered me refreshments. I eagerly accepted the water and coffee but declined the food. I had a certain feeling that I would very soon get a good look at the originals of the pictures Agent Smith had waved in my face, and I didn’t need to embarrass myself by hurling up my ill-timed breakfast.
I briefly wondered if I should have put on airs reminiscent of Sharon Stone, but kept my knees perfectly crossed with my hands planted in my lap as I leaned back in my uncomfortable chair. Donahue took the seat across from me, with his partner to my right. At my nod, he turned on the recorder before he looked at me with what he probably thought of as his serious face.
“Ms. Thompson, do you have an idea why you are here today?”
I could have given him a smart-ass answer, but miming the Ice Queen sounded like a much better plan.
“I have. I’m sure that by now you will have looked up your file on me, and found a note there that I’m currently working as an informant for a certain Homeland Security agent of the name of Eva Smith. You probably met her in the lobby downstairs while you were waiting for me—provided you didn’t already have a briefing with her? The reason why I’m here is, I presume, connected to the death of Daliah Jones, Darren Hunter’s fiancée.”
Wessex gave a grunt to hide his surprise at my candor, but Donahue was much better about his game face.
“And your connection with Mr. Hunter is?”
I paused, wondering how to phrase this in a way that didn’t end with probation. Wessex interrupted me before I could even open my mouth.
“We’re homicide, not vice. We frankly don’t give a shit about how you make your money, unless it is directly linked to our case.”
I wondered if I should ask him to get that in writing, but decided to be just vague enough about it that, should I need it, a skilled lawyer could talk my way out of it.
“We met in early summer last year. That turned into a relationship that lasted several months. As such things go, we broke it off when our personal issues become unsurmountable. I left the city for a while, but upon my return we seamlessly resumed the physical side of what we had going on.”
“And by that you mean…” Donahue prompted.
I gave him a fake if bright smile. “We’re fucking. That’s what you want to hear, right?”
Wessex frowned, but Donahue just let that wash over him as if I’d stated that yes, I bring my dresses to the dry cleaner’s.
“You were aware of the relationship that Mr. Hunter and Ms. Jones had?”
I nodded. “As was anyone who opened a gossip rag in the past months. I didn’t exactly keep tabs on him, but it was impossible to ignore that he had moved on.”
“And you still engaged in sexual intercourse?”
I wondered where they were going with that line of questioning.
“Darren Hunter is not the first man to cheat on his girlfriend, detective. I’m sure that in this very precinct we’ll find more than ten easily. Maybe even some in this very room.”
That did not sit well with either of them, but no one barked in my face.
“Do you know if Ms. Jones was aware of the affair?” came Donahue’s next question.
I shrugged. “She called me a cheating whore in front of a bathroom full of onlookers just this week. You don’t even have to rely on my word for it.”
“So the answer is ‘yes’?” he clarified.
I nodded. “Yes, she was fully aware of both our history, the na
ture of our past and present involvement, and that everyone knew. Well, let me take that back. For some reason she seemed to suffer from the illusion that I was trying to steal her man and make him break their engagement. That was not my intention.” It was a small lie, almost a white one, mostly to test the waters. Donahue raised his brows, but I got the sense that he believed me.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier for you if that had been the case?”
“I honestly didn’t mind either way,” I offered. “What I could have done without were her attacks, but besides that, I wasn’t unhappy with our arrangement.”
“Attacks?” Wessex dutifully gobbled up that tidbit.
I shrugged. “I understand that no woman is happy when her boyfriend cheats on her with his ex—or seeks his thrills elsewhere—but most don’t verbally abuse the other woman, repeatedly, in semi-public places. She got easily offended and agitated, to the point where I was afraid that she would get physical any time now.”
“Did she?” Wessex asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’m sure that if it had come to that, you could watch the video of it online somewhere.”
Donahue took over again. “When was the last time you saw Ms. Jones?”
I felt the need to swallow repeatedly as the memory of her dead eyes staring up at me rolled through my mind, but suppressed the impulse.
“Saturday early afternoon.”
“And that was where?”
“At a cabin at Blue Ridge Cabins.”
No one batted an eyelash, so I presumed that they’d already heard that tale from Darren. Now I could just hope that the details we gave would match.
“Why were you there?” Wessex inquired.
“Because Darren told me to be there.”
Donahue’s frown was as fake as they got. Considering how composed he’d been so far, I figured it was feigned. “Do you know why he did that?”
My smile, on the other hand, was real, even if a little forced because of the latent anxiety inside of me swelling again.
“To fuck me. What other reason would any man have to call his mistress over to a remote location?” I hated referring to myself as that, making me realize just how much my personal insanity had increased over the past days.
“So let me get this straight,” Wessex stated. “He called you to join him and his fiancée at that cabin?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t specify what exactly he had in mind. He just told me to be there.”
“If you had to take a guess…” Donahue, again.
“No, I don’t think he wanted to have a threesome,” I offered. “But that’s a question you’d have to ask him yourself. I don’t think Daliah would have been thrilled about the idea.”
“That never came up in conversation?” Donahue asked.
“No. And the moment she saw me there, she went ballistic. Understandably so, I figure. She apparently thought it was a romantic weekend getaway.” As all the bitches from the bathroom stand-off could corroborate.
Wessex frowned. “It wasn’t?”
I shrugged. “Would you call your mistress over if you were trying to appease your wife, detective? My guess is that he wanted to sit us both down and fight it out, so he could then continue to screw us both in peace.”
