The Trapped Girl (Tracy Crosswhite #4)(93)

“If he wants to talk, let’s let him talk,” Tracy explained to Zhu. “It might be our only chance to get information out of him. At some point his attorney will convince him to keep his mouth shut. You’ll get your chance to arrest him after he talks to me.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m being played,” Zhu said.

“Welcome to the club,” Kins said. “This guy is a piece of work.”

“He is,” Tracy agreed, shooting Kins a look to let him know he wasn’t helping their situation. “But the landscape has changed considerably. He’s a suspect in two other deaths, and I’m curious as hell how he’s going to explain it.”

Zhu and his superior relented and Kins drove Tracy to Phil Montgomery’s office. Kins waited in the building lobby with the others as Tracy went up in the elevator. Montgomery met her in the area outside his law-firm door. He looked spent, as if he’d just returned to his office after a full day in trial. He still wore a tie and a dress shirt, but he’d tugged the knot from his neck and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Two half-moon-shaped perspiration stains ringed his armpits.

“He’s in bad shape,” Montgomery said.

Tracy didn’t much care, but she wanted to hear what Strickland had to say, so until she believed he was trying to manipulate her, she’d play nice.

“Do you think he’s suicidal?” she asked.

“Maybe. He hasn’t said much.”

“You made sure he has no weapons?”

Montgomery nodded. “Of course. I think we can both agree that this is tantamount to an interrogation while in custody.”

“Agreed,” Tracy said. She held up her phone. “So, I’m going to tape this. I’ll read him his Miranda rights.”

“Then for the record I’m going to advise him against this.”

“I understand,” she said.

Montgomery opened the door and led her inside the lobby. They moved past the receptionist’s desk. “He’s in the conference room.” Montgomery turned left, continuing past an empty cubicle and a darkened office. He stopped outside a closed door, pausing to look back over his shoulder at Tracy as if to say, Are you ready?

Then he pushed open the door.

Graham Strickland looked up from his seat at the far end of the room. His forearms rested on the conference room table, hands wrapped around a mug of some drink. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view from downtown Portland to the distant green foothills. Though he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on that afternoon, Strickland no longer looked so neat and put together, and he wasn’t displaying the same cocksure smile or arrogant demeanor. His shoulders slumped. His eyes appeared sunken and his gaze distant and unfocused. He had the sullen expression of a kid who’d been caught doing something bad and knew the punishment was going to be severe.

Montgomery walked around the table to the chair beside his client and set down his legal pad and ballpoint pen. Tracy made her way down the opposite side of the table. She pulled out a chair directly across from Strickland.

When seated, Montgomery said, “I’ve told Detective Crosswhite I consider this an interrogation in custody, Graham. As such she’s going to read you your Miranda rights.”

“And I’m going to record our conversation,” Tracy said, putting her phone on the table directly between them and pressing the “Record” button.

Strickland nodded.

“Mr. Strickland, we’re present in a conference room in your attorney’s office,” she said. “I’m going to read you your Miranda rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney . . .” When she’d finished she said, “Do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?”

Strickland gave a subtle nod.

“You have to answer audibly,” Montgomery said. He sat at an angle, facing both Strickland and Tracy, the ballpoint pen in hand.

“Yes, I understand,” Strickland replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tracy said, “I understand that you’ve asked to speak to me.”

Strickland nodded.

“Audibly,” Montgomery said.

“Yes.”

Strickland sat back and took a deep breath. His chest shuddered. He took a moment to get his emotions under control. Tracy waited. She had interviewed sociopaths before and Strickland had all the markings of one. Often intelligent, they could be master manipulators capable of giving command performances that would make the best Juilliard-trained actors look like amateurs. It was not lost on her that Strickland had asked to speak to her, a woman, and she was on guard in the event his request was to try to manipulate her or the judicial process that would inevitably follow.

“I didn’t kill Megan,” he said.

Tracy didn’t respond.

“I didn’t kill Devin Chambers and I didn’t kill my wife. I know you think I did, but I didn’t.”

“What did you say to Megan Chen when you met her for lunch today?” Tracy asked.

“I told her something had come up in one of my cases but that I could meet her at my loft when I’d finished.”

“Had going back to your loft been part of your original plan?”

“I’d hoped so,” Strickland said.