by KyAnn Waters
They approached the house. Yellow tape flapped in the breeze. The delicate flowers that yesterday bloomed gloriously in the summer sun now lay trampled and broken. The glass panels in the sturdy front security door usually gleamed crystal clear, but reflected nothing beyond the smudged greasy film left by the fingerprint dust.
“We don’t have to go in,” Dawn said with her hands still resting on the steering wheel. “Mom wants you to come and stay at our house. She’s worried.”
McKenna carefully pushed the door open with her bandaged hands. “Not this time. Your family has always been there for me. I probably would’ve turned out just like Elliot if it hadn’t been for you and Scott…before he died.”
Dawn came around the car so McKenna could lean against her until her legs steadied. “Scott failed you. He was selfish.” Dawn glared at the dark sedan across the street. “Pigs,” she said disgustingly.
“They’re just doing their job.” She glanced at the unmarked car. “Probably worried I’ll leave the country.”
“What do you think?” Dawn hollered at the two men in the unmarked car. “Does she look dangerous? Go home! Leave her alone.” She walked with McKenna into the house.
They both stopped and stared at the blood. Dawn was the first to flinch but then walked over the spatters and stains as if nothing was amiss.
McKenna sank into the leather loveseat in the great room and lifted her feet onto the ottoman. “I’m scared. Detective Pearce appears to be very capable. If this investigation goes too deep into my past they’re going to find out about Scott. His family still blames me for his death.”
The click of Dawn’s shoes against the hardwood flooring echoed down the hall as she went to the kitchen. “Don’t go there, Mickey.” She returned with a diet soda for each of them. “I’ve been thinking about it. Everyone saw us leave the coffee shop together after yoga.” Dawn popped the top of her soda and took a drink. “I dated a traffic cop. They’re all the same, like sheep. Just lead them where you want them to go. If we want, we’ll make them believe we were with each other the entire night.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you suggesting that we went carousing all night? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, then, we’ll tell the cops we’re a couple.”
McKenna covered her mouth to keep soda from spraying out her nose.
Dawn reached over, clasped their hands together, and gently stroked the discoloring gauze wrapping her wounds. “Tell me what you did after you left the yoga studio. Don’t leave out anything. You won’t be lying, I will.”
“If you get caught, they’ll charge you with interfering with an investigation or something.” She shook her head. “No, in the morning I’ll go down to the station and speak with Detective Pearce.” If she could keep her head together and not do something as stupid as stare at his masculine face with chiseled features and his toned body built for getting the bad guys. God, he thought she was one of the bad guys. She put a hand to her forehead. Pain stabbed through her temples. The pressure seemed to build by the minute.
“You can’t worry about me, Mickey. You need to think of yourself—”
“I can’t worry about myself,” she interrupted. “I have to look at the bigger picture. Someone was in this house. If they got to Elliot, they can get to me. Go upstairs, Dawn, and look around. You could fill a swimming pool with the blood. Someone was capable of doing that, and it wasn’t me.”
“New plan,” Dawn said, the gears and wheels of her mind clearly churning. “You play victim.” She stood and paced across the room. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you hate to play games, but you do it so well.”
“I quit playing games when I killed my boyfriend!”
“Shut up! You didn’t kill him,” Dawn said impatiently.
“It amounts to the same. He’s dead, and it was my fault.”
Dawn ignored her. “I’m thinking.” She rubbed her forehead. “I still say we lie. What time did you get home?” She turned and stood with her hands on her hips.
“We are not doing this. Look at me. I’m not a stupid eighteen-year old girl afraid of her own shadow anymore.”
Dawn shook her head. “You didn’t learn anything from Scott’s death. You want to believe the truth will set you free. It doesn’t.”
“I wasn’t there this time. No smoking gun. No motive.” She laid her head against the back of the couch and covered her face with a throw pillow.
“No motive? Instead of a suicide note, there’s a note hinting at a motive.”
