The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(50)
Matteo looks unconvinced. He glances at Rideout, who gives him a shrug that I read as “It’s your own funeral.” “Fine, we won’t put him in custody unless something comes out of the questioning. But we are going to bring him in to the station. He’s a bigger player in this than we thought.”
I nod, but inwardly I’m dying. If the police show up at Lawrence’s door before I can tell him what’s been going on, I’ll never forgive myself. Also, I want to see the entire journal before the police have it. What if the crooked cop loses it on purpose? A plan hatches in my head. I need to get to Lawrence before the police.
Rideout seems oblivious to my plight. He’s staring at the TV screen with a scowl that would make any comic book villain jealous. “This just keeps getting more complicated. Now we’re trying to solve a thirty-year-old possible murder as well?”
I chance a look at Rideout, then address Matteo, “I think it’s all related. The last issues, including the journals. The drug dealers. The White Rabbit. We just have to put it all together. We’re getting close. I can feel it.” Even if it looks like my friends—no, my family—are involved and their lives are at risk.
Rideout makes a sound of derision in the back of his throat and pushes the TV screen and cart into the corner of the room before stalking out into the hallway. He grabs the arm of the younger officer, Officer James, the one I saw pocket evidence at the crime scene. I recognize the thinning sandy hair. He and Rideout have an intense discussion, and my interest piques. The younger officer looks angry about something, and I can’t help my brain from going back to the warehouse. Two more officers walk by in the hall. One looks vaguely familiar too. This is the problem with my paranoia. Until we have a way to pinpoint the double agent, it could be literally anyone at this police station with knowledge of the case.
Matteo’s fingers snap in front of my eyes, and I’m brought out of my thoughts and back to the interrogation room. “Hello? Get your coat. You and I are going to go look at Casey Senior’s office while your boss is making his statement. I’ve told Officer James to take a very long time to complete this task so that your boss won’t know you’re our informant. Casey mentioned he’s shipping many of the items in the study for a charity auction tomorrow, including the costume. It’s likely our only chance.” He motions to Officer James, who still looks cranky, but now I understand the heated exchange with Rideout. I would be upset too if I had to stay at the precinct and do paperwork while my partners went to search a suspect’s office.
Rideout sticks his head back in. He barely gives me a glance and addresses Matteo, “Let’s get this show on the road. We only have an hour tops before this guy heads home.”
“Oh goody,” I mutter under my breath. Instead of a cozy conversation in the car, I get to enjoy the dulcet tones of Detective Rideout singing all the verses of subtle jabs about why MG shouldn’t be here. All the better for me to stew about Lawrence on my own.
Lawrence didn’t just work for Casey Senior. He was a confidant. He lived with the man. If Casey Junior is right and his father was murdered, odds are Lawrence has seen his killer. Not only that; if there is a leak in the LAPD, it’s only a matter of time before Lawrence becomes the number-one target. We need to wrap this up yesterday.
CHAPTER 16
The manor sits like a refined older gentleman—elegant, slightly sprawling, with the air of being worn in and relaxed—atop a hill overlooking a private greenbelt outside of LA. On one side, Griffith Observatory looms atop the same scrubby hill looking down on us, and on the other three sides, there isn’t a house to be seen. Deep woods obscure the view of the nearest neighbor, and I contemplate the possibility of them being my favorite movie star.
“Rough place to grow up,” I mutter, climbing out of the sleek dark sedan, a real undercover car this time. No Prius in sight. This is a serious investigation at this point. All it took was a flash of Matteo’s badge in front of the camera on the front gate, and it opened straightaway. Now, a figure in a conservative black suit comes down the stone steps toward us. My parents may be rich, but they aren’t “front gate with a camera, butler at the front door” rich.
In short order, we are escorted inside the spacious foyer, classic and distinguished with checkered black-and-white floors and a large arrangement of flowers. At first glance, it’s the opposite of who I am. I expect to hate this house, to feel the overpolished, stuffy, overpowering feeling of Casey Junior in every room. Instead, it feels oddly like . . . coming home.
There’s an aura. I feel the presence of a man I’ve never met, in this the birthplace of my favorite stories. He’s everywhere. The old-fashioned brass light fixtures that come off as charmingly retro instead of tacky and outdated. A huge bust of a superhero cast in bronze and attached over a doorway like he’s flying through the wall. The row of paintings between that door and the stairs that have the eyes cut out. I assume it’s so someone in the room can look through them—it’s classic comic fodder, kooky as all get out, and I love it. I not only feel Casey Senior’s presence; it’s like the house welcomes me. Sighs with relief that I’ve come. I shove away the thought that Casey Senior’s spirit wants me to solve this case. That’s crazy, right?
It also shows that Casey Junior has not redecorated in the thirty years since his father’s death. I frown, thinking through his impassioned interview. Perhaps this house is the very proof I need to show that Casey Junior really loved his father. Wants his presence to linger.