Detective on Call

by Regan Black

  “Supposed to be?” he echoed.

  She looked him dead in the eye. “We didn’t get to speak at all.”

  “Was there trouble? It wasn’t your first time meeting a client at the prison?”

  “No and no.” She sighed. “I had all my ducks in a row, even printed the confirmation of the scheduled appointment. They should’ve walked me right back to the conference room.” She chewed her lip, lost in thoughts she wasn’t sharing.

  He wanted to know everything and not just because of the home invasion. “But?” he prompted.

  She snapped out of it. “When I arrived, they claimed the paperwork was missing, that there was no record of my appointment in the system. I tried the waiting game, then name-dropping. The warden is an old friend of Dad’s. That didn’t work either. The guard claimed Mr. Birrell was away at lunch and couldn’t spare a minute to help me straighten things out.”

  “That’s weird.” Normally Birrell was very helpful and professional. Then again, Emmanuel came in as a cop, not a defense attorney seeking to overturn a conviction. He bent down to pick up a pencil that had fallen near the baseboard. Turning, he studied the message on her wall. She’d clam up or get mad if he pressed on the Wentworth issue. “What else have you been working on lately? Any chance this is related to another case?”

  “I don’t see how. Aside from the RevitaYou investigation I’m working with my siblings, Anna Wentworth is my only open case.”

  “All right.” He handed her the pencil, and she dropped it into the cup on her desk. Then he strolled back toward the kitchen.

  “That’s it? You’re leaving?”

  “You don’t have to sound so excited about the prospect.” He refilled his water glass, watching the disappointment come into her eyes.

  “I like my space,” she said.

  He filled her glass too. “You’ll have plenty of it. After a few more questions.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she drank down half of her water. “Go on and ask,” she said.

  She was defensive again, and he needed to change tactics. “Griffin and I go back, like you and Elizabeth. He’s a good friend.” Based on the deepening scowl, he’d made things worse. “He gave me a heads-up about the loan shark operation Colton Investigations is trying to take down and your part in it.”

  “That,” she flung her hand toward the wall, “has nothing to do with the Capital X case.”

  “You sound sure.” He admired her confidence.

  “It’s too soon. I haven’t done anything significant with that case yet.”

  Yet. That one syllable seized his full attention. Griffin had said she’d play a key role in bringing down the loan shark operation. Colton Investigations and the GRPD were quietly working together on cases involving Capital X and the RevitaYou vitamins. Several people in the city had become sick, and one death was already attributed to the product. According to the research Abigail had conducted, more deaths seemed likely. On top of that, Capital X enforcers were the prime suspects in a recent murder in Heritage Park, since the victim had suffered eight recently broken bones in addition to the fatal gunshot.

  “I don’t believe this has anything to do with Capital X,” she continued. “When they go after someone, they hit direct and hard and leave behind broken bones, not graffiti.”

  She wasn’t making him feel any better. “Your sister is in the thick of that investigation already,” he reminded her. “And the two of you share a strong resemblance.”

  “You’re implying someone from Capital X followed me by mistake or even followed Kiely when she stopped by.”

  “It’s possible, right?” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “Just don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”

  “Because you’re trying to impress me with your thoroughness.” She wrinkled her nose. “Being thorough now doesn’t mean you didn’t overlook something on Anna’s case.”

  Insulted, he had to agree with Daniel. Cute and stubborn was a bad combination. When his jaw unclenched enough to speak, he said, “Did Elizabeth mention she also was a questioned as we worked the case?”

  “At the time, she told me you spoke, that’s all. I assumed it was to clear suspects or verify an alibi. She’s no more a killer than Anna.”

  “She was a concern,” he reiterated. “And far too vocal about her mother’s innocence.”

  “Because she knew Anna didn’t kill anyone.”

  “The point is, I turn over every stone and I work my cases with integrity. Her alibi was solid and she had no interaction with Hicks before or during the time he was seeing her mother.” He leaned close, noting the way her eyes widened at the apparent revelation. “And I’m good enough at my job that your friend didn’t realize what I was doing.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “If she was a person of interest, why isn’t that noted anywhere in the case file?”

  “It is.”

  “Not.” She shook her head.

  He nearly repeated himself, but that sounded too much like a sibling argument and he had no desire to lump Pippa in with his sisters. “I filed everything. We looked at Elizabeth as well as her father, Ed.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Of course. We worked the case, Pippa. Followed the evidence and motives.”

  She was quiet a long time. Then she walked around him to pour herself a glass of wine. “It would’ve been nice to see some indication of that in the case file.”

  What was she talking about? His notes and reports had to be in there. He didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he’d been inept or even slack about that particular case. Everything had gone to the prosecutor’s office for the trial preparation. Maybe something got mishandled, but it had all been there.

  She settled back on the stool, watching him. “Tell me something before you go.”

  He wasn’t going any farther than her couch or floor tonight, but that argument would come soon enough. “What’s that?”

  “Why are you so sure Anna is capable of murder?”