McKenna screamed into the pillow, muffling the sound. “You win. I guess I got home about midnight. Might have been a little later.”
“Where the hell were you?” Dawn furrowed her brows. “If I’d known you wanted to be out late, I would’ve jumped at the chance.”
“You had a date.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it grew late. You know how I am. I listened to the concert for a while after you left. I drove around then stopped for a diet soda.”
“Decision made. I’m going to the station and telling them I was with you.” Dawn sat next to McKenna again. “You don’t know what happened up there.” She pointed a finger at the ceiling. “I’m taking you home with me unless you promise to play up to the detective.” She smiled. “It won’t be difficult. He’s a hottie. Flirt, get his attention.”
“Oh, god. You’re warped.” She leaned back into the couch cushions and rolled her eyes. “Now you want to set me up with the man who thinks I killed my father.”
“Mickey, I’m scared, too. Obviously someone came into this house without tripping the alarm. What if whoever did this didn’t get what they wanted from Elliot? They could come back for you.” Tears slipped from Dawn’s eyes.
With startling clarity, she recognized Dawn felt the stress and fear as acutely as she did. “I’m going to be fine. I didn’t kill my father.”
“Please, let the detective get close enough to protect you even if he believes he’s looking for evidence against you.”
McKenna groaned. As much as she wanted to believe this was an awful dream she’d wake up from, the truth was that the nightmare was just beginning. Dawn made good points and perhaps, at least for the short term, she could buy some time with a few small lies.
“If this backfires, we’ll both end up in prison.” She stood up. “Albert Wells has been Elliot’s attorney for years. He’s not a defense attorney, but he’ll know who to recommend.”
Dawn sighed. “And in the meantime?”
“I make nice with the detective.”
“How nice?”
A flutter tickled her tummy. Damn good-looking men with big weapons. “As nice as I need to be.”
* * * * *
The following day, Dustin sat at his desk with his feet propped on the corner listening to Tyson describe in detail his date from the previous night.
“When did you find time for a date?”
“Dustin, my friend, unless you’re dead or the equipment is broken, there is always time for a little lovin’.”
“Don’t you think about anything besides sex?” Richard Jasper slapped a manila folder on the table next to Dustin’s feet. “Initial blood work results,” he said as an explanation as he walked past the desk toward the captain’s office. Homicide wasn’t Jasper’s forte. He worked the gang detail, but in a department the size of Olden, everyone’s cases overlapped. They didn’t have big city budgets.
Tyson read over Dustin’s shoulder while they quickly perused the findings in the file. “Interesting,” Tyson said.
And not what Dustin expected to read in the report. What he hoped would be an open and shut case clearly had a few twist and turns. He loved a challenging case, but this didn’t help McKenna Porter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, where he didn’t want to acknowledge, he’d hoped for a smoking gun…in someone else’s hand.
Tyson chuckled. “Our princess has some explaining to do.”
“Yep.” Evidently, life in the Porter castle was not as it ap
peared to the public.
“What time did her attorney say she’d be in?”
Dustin closed the file and tapped it on his chin. Damn, he wanted to find evidence that proved McKenna innocent. She was scared. He could see it in her eyes, but he’d also seen something else he found intriguing. Something, that as the detective assigned to the Porter murder, he needed to keep to himself or risk being taken off the case.
Dustin checked his watch. “She should be here any minute.”
Walking away from Tyson, Dustin wondered if the interview with McKenna would shed light on another possible suspect. He went into the interrogation room to ensure the video surveillance worked properly. The entire interview would be recorded. Most instances it became useful to use a defendant’s own words against them.
Dustin’s captain poked his head into the room. “Pearce?”
“Yeah?”
“My office.”
Dustin followed Captain Baird through the large room littered with desks and filing cabinets. Telephones rang and scanners reported activities underway in different parts of the community. Mostly domestic disturbances, DUI’s, car accidents, and support for other public services like the fire department.
