Relentless

Chapter 2-2

“Boyfriend?” I asked Peters, keeping my eyes on the other room.

He shook his head. “Two hotel rooms, so I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some soda?” Werbler asked, pointing to the can.

“I’m not touching that can so you can get my fingerprints.”

Werbler’s mouth fell open, but he shut it quickly.

I lifted an eyebrow at her knowledge. She was a surprise. And a delight. I watched as the detectives shifted in their seats.

“Is she a lawyer?” I asked Peters.

“Records say architect. Runs her own business. Works from home.”

An architect that knew about the law.

“I flew in last night at eleven thirty, which I’m sure you know. Passenger records are easy enough to obtain, which I’m sure you’ve done. So being on a plane somewhere over Nebraska at the time of death with over one hundred other people is a pretty solid alibi.”

“Are you saying you know when he was killed?” Gossing asked. “Does that mean that you were involved, but maybe didn’t pull the trigger? Getaway driver, perhaps?”

The detectives were trying to fluster her. They’d made grown men cry before, but their attempts didn’t appear to be working now. Her hands hadn’t moved, her skin wasn’t flushed in anger. Nothing.

“I saw the man, you said Bobby Lane was his name? I saw him in the trunk of the car with the two traffic officers for about ten seconds. Rigor had set in because he was curled up in the fetal position. I don’t have to be an ME to know that means he’d been dead for at least twelve hours.” Anna tucked her hair behind her ear. Her first sign of movement. Her nails were short with a simple manicure. No wedding ring.

“Not a doctor? Parents? Anyone a doctor?” I asked Peters, my eyes focused on Anna.

I saw Peters look at a folder on the desk out of the corner of my eye. “Says her mother died when she was six, father when she was eighteen. No record of how. No siblings. No living relatives.”

I saw a small smile play at the corner of the public defender’s mouth. I could tell she was enjoying this. So was I. Holy hell, it was like watching a teacher scold two recalcitrant school boys. But I never had a teacher who looked like Anna Scott.

“Even if I had somehow shot him,” she continued, “I couldn’t have lifted him up from wherever I’d done it to place him in the trunk. I’m not big, or strong enough, to do it.”

I couldn’t tell with her sitting down, but she wasn’t more than five-five. Bobby Lane was a big man, well over six feet and hadn’t exercised in his life. The extra fifty pounds he’d carried around his middle was proof.

“Maybe you killed him when he was standing in front of the trunk and he collapsed into it after you shot him.”

“No blood. No bullet hole in the trunk. No GSR on my hands.”

“So you’re willing to test for gunshot residue?”

“I am.”

I had to know more. She was like a puzzle I had to solve. “Any information on IQ, medical records, being institutionalized?”

“What, you think she’s a psychopath? Sociopath? Schizo?”

“Doubtful, but she’s very smart, very knowledgeable…familiar with all this.” I waved my hand at the room around us. “How can she look so innocent and wholesome and be so…well versed in police proceedings? In death?”

“Ted Bundy looked pretty wholesome back in his day.” Peters shrugged. Not all answers were available. Some detectives had to dig for it. Sometimes they never learned all the answers. Peters was well aware of this. “All I know is that she acts like she’s got a stick up her butt.”

I c****d my head, watched her closely. “She acts like it. Act being the key word.” I looked at her eyes. Flat. Unfeeling, but focused. “She’s…scared. She’s hiding behind, what’s the word?” I snapped my fingers. “Aloofness. As if this isn’t affecting her. I bet she’s shitting a brick on the inside.”

Anna took a deep breath and I enjoyed watching her breasts rise and fall. Calm as can be, she continued. “As for the car, I put my rental agreement in my carry-on when I left the lot at the airport last night. I assume you checked with the company and know that car isn’t mine. Since I have an alibi, and the car isn’t mine, the only explanation is that my car is still in the lot at the hotel.”

It was the detectives’ turn to take a deep breath. The public defender tapped her pen on the table.

The answer clicked into place for me. She was right. She’d been in the wrong car.