“I presume that didn’t go over so well?” Donahue questioned.
“She ran outside after screaming up a storm,” I replied. “That’s when I saw her last.”
Wessex cleared his throat. “And after that?”
“After that, Darren and I drove back to the city, made ample use of his bed, and I left when it was time to return home.”
Donahue asked, “Do you remember when that was?”
I replied with a smile. “It’s been a long time since anything I did with Darren Hunter was on the clock. I have no idea. I think it was early evening when we got to his house, and about two in the morning when I left.”
Wessex gave something between a choke and a laugh. “And you spent the entire time fucking?” At Donahue’s glare, he cleared his throat.
“I don’t know what your impression of me is,” I told him, “but I’m not a twenty-bucks-a-pop street-corner whore. If you don’t believe me, you can check the GPS data on my car’s nav system or my phone. Provided you get a warrant for either, of course. If you intend to, please let me know, because then this talk is over and I will insist on calling my lawyer.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that. It was easy to see now why Darren had insisted on not plotting our statements. It was hard enough to keep to the minimum of details with what I had to work with. With more info, I feared I could have easily run myself into a corner there.
“That won’t be necessary,” Donahue was quick to say, trying to defuse the situation. “Do you know what Mr. Hunter did after you left?”
“No. He didn’t call me, and I didn’t see him until just outside of the building.” I paused, debating on how much to divulge, but decided that there was no harm in dumping some shit on them that was absolutely useless. “Listen, I know that this all sounds somewhat weird. I get it. I admit, I wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable with what was going on, either. I have no moral objections to cheating whatsoever, but my entire life, I’ve been a very discreet person. Darren and I ran into each other a few times by mere accident. It happens. When he called to tell me that he wanted to see me at the cabin, I assumed that this was going to be a weekend that I spent entirely indoors, and he would come sneaking in whenever he could, leaving her none the wiser. Obviously, we weren’t on the same page there. Maybe he was using me to break up with her. I don’t know. What I do know is that she looked heartbroken, and he didn’t go after her but rather left with me. We had sex, I went home. End of story.”
The two detectives followed my explanation not exactly with bated breath, but Wessex nodded once I had reached the end.
“Would you mind taking a look at the crime scene photos?” he asked.
I didn’t have to feign the shudder running through me. “Yes, I do mind.” He raised his brows at me, but I didn’t back down from my frown. “You just said you’re not vice? How about you call your colleagues from over there and ask them to show you a best-of compilation of the shit they regularly have to deal with? You may think what you wish about the morals of my former profession, but the fact is, all of us are very attuned to the violence that constantly happens to women in particular. Do you think I honestly want more of that in my life?”
That didn’t deter the asshole from pushing the pictures at me, and I just couldn’t not look at them. I’d only gotten a passing glance at them before, but with the entire gruesome display right before me, I couldn’t help but feel like I was going to vomit any moment now. When I finally got my gorge to stop from rising, I pushed the stack back across the table.
“What do you expect me to say to this? Did I like the girl? Hell, no. But no one, least of all a naive, stupid twenty-year-old deserves this.”
Donahue’s features were lacking anything that looked even vaguely like compassion, making me nervous that I was laying on the pathos too heavily—but I would have said the exact same thing if I hadn’t been responsible for this.
“What do you think happened?” he asked, needlessly nodding down at the pictures now spread out in front of him.
“How am I supposed to know?” I said, hoping that the way I had to swallow repeatedly could be attributed to the general horror of the display. “You’re the police. Isn’t it your job to speculate and then find out the truth?”
They exchanged glances before Wessex answered.
“Ms. Thompson, we know about your cooperation with Homeland Security. We also know why you returned to the city. Please answer the question.”
So this was what they wanted to hear from me—that I knew that Darren had killed her.
“Honestly? I’m not sure that you do, because Agent Smith herself seems to have a very skewed view of what my use in this is,” I offered. “Did your fellow detective here tell y
ou that she stormed into a meeting I had today, pretty much blowing my cover? Not that I actually have a cover. I’m cooperating with her, yes. I tell her things that I hear or see that I probably should keep to myself. The reason I came back was because I was bored out of my mind waiting tables for six months when I could be mingling with the rich and beautiful of the city instead.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Wessex reminded me, tenacious dog that he was.
I stared blankly at him before I opened my mouth again. “You want me to say that I think Darren Hunter killed her.”
“Do you?” Donahue asked.
“What I want is not up for debate,” I reminded him. “But I wouldn’t know when he should have had the time. As I said, we left right after Daliah ran out of the cabin. Sure, he could have driven back there after I returned home, and returned just in time for you to pick him up, but that sounds rather far-fetched to me.”
“Who said anything about her being murdered?” Wessex, this time.
For a moment, panic flared up inside of me that I had slipped, but it subsided after a few moments.
“Remember when you told me you were homicide? You don’t do anything else but solve murders, right?” I shot back.
“Is there a need to get defensive, Ms. Thompson?” Donahue wanted to know.
“I think we are done here for today,” I replied frostily. “I’ve told you all I know, which, admittedly, isn’t much. I’m not going to let you abuse me as a tool to fabricate lies.”
Neither of them looked taken aback at my accusation, but Donahue was at least smart enough not to let me goad him into losing his cool.
“Thank you for your cooperation. I’m sorry if you felt like anyone was trying to twist your words. But you must understand, the circumstances are curious in nature.”
“What’s so curious about a girl getting lost in the woods after she blindly ran out, heartbroken and feeling betrayed? It’s incredibly sad this happened—“