Once in awhile there were crimes involving local gangs. Olden boasted an impressive record of solved cases verses those left cold. Dustin was determined to see this particular case to the end as well.
Tyson already sat in the office. “Close the door,” Captain Baird said. He moved to the far side of the room and sat behind his desk.
Captain Baird was well respected by the troops. Thirty years of service, a decorated officer, and an admirable leader. His officers didn’t just give him respect. He’d earned it working alongside them. “We’ve had an interesting detail develop in the last five minutes. I want your opinion on how to handle it.” He glanced at Tyson. “Where do we stand with Ms. Porter?”
Tyson looked at Dustin. Since the hospital Dustin had made it clear he’d deal with McKenna, and he told the captain, “I thought I’d handle the interview. She seemed nervous with me yesterday. Thought I’d use it to my advantage.”
The captain nodded his head. “Now for the interesting development. Tyson, you’ll handle this. Dawn Wilson is in room two.”
Dustin turned to Tyson and cocked an eyebrow. They had already learned of Ms. Porter’s friend. Bosom buddies since elementary school.
“I guess I’ll go have a talk with her.” Tyson stood up. “Good luck with the princess,” he said to Dustin.
“I met Dawn at the hospital. My friend, you’re the one who needs luck. If McKenna Porter is the princess, Dawn Wilson is the royal bitch. I think you’ve met your match.”
“Just a minute,” Captain Baird said as Dustin and Tyson headed for the door. “I think they might be in on this together. Give them enough rope to hang themselves.”
“Give us a little credit, Captain,” Tyson said with his hand on the doorknob.
The captain nodded his head and looked at the papers on his desk. “I’ve already had a call from District Attorney Butler.”
Nothing more needed said. Dustin and Tyson left the office.
Tyson nodded toward the main corridor. “Here’s the princess with her high-priced attorney.” An elegantly dressed McKenna walked into the room. Designer suit, cut perfectly to her svelte body, in a shade of sapphire blue that set off her blonde hair.
“She seems to have recovered.” Dustin tracked her movements as she walked across the room. Their eyes locked, and a crackle of awareness caused the hairs on his arms to tingle.
“Our princess could pass as royalty,” Tyson said. “Too rich for my tastes. A woman like that would expect champagne, caviar, and romance when all a man wants is a steak on the grill, cold beer, and good sex.” He shifted his glance to Dustin. “Most men.” He elbowed Dustin in the ribs. “I’ll go talk to the best friend.” Tyson headed toward interrogation room two.
McKenna’s attorney stood protectively close. He approached Dustin and introduced himself.
Dustin estimated Albert Wells somewhere in his late sixties. He wore a dark gray, tailored suit with precise lines to conceal a midsection bulging from too much of the good life. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on his rather large, bulbous nose couldn’t hide deep lines at the corners of his eyes. Still gifted with a full head of snow-white hair, Albert Wells kept each hair on his head combed in a perfectly placed wave flowing to the back of his head.
“How’re you feeling this morning?” Dustin asked McKenna.
She turned to her lawyer.
“Ms. Porter is as well as can be expected.”
For the first time, her lips tilted into a small smile. Obviously her lawyer intended to speak on her behalf. Smart, that would keep her from making a mistake in her story.
“Should we get started?”
McKenna raised her eyes to meet his again and nodded. Shiny locks of hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing the delicate features of her face. Her nose, thin and straight, seemed to turn up in defiance as she met his stare.
Arrogance. He couldn’t believe the audaciousness. She thought she could waltz onto his turf and throw her haughty attitude around with her high-profile attorney.
“This isn’t your specialty,” he said to Wells.
“I’m not here as a defense attorney, Detective. As I’m sure you’re well aware.” He didn’t extend his hand but shifted his briefcase from his right hand to his left. He then placed his hand protectively on McKenna’s back. “Ms. Porter is here to answer any questions you might have. You’ll discover there won’t be sufficient evidence to charge her with whatever happened in that room.”
