Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(21)
“I’m leaving now.” Louisa rose, praying her legs held her frame upright. Images of Riki’s ruined body flashed in an endless reel. “If you have any more questions, I’ll need time to notify my attorney.”
If the police were interested in finding Zoe, Louisa would be the first person in line to assist them. But Jackson actually implied she was involved in or knew about her intern’s disappearance and Riki’s death.
“One more thing.” Ianelli frowned at his partner. “For a ritual killing, would there be some kind of complicated setup?”
“I don’t know.” Louisa gripped the edge of the table. Could Zoe still be alive? Had she been tortured? Set on fire? “Probably. The ones in Maine did. You should check with the state police detective there.”
“We already have,” Ianelli said. His dark gaze was intent on her face and seemed to recognize her distress. He stood and offered Louisa his hand. “I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your time. Do you need some water?”
Shaking her head, Louisa accepted his handshake. His warm palm nearly burned her icy hand. She directed her parting comment to Jackson. “I hope you’re not so focused on Conor that you’ve stopped looking for Zoe.”
“Every cop on duty is looking for her. If the killer has a pattern, then she might still be alive. Riki wasn’t killed right away. She was tied up and tortured for a few days first.”
Louisa’s head spun. She fought the dizziness. Under her jacket, a chilly line of sweat dripped between her shoulder blades and soaked her blouse.
Ianelli shot Jackson a disturbed glance. Ianelli might want to pursue every lead, but the dynamics of the partnership were easily identifiable. Jackson was in charge, and he appeared to be concentrating his efforts on Conor.
She left the room on wobbly legs, her high heels seeming narrower. A few minutes later, she found herself standing next to her car with no recollection of walking to it. She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The vehicle still smelled faintly of dog. Although cool, the interior felt suffocating. She lowered the windows and rested her head on the back of the seat.
The police detectives thought she could be collaborating with Conor, as if either of them could do what had been done to Riki. Those images would be forever branded into Louisa’s brain. She would see them until the day she died. To think the police suspected her of collaborating or covering up such a deed was truly abhorrent.
Louisa knew she was innocent, and she couldn’t believe Conor would do anything as horrible as they’d described. How would the police ever find Zoe if they weren’t looking for other suspects?
A uniformed cop led Conor into a small interview room at the police station and locked him inside. He paced the linoleum for a few minutes, then dropped into a metal chair. He propped his elbows on the stainless-steel table and let his head fall into his hands.
His entire body felt like someone had beaten him with a stick. He’d spent the last hour perched on the edge of a metal bunk, staring at the moldy walls of a holding cell. With no empty interview rooms, he’d been briefly caged with two drunks, a couple of gangbangers, and one seriously crazy f*cker who sat in the middle of the floor and banged his forehead on the concrete. The single toilet was clogged. Obvious stains covered the floors. The odors of vomit, human waste, and sweaty bodies were permanently infused into his nostrils.
When he got home, he was going to delouse himself. With bleach. His clothes were going directly into the Dumpster. He refused to think of spending the next twenty years of his life in a cinderblock-and-steel tomb. It couldn’t happen.
The small interview room had no windows and no clock, but it was a vast improvement. Conor shifted his weight, then sat up and rolled his shoulders. His decision to wait for an attorney had slowed the entire process. They hadn’t said anything, but that announcement had probably solidified his guilt in the cops’ eyes, but he could practically see the railroad tracks spanning his body. There was no way he was talking to Jackson or anyone else without a lawyer in the room. His younger brother had gotten in enough trouble in his youth. Conor had learned the basics of the legal system keeping Danny out of juvenile detention.
The door swung open, and a thin, blond man strode in. Gold cuff links winked in the glare of the overhead light as he held out a hand. “Damian Grant. I’m your attorney.”
Conor shook it. Everything about the young lawyer, from his short, edgy haircut to his slim suit pants, looked expensive. Where had Pat found this guy? “Thanks for coming.”
“It’s my job. Right now, I need you to tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Panic sliced through the numb sensation in Conor’s gut as he related the events of the night Zoe disappeared. “The police will investigate. They’ll find whoever’s responsible, right?”
“You’ve been watching too much TV.” Damian slid into the seat opposite Conor, linked his fingers, and leaned on his forearms. The gel on his wavy hair gleamed in the light. “There are several extenuating factors in this investigation. First of all, the police would love to find this girl alive. Every minute she is still missing decreases the chances of that happening. They already have one dead girl. They don’t want another. Secondly, if you’re here, then they think you’re responsible.”