The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(46)
“I don’t know. I think someone was in the shop. It’s very strange. A few things are moved, but all the money is here.”
My mind goes back to my room, where I felt the exact same sensation. My stuff had been moved, but nothing taken. Surely this couldn’t have anything to do with the case? That would be ridiculous. Yet . . .
I probably should come clean to Lawrence. Tell him about the case, about Matteo. About how I told the police about Lawrence’s journal. Could Matteo be the one who broke into Lawrence’s? Can cops even do that? Or maybe the dirty cop is responsible. Or . . . the Golden Arrow. My paranoia’s amping up because it seems like I am at the center of this somehow. That the Golden Arrow is watching me and those I love. Watching the case. Watching but waiting for . . . what? Better to ask Matteo first then talk to Lawrence.
Time to throw some shade, even though it kills me to do it. Stall tactic. “Do you think you’re being paranoid?” I don’t; Lawrence is probably spot-on. But what if Lawrence ends up like that hanging dummy? I need to talk to Matteo, stat.
“Maybe.” Lawrence doesn’t sound convinced.
“I’ll see you tonight, right? We can talk more about it then. Just . . . make sure to double-lock your door. Maybe it was some homeless person who got in and took a nap on your couch again.” I force my voice to be bright and cheery.
I hang up just as a text message comes through. As if called by my bat signal, Matteo’s name appears.
Scheduled interview with your boss at the station. Can you be here around 3 to watch on closed circuit? You might have to prompt comic book questions if it’s needed.
I punch my affirmative reply and straighten my shoulders. I’m Janeway. Captain of my own destiny. I have things to do, friends to save, and gold lamé hot pants to finish before the show tonight. That thought lifts my doom and gloom a smidgen. Sometimes glitter and men in drag are exactly what a girl needs to be set right again.
And sometimes all it takes to make your day is seeing your jerk of a boss in an interrogation room at the police department. The satisfaction I feel watching him nervously sip the water on the table makes up for a lot of the grief he’s given me over the years. I’m heady with power as I realize I can have Matteo ask him anything I want. I fight the urge to do a villain laugh. I will use my powers for good, but I’m going to watch him sweat first.
Literally. Casey Junior is a big-boned man, and I can see beads of sweat forming at his receding hairline. He keeps his head buzzed to hide his balding, but the dark stubble forms a wicked widow’s peak. Otherwise he looks comfortable in his navy suit and brown shoes. Always together. Always the boss. Even when he’s nervous.
“Thanks for agreeing to speak with us,” I hear Matteo’s voice before I see him on the compact TV screen. He tucks his tie as he slides into the chair across from Edward Casey Junior.
I’m in the next room but could be watching this anywhere. Rideout is supposed to be watching with me to pass along any questions I have, but so far I haven’t seen him. Not that I’m too bothered by it. We already had a small powwow and decided Matteo would question Casey alone, unless he thought he needed a “bad cop” to play against.
Casey gives Matteo a winning smile despite his moisture. “Anything for the LAPD. Though I can’t think why you would need to interview me, I’m happy to give my time.” Add “always the politician” to his list of attributes.
“Well, we have a fascinating case on our hands that seems to be something in the way of your expertise. We could think of no one better to ask advice from.”
“Oh. Ask away.” Casey Junior’s shoulders relax instantaneously. His face gains color. Matteo’s methods are spot-on; even I know that a relaxed suspect shares more information. Let him think we’re on his side then wham-o. Got your nose.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the news about this Golden Arrow?” I can see only part of Matteo’s face—the camera is aimed mostly at Casey—but by the set of Matteo’s shoulders, he’s watching Casey as closely as I am for any hint that he knows more than he should.
Casey barely covers up a snort of derision. “That lunatic probably makes your job hard to do these days. Damn shame, but it’s driving up Genius business, so I can’t complain. How can I help?”
“Well, we think the Golden Arrow may be taking on the persona of one of your superheroes. We’re hoping you can shed light on why they may have picked this particular comic book.”
“I’ll do what I can, of course, but there’s no point in trying to figure out why someone who is mentally unbalanced does whatever they do. They could have picked any superhero.”
“We think there’s more to it than that. That’s where you come in. The vigilante has been busting drug dealers and re-creating panels from one of the last Hooded Falcon issues your father published before he died. Do you know if your father wrote about any real crimes at all? We’re looking for a connection between this drug ring and the comics your father wrote.”
This question stops Casey dead in his tracks. He swallows noisily and sits back, jovial manner gone. “I, uh, that’s an interesting question to ask. Certainly he was inspired by real events. Constantly poring over the newspaper for inspiration. But what does that have to do with what you’re investigating?”