  It was a fair question, one he had asked himself often since catching that case. And one he was thankful he’d never had to answer in court.

  * * *

  While Pippa waited for his reply, she had to give Emmanuel points for being helpful this evening. And she couldn’t criticize his manners or his cooking, though she did not want to like him. He was patient and neutral. Professional. Even Elizabeth had commented on how warm and kind he’d been during their conversation about the relationship between her mother and Hicks and when it had soured.

  She wondered if he’d taken that warm and friendly approach while interrogating Anna or if he’d been cold and tough when facing off with a suspected killer. It was hard to sort out tone in the dry written transcript, and she hadn’t yet listened to that recording provided by Anna’s defense team. She’d been focusing her time and energy on the peripheral interviews and witnesses, looking for anyone else who had a real motive to kill Hicks.

  “I’m surprised anyone believes that self-centered socialite is innocent,” he said quietly. “In court I only spoke the truth.”

  “That’s not much of an answer.”

  His head fell back for a moment. “Can I have another glass of water?”

  “Help yourself.” She watched him refill his glass from the pitcher in the fridge and ran out of patience after the long day as the silence stretched on. “Stop stalling, Detective.”

  His lips twisted to the side, his eyes on the water in his glass. “Anna was her own worst enemy long before the trial. It didn’t require any extra help from the GRPD to put her behind bars where she belongs. She killed a man.”

  Pippa tensed at the certainty in his tone. Too bad for him she was equally certain the police and the jury were wrong. “She did not kill David Hicks. From what I’ve seen and heard, your mind was made up before you asked her the first question
.”

  “Not true. Every case deserves good police work. Due to her standing in the community, we were even more thorough on the Hicks case.”

  She bit back another protest. He couldn’t have been too thorough or an innocent woman wouldn’t be in jail right now. They were clearly entrenched on opposite sides of this issue. “You’ve met killers. Caught them and seen justice served.”

  “I have,” he verified.

  “What does Anna have in common with those criminals?” She was pleased to see that question put a dent in his pervasive confidence.

  What if the person who had trashed her home was the real murderer? She rubbed the sudden chill from her arms. Dwelling on that with someone as observant as Emmanuel nearby was a one-way ticket out of here. No way would she run from such an obnoxious and cowardly act.

  “Not much on the surface,” he admitted after a moment. “There are exceptions to every rule.”

  She waved that off. “Don’t try to sell me the ‘crime of passion’ line. Anna isn’t capable of extreme emotions with people.”

  “We found her jewelry near the body,” Emmanuel said. “Maybe she killed Hicks because he tried to steal it.”

  She motioned for the wine bottle, pouring just a bit more into her glass. They shouldn’t be talking about this. “I’m asking about you, personally,” she stated. “Forget the evidence. Why were you so convinced she could take a man’s life?”

  “First of all, everyone is capable of doing terrible things.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “This is murder we’re talking about, though.”

  “I know. A big crime with big players and big stakes. I’m not going to lie—there was pressure to solve the case quickly. From the Hicks family as well as the Wentworth family. There was also pressure to do it right, coming from the mayor and the GRPD brass.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, refusing to let him off the hook. It was impossible to reconcile the considerate professional he’d been tonight when he’d had such negative tunnel vision about Anna Wentworth.

  “She was mean,” he finally said. “A mean and cruel woman. I’m aware that sounds childish.”

  “It is childish.”

  “At the heart it’s the truth,” he said. “You can’t sit there and tell me Anna Wentworth is a nice person.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Charitable contributions do not make someone a nice person. She’s rude to her staff, aloof with her family, and she can hardly make eye contact with anyone with a smaller net worth than her husband.”

  He had a point. “Go on.” There was more to this, more he clearly didn’t want to talk about. Pushing at his hair, he muttered something under his breath, possibly in Spanish. All that did was make her want to ruffle his hair too. The untimely and inappropriate distraction irritated her.

  “This is irrelevant,” he said with a patently false smile. “But you win.” He planted his hands on his lean hips. “We worked the case properly. Whatever I thought of Anna, I worked the evidence that was there.”

  “The evidence was compelling,” she admitted. That was part of her problem. It was too compelling. Seasoned detectives like Emmanuel and Sergeant Joe McRath should’ve recognized that.

  “If you believe the evidence, why are you convinced she didn’t do it?”

  “You first.” More muttering in Spanish. “Detective Iglesias, would it help to consider this an exercise in my due diligence?” she asked. “I needed to speak with you, officially, anyway.”

  “Not much.”

  “But some?” She slid her wine glass aside and rested her elbows on the countertop. “Nearly every day you ask others, witnesses and suspects alike, to talk about uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing situations.”

  “Fair point.”

  “I’m not going away. You told Griffin you’d keep tabs on me anyway. Might as well get some work done too.”

  “You’re impossible,” he said. “My mother was a maid in the Wentworth mansion when I was little. Mrs. Wentworth didn’t have children then. Maybe things would’ve been different if she had.”