“Valet,” I said.

“What?” Peters asked.

“The valet.” I pointed at her. “No way this woman parks her car in a dark hotel lot after midnight when she got in. She’s too smart to do something as dangerous as that. She flew in with a friend. I’m guessing he has his own rental since he’s part of the wedding party. Probably has wedding stuff she doesn’t have to do. A different schedule. He’s not her boyfriend. You said two rooms.” I paused, considered her through the glass. “She doesn’t trust him enough to drive her—definitely not a boyfriend or anyone close then. If he drove his own rental and they got separated from the airport to the hotel, she wouldn’t chance being alone in the lot. So she valets the car. She’s in complete control of everything. She has to be. She’s handling Gossing and Werbler like it’s their first day at the Academy.” I stood and paced in front of the window. “f**k, it’s so simple. The valet gave her the wrong car. What kind is it?”

“Ford Taurus.”

I gave a quick bark of laughter, turned to look at Peters. “There are a million of them out there. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Before Peters could answer, Werbler spoke up. “Miss Scott, your rental is indeed in the parking lot of your hotel. It seems when you gave your ticket to the valet this morning he brought you the wrong car. They said you had a burgundy Taurus.”

“Maroon.”

“Excuse me?” Gossing asked, leaning his elbows on the table.

“My rental car is maroon, not burgundy.”

“You couldn't tell the difference when the valet gave it to you?” Werbler wondered.

She arched one elegant eyebrow. “I'm not suggesting the car in question and my rental car are two different colors. What I'm stating is that the valet you questioned is clearly color blind since he doesn't know the difference between the two. Perhaps he isn't the most reliable of sources of information. How many cars did he valet this morning? How many were a Taurus like mine? You're just wasting my time with this line of talk as you're both smart enough to have already validated everything by my rental agreement with the car company.”

Maroon and burgundy were the same to me, but I was no artist, so what did I know? I couldn’t help but grin at her don't-f**k-with-me tone and glanced over at Peters. The way she looked, all fresh and innocent, the way she dressed, all tame and soft, screamed prissy. But she wasn’t, because that type of woman did nothing for me. Annoyed the s**t out of me. Anna Scott was…an anomaly. I read people. I was good at it. It was my job to be good at it. Saved my life a time or two. But I couldn’t get a bead on her. Which made her a challenge, and I loved a good challenge. And if said challenge happened to make me wonder what she was wearing beneath her prim little outfit, all the better.

I’d wager her appearance was all for show. Some kind of outward shell she showed to the world. Beneath, she’d wear soft lace and satin. Would her skin be as silky soft as it looked? Would her n*****s be as pale pink as I imagined? I shifted against the table. “You’re right, this is interesting.”

“You’re telling me I’m sitting here in a Denver police station being questioned for murder because a valet didn't look at his ticket and gave me a supposed burgundy Taurus instead of maroon,” Anna Scott stated matter-of-factly.

Werbler and Gossing shifted once again, embarrassment keen on their faces. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I’m free to go.” It wasn’t a question.

She glanced at her lawyer who gave a quick nod. The woman hadn’t said a word. It seemed Anna Scott didn’t really need legal council, just the protection one afforded her by law. The protection of keeping her mouth shut until she’d gotten her ducks in a row to defend herself.

“Yes, you are,” Gossing told her. “After you submit to a GSR test.”

“All right.” Anna Scott shifted her seat back, the metal scraping against the linoleum floor and stood. I was right, about five-five. Standing, without the table to shield her, she looked…fragile. Even with her shoulders back, her dark hair like a waterfall, her chin tilted in a way to make her look like she had a stick up her ass, she was lovely. Almost innocent of the world, which was the strangest statement since she’d obviously had a run-in with cops before, regardless of what her record said. My mouth went dry just taking in my fill. I took a sip of my now cold coffee. Winced at the miserable taste.