“Oh we know it was murder.” He stared at the scrapes and bruises on McKenna. “And we know Dr. Porter was in that room. I guarantee, we’ll find out exactly what happened.”
Dustin pointed to the open door on the other side of the bustling room.
McKenna found it impossible to stop her hands from shaking. The eyes of every officer in the room bore into her back with no less pain than the bullets in the guns holstered on their utility belts would inflict if fired.
Once she entered the interrogation room, Detective Pearce shut the door. Plain white walls closed in on her. She took a deep steadying breath and sat in the cold metal folding chair Albert held out for her. She rested her clasped hands on the edge of the scratched and dinged table.
“McKenna?” Albert laid his hand on her knee.
“I’m sorry.” She looked at the detective across the table. He wore a beige suit, tailored to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders and the trim lines of his waist. He looked nice. Nothing like the impression he’d left in the hospital, respectable, rather than menacing.
“A drink,” he repeated. “Coffee, cola, water?”
She took a deep breath and tried to sound as she had rehearsed with Dawn. Flutters filled her stomach, and a lump lodged in her throat. She swallowed and looked directly into the detective’s eyes. According to Dawn, that she appeared confident was paramount. “Please, don’t patronize me with polite conversation when I know what you’re thinking.”
The detective raised an eyebrow and shifted on his chair. She nearly stumbled over her rehearsed words. A sparkle lit his hazel eyes, and his lips hinted at a smile. She couldn’t squash the flash of awareness of his masculinity.
“I would never patronize you, Ms. Porter.”
No, but he could break her if he showed her compassion. “I’d like to get this over with, so ask your questions, Detective.”
“Where were you Sunday night?” Detective Pearce took out a yellow legal pad and made notes as McKenna spoke.
“Every Sunday I go to a yoga class. The class is held in a studio above the coffee shop, Conversations. I’m a regular. They have a sign-in sheet if you find it necessary to verify.”
“I do,” he said while he wrote. He glanced up. “I find it necessary to verify every detail. Nothing is insignificant, so please be detailed in your reco
unting of the night’s activities.”
“Sometimes we get coffee before class. Last Sunday I was late so after class Dawn and I had coffee with another yoga student.”
“Why were you late?”
“Just late,” she said.
“Ms. Porter, I’m looking for motive and opportunity. You might want to consider being forthright with your responses.”
“Traffic, daydreaming, I run late,” she said sounding as exasperated as she felt. “You can verify that, too. I was once told I was born two weeks late and was still trying to catch up.” She took a breath remembering her objective today was not to establish an alibi as much as to spike the curiosity and interest of the detective as Dawn put it.
Dawn might not be so free with her advice if she knew about the sputter in McKenna’s heart every time she met the detective’s stare. Or maybe, Dawn would tell her to take it further than flirtation and innuendo and do him. Dawn knew how to use all the weapons in her arsenal to her best abilities. And if Dawn were attracted to the detective as McKenna was, she’d act on it. McKenna would have enough trouble keeping her story straight.
“After coffee, we walked down Twenty-Fifth Street. A jazz band was playing at the amphitheater,” she continued. “Do you ever go to the free evening concerts, Detective?”
He paused with his pen. “I don’t like jazz.”
Deep, steady breathing, focus, try to maintain the outward cool confidence she didn’t feel. McKenna saw Dawn’s face in her mind and smiled at the detective. “Miles Davis, Sidney Bechet?”
Detective Pearce shook his head. “More like Bruce Springsteen and Fleetwood Mac.”
McKenna crinkled her nose. “Sorry, I never developed an appreciation for classic rock.”
“Just the classics?”
“Yes.” She twisted an emerald and diamond ring that had been her mother’s around her finger.
“You missed out.”
Intentionally her lashes fluttered closed, when she looked up their eyes locked, sending an electrical volt coursing through her body. He was attractive, although he looked tired. If he’d slept, it hadn’t lessened the lines at the sides of his hazel eyes. “Maybe you could introduce me to some of your favorites?”
