Mean Streak(84)
“You can play it like that,” Knight said.
“I should have played it like that when you started questioning me about her disappearance. We know how wrong you were then, and I’m certain that Emory has a logical explanation for this…” At a loss, he motioned toward the laptop. “But she won’t say anything else until she has a lawyer present.”
Knight patted the air. “Calm down, Jeff. We don’t want to book Dr. Charbonneau just yet. We feel sure there were extenuating circumstances, and we’d like to hear what they were. While we get some clarification from Emory, why don’t you wait outside?”
“Why don’t you kiss my ass?”
“Jeff.” She turned in her chair and looked up at him. “You’re probably right about having defense counsel. I’m sure our business lawyer could refer someone. Would you please deal with that for me?”
“And leave you in here alone with them?”
Grange stepped away from the wall. “Actually, it’s not up to you to decide who stays and who goes. We can have you escorted out.”
Before the situation got entirely out of hand, Emory clasped Jeff’s arm. “Call our lawyer and get that process started. I’ll be careful of what I say.”
He glared at the two detectives. “If this ever results in an arrest or trial, I’ll testify that you denied my wife an attorney’s presence when you questioned her.”
“Duly noted,” Grange deadpanned.
Jeff bent down and kissed her temple, whispering, “Why didn’t you share this with me?”
“I couldn’t.”
He hesitated, obviously wanting to know more. Then he gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I believe in you.”
“Thank you.”
He stalked out and slammed the door shut behind him.
A tense silence ensued. Finally Knight said, “Well? Care to share what you were doing in that video?”
“Isn’t it apparent?”
“You don’t want to tell us why you burglarized this doctor’s office?”
“No.”
“You holding a grudge against Dr. Trenton?”
“I’ve never met him. I didn’t even know his name until you told me.”
“You picked his office at random?”
She didn’t answer.
“You were just cruising through that one-horse town, spotted his office, and decided to bust the lock on the back door and help yourself to some medical supplies?”
She remained silent.
Knight leaned forward. “Emory, let’s cut this BS. Excuse the French. Why’d you break into that doctor’s office and take—” Grange stepped forward and extended him a sheet of paper he withdrew from the manila envelope. Knight shoved on his reading glasses. Reading aloud, he itemized the things she had collected into a plastic trash can liner for easier toting, which had been her accomplice’s idea.
When he finished, she said, “Plus a box of latex gloves.”
Knight shook the paper in his hand. “Why’d you take these things that you could’ve gotten from your own office?”
“I was more than a hundred miles away from my office.”
“And you needed this stuff right that minute?”
She said nothing.
“Did you need these things to treat a patient?”
Again, she remained silent.
“Yourself? Were you treating yourself? Don’t look at me like I’m loco. Did you need these items for yourself?”
“No.”
He sat back, took a moment. “Okay. The man with the flashlight, he called you Doc, suggesting some level of familiarity. Is he the man from the cabin, who took good care of you but whose name has escaped your recollection?”
“It hasn’t escaped my recollection. I don’t know it.”
“He was your partner in crime, and you don’t know his name?”
Without admitting to the commission of a crime, she said, “I don’t know his name.”
Knight and Grange looked at each other. Grange raised his eyebrows expressively. Knight glanced toward the door, then, lowering his voice, asked, “Emory, is he a boyfriend you met up here for the weekend?”
“A boyfriend?” It was a laughable term when applied to him. “No. I’d never seen him before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I regained consciousness inside his cabin.”
Still speaking in a hushed voice, Knight said, “We don’t want to cause a rift between you and Jeff. Y’all will have to sort out the marriage angle on your own. But you need to tell us who this burglar is.”
She looked at each of them in turn. “If you want his name from me, you had just as well save your breath and put me in jail now. I don’t know who he is.”
Knight released a long sigh. “Technically you committed a Class H felony, which, if convicted, is punishable by several years in prison. However, in North Carolina we have structured sentencing, and we use a point system to rank a crime, taking into account the severity of it, the perp’s motive, and previous criminal history.”
“I’m not sure what—”
“What that means is,” he said, cutting her off, “nobody wants to lock you up. This was no crash and grab. There was a bank envelope with a couple hundred dollars of petty cash in the office manager’s desk. It’s still there.