Her thumbs brushed slightly against her skirt, but other than that she was still. No smile, no sparkle in her eyes at her victory over the police. I’d be dancing a jig after getting myself out of a possible murder charge. That, or I’d need new pair of pants. I moved closer to the glass for a better look. She was damaged. Something had happened to her, but I didn’t know what. Hadn’t we all? Anyone who made it to adulthood had to have something happen to them. It’s how you survived that mattered. And it appeared to me that Anna Scott was surviving. And that was it.

A strange emotion settled in my chest, one I hadn’t felt in a long time. I tamped it down. No way was I going to feel something, anything, for this woman. The fact that she looked so alone—so aloof surrounded by so many—made me want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. To protect her. I shook my head at my crazy thoughts. Women like her and those protective feelings only brought me trouble I didn’t want.

“Who is…was Bobby Lane?” she asked.

The detectives had stood when she did. “Worked for Paul Moretti,” Werbler shared, watching her closely. So was I. “Head of a crime syndicate, gang, whatever, that deals in drugs, money laundering, p**********n, gun running and other sideline activities.”

She wasn’t giving away anything. It appeared she didn’t know Bobby Lane, but I couldn’t tell for sure. She was innocent of the crime against Bobby Lane. Her alibi was solid. The mixup was certainly plausible. Slightly ridiculous, but definitely plausible. But it was just as obvious she’d been interrogated by the cops before, which meant she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed.

“Bobby Lane was Moretti’s son-in-law and it was rumored he was being groomed to take over for him. Lane was last seen at Scorch, a nightclub downtown, owned by Moretti,” Werbler added.

I’d been at Scorch all night and hadn’t seen Lane, but that didn’t mean s**t. It had been crowded and I’d had to deal with f*****g pain-in-the-ass employees all night. If he’d been there, it wasn’t to see me. Thank Christ.

Anna nodded. “Thank you for sharing, but it all means nothing to me. I’d like my things and if you can please call me a cab, I have a wedding rehearsal to go to.”

Werbler opened the door for her. “We’ll have one of the officers give you a ride back to your hotel after the GSR test.”

Anna arched a brow at him. “I think I’m done with the police for today. Thank you.”

Once they left the room to have her hands tested for gunshot residue, I just looked at Peters. “Well?”

“There’s something not quite right about that woman,” he said, picking her folder up off the table.

“What? The fact that she knows police interrogation methods, that she knows about rigor mortis, that she doesn’t want her fingerprints checked?”

“Yeah, that.”

“She didn’t kill him. You know that as well as I. She was set up. Whoever the killer is must’ve panicked when they found out the car was missing. s**t, I would’ve loved to see that. They must have realized they’d been given the opportunity to offload the body—and the lengthy prison term that goes with one—onto someone else. They’re probably celebrating over drinks right now.”

Peters nodded, so I continued. “But they didn’t expect Anna Scott. She got her neck out of the noose on her own. The way she handled the interview, when Werbler told her Bobby’s name, she didn’t appear to know him, but she’s one cool lady. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t ever want to play poker with her.”

Peters quirked a smile and said, “This is where you come in. If she’s innocent, she goes to a wedding and flies out on Sunday. If she’s tied into all this somehow, then Gossing dropped Moretti’s name, Bobby’s name and Scorch. You’ll hear about the hit as soon as you go back in tonight, hear about her if she did it. You’re our inside man.”

“If she’s involved with Moretti, I’ll know soon enough. If she shows up at Scorch, I’ll be waiting.” With f*****g bells on.

I wanted to know more about Anna Scott and whether she was mixed up in all this or not. If she wasn’t working for the bastard, then what was her secret? She sure as hell had one. She intrigued me, and nothing had intrigued me for a long time. Those warning bells were clanging in my head about not getting involved with a woman like her. It would be stupid, almost suicidal, to do so. She wasn’t a simple one-night stand I had falling all over me night after night at the club. The hard-on she’d brought about was only now starting to subside. If my d**k reacted just by looking at her through a window, I could only imagine what it would be like when I got her into bed. I was going to find out. She flew out on Sunday. The clock was ticking.