  This wasn’t the bias she’d been expecting at all. “Different how?” An image flashed through her mind of him as a little boy with tousled brown curls and big brown eyes sliding down the polished oak banister of the central stairway while his mother worked. Assuming that kind of thing would have been allowed.

  “I never talk about this.” His voice was a deep, unhappy rumble that heated her skin. “Mom had to take me to work one day. I guess the babysitter was sick and Dad was working. Who knows? I can remember her making calls, frantic to find someone to take me. I was too young to stay alone, and my brothers and sisters were in school.”

  “You’re the youngest in your family?” she asked.

  “I was then.” He paused, his dark eyes knitting together over his straight nose. “Mom must’ve been pregnant, though it was probably too early for anyone but Dad to know.” He stalked back and forth, as if he couldn’t settle.

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference to Anna,” Pippa admitted.

  He raised an eyebrow and then continued. “So, yeah. I was the youngest. Mom was pregnant. She must’ve been sure Anna would fire her if she called in sick, so she took me with her.” A faint smile hovered at one corner of his mouth. “That house.”

  “I know.” Pippa had been equally awed when she’d seen it for the first time as a ten-year-old. Truth be told, the mansion was still an impressive and intimidating museum of a house.

  “Whatever.” He paced away and back again. “Mom let me bring along a toy truck and a small teddy bear. The same quiet toys she let me take to church on Sundays. The three of us trailed after her, room to room, as she did her work.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and refused to look at her. “I was quiet,” he said, grumpy again.

  Her heart ached for that little boy he’d been, and she was sure he’d behaved perfectly. “Just like in church?” she asked.

  His lips curled up into an all-out grin. There was a fresh tingle to go with her heated skin. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t indulge any of this curiosity or interest, not with him.

  “Just like Sundays,” he said. “We learned early and were reminded often of the penalties of outbursts or tantrums in church.”

  “I assume your mom issued the same reminder before you entered the Wentworth mansion?”

  “She did.” He met her gaze, and the earnestness in his eyes floored her. “I swear to you I wasn’t making a sound when Mrs. Wentworth noticed me. She fired my mother on the spot.”

  He’d been a child, though she didn’t doubt the whole thing must’ve been an ordeal. “In the interest of playing devil’s advocate, are you sure she didn’t give your mom a chance to explain?”

  “I’m sure. I remember Mom pleading to be allowed to gather her things.” His eyes locked on her once more. “Did you hear me? She didn’t plead to keep the job—she begged for access to her own belongings.”

  Pippa groaned. “That sounds like Anna.”

  “So how can you sit there and not believe that a woman so cruel and selfish is capable of murder?”

  Because she knew Anna better than most people. “Being a terrible human being doesn’t necessarily make her a killer.”

  It was like striking a match to paper. Emmanuel erupted. “My mom barely got out with her own purse and her car keys. She didn’t get a reference or severance or even that day’s pay. She drove halfway home and then pulled over. I sat in the back seat and watched her cry. Totally helpless.”

  She wanted to cry for him, for them, all these years later. She wanted to drive right back to the prison and yank the woman out of her cell and shake her until she apologized.

  “The woman was heartless. Is heartless. Was I doing anything to harm her? No. Was I keeping my mother from her work? Again, no. Anna Wentworth forgot my mother’s na
me the moment we were gone.” He paused to gulp in air. “But Mom getting fired sent my family into a tailspin. Mom had to scramble for a new job without a reference. Very few positions paid as well as the Wentworths.”

  It was all Pippa could do to keep her voice even, calm. When she finally spoke with Anna again, she’d...well, she didn’t know what she’d do, yet. “So you’ve been angry all this time.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, it’s been years. My mom got another job and my family survived and I’m still angry. That doesn’t mean I didn’t do my job.” He drilled his finger into the granite countertop. “Everything I said in court was true. I didn’t embellish any of it. I didn’t have to. The dead body, the murder weapon, that outrageous brooch in the grass, splattered with the victim’s blood. Add in all of her rude, unkind and outright mean antics through the years and it’s not a big leap from Queen of Mean to murderer.”

  “I know it looks that way from—”

  “Looks that way?” he echoed. “Pick up a tabloid, grab a newspaper, scroll through the gossip blogs. It is that way.”

  “You’re helping my case if you’re admitting online gossip influenced your investigation,” she warned.

  “Go ahead, try to pick my work apart. It’ll hold up.”

  It couldn’t. Pippa knew deep in her gut that Anna had not killed David Hicks. A grave mistake had been made, some detail had been overlooked or purposely suppressed and a murderer was still roaming around free. In her mind, the proof was scrawled across her wall. She needed Emmanuel to understand.

  “You might be her daughter’s friend, but you’ll never convince me that Wentworth values you for anything more than your last name.”

  “I wouldn’t try,” Pippa said. She was suddenly exhausted again, her second wind gone. “I’m fairly sure she doesn’t value me at all. But as Elizabeth’s friend I have seen a different side of the woman everyone loves to hate.”

  He raised an eyebrow and rocked back on his heels. “Give me one instance where she exhibited compassion.”