Her Last Word(73)

“Can you prove it?”

Now he looked outraged, concerned about himself, and slightly annoyed. “I shouldn’t have to, but yes, I can.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with your wife?” Adler said.

“What do you mean?” Crowley demanded.

“What kind of marriage? Happy, contentious, ambivalent, or what?”

Worry deepened the lines framing his mouth. “We loved each other. We’ve known each other since high school.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Quinn said.

“What does convincing sound like?” Blackstone asked.

She smiled. “Not like that.”

“Does this have anything to do with Kaitlin’s stabbing?” Crowley asked. “If it does, ask her what’s going on, because clearly she knows more than my wife or I.”

“I did my research on Kaitlin,” Blackstone said. “With her past, she must be a suspect.”

Adler ignored the comment, keeping his gaze trained on Crowley. “I’ve listened to Ms. Roe’s interview with your wife.” He let the statement hang.

Crowley fidgeted with his wedding band. “Whatever Erika thought she remembered from that night is corrupted. She was drunk.”

“She recalled the details pretty well,” Adler said.

Blackstone injected, “What does Ms. Roe’s interview have to do with Mrs. Crowley’s death?”

Adler ignored the comment. “Mr. Crowley, was your wife involved in any kind of lifestyle that might be considered risky?”

“Like an affair?” Crowley asked.

“Boyfriend, swinger, drug use? I don’t know. You tell me. People who live in perfect houses don’t always lead perfect lives. Her yoga teacher said she often parked in the back of the studio, but skipped the class. Did she meet a friend or go somewhere more intimate?”

Crowley’s confusion was enough of an answer. “Erika was a good woman. She was not into any secret kinky shit, and if you spread anything like that about her, I will have Mr. Blackstone sue you and your department.”

“We’re simply asking questions here. No one is passing judgment.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Crowley said.

Adler had touched on a nerve. “Are you engaged in any kind of extracurricular activities that we need to know about?”

“I am not.”

“If I trace your credit card receipts and phone records, I won’t find anything?” Adler asked.

Crowley shifted and looked to his attorney.

Blackstone held up his hand. “Officers, stop with the cat and mouse. You have just shared some very upsetting news with my client. There’s no way he can be completely rational right now. We’re going to have to suspend this interview for another day.” He rose and bade his client to do the same. “You can show yourselves out.”

Adler wasn’t surprised by Blackstone’s request, but he was still frustrated. He’d dealt with too many men like Blackstone who shadowed the truth in words and legal maneuvers. He and Quinn rose but made no move toward the door.

“How well did you know Gina Mason?” Adler asked.

Crowley’s frown deepened with anger, and then as if he couldn’t resist, he broke from his attorney and stepped toward them. “She was a friend of my wife’s. I didn’t know her.”

Blackstone raised his hand. “This ends now.”

“I did not kill my wife.” Crowley punctuated each word with the poke of a finger.

“Good. Whoever killed her was a monster.” Adler wanted to get a rise out of Crowley. “No one deserves to die the way she did.”

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” Crowley asked. His attorney placed a hand on his arm, but Crowley jerked it away. “I didn’t kill her.”

“Enough, Detectives,” Blackstone said.

“We’ll be revisiting this conversation again, Mr. Crowley,” Adler said. “Are you staying in the same hotel?”

“The Richmond Inn on Broad Street.”

It was an expensive boutique hotel that catered to tourists and business travelers. “And there’s someone who can vouch for you there?”

“Talk to the manager. He knows me well.”

“Anyone else?”

Crowley’s chin lifted and he looked to Blackstone, who nodded. “There’s a woman.”

“Her name?” Adler asked.

“Barbara Austin. She’ll vouch for me.”

Adler scribbled down the name and the phone number Crowley provided. “She’s your girlfriend?”

“Not that formal. But we were intimate.”

“Adultery doesn’t translate into murder,” Blackstone said.

“Your client wasn’t forthcoming about Ms. Austin. What else is he holding back?”

“That’s it,” Crowley said. “I was afraid how it would look.”

Blackstone all but shoved Crowley out of the conference room, leaving Quinn and Adler to saunter out behind them. They pushed through the front door into the bright sunshine.

“On a scale of one to ten, how guilty do you think he is?” Quinn asked.

Adler knew Crowley was hiding something and Blackstone was helping him do it. But was their secret murder? That he couldn’t say right now. “He’s no choir boy.”