Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(22)

Conor opened his mouth to protest, but Damian cut him off with a raised palm. “I know. You’re innocent. Let me finish. As always, political issues come into play as well. Jackson wants to close this case as quickly as possible. His boss is breathing down his neck. The captain wants to be mayor, and a string of murdered college girls isn’t on the road to office.

“Lastly, the university’s board members will apply their own pressure. Parents don’t want to send their little girls off to a college where they won’t be safe. This girl is pretty and young. They’re going to trot out her f*cking baby pictures for the media. Grade-school snapshots of Zoe Finch in pigtails will be all over the news and Internet. Her parents will go on the nightly news to plead for their daughter’s return. You, on the other hand, had better never have been convicted of so much as a parking ticket. The media will find the worst shots of you possible to bombard the public. If there’s anything resembling a mug shot anywhere in the universe, they will find it.”

“This is all wrong.”

“Conor, snap out of it. This is real. You are caught in the middle of an emotionally volatile situation. You have to deal with it. The detectives will be in here any minute. Answer their questions as succinctly as possible. If I think a question is loaded, I’ll stop you from answering. Don’t volunteer information. Do not refer to this girl in the past tense. Not even once. As far as you know, she is alive and well and spent the night at a friend’s beach house. And Conor, pay attention, because the questions they ask will tell us about the evidence they’ve found.”

Light-headed, Conor dropped his head into his hands. Blood rushed in his ears.

The door opened, and Detectives Jackson and Ianelli came in. Damian moved to the chair next to Conor, leaving the cops to sit across the table.

Damian held up a hand. “Before we get started, Mr. Sullivan needs a glass of water.”

Ianelli slipped out the door. He returned in a couple of minutes and set a paper cup in front of Conor.

He drank the cool liquid and used the minute to get his shit together. They read him his Miranda rights and handed him a paper to sign confirming he understood them.

Jackson rested his forearms on the table. “Let’s start with a recap of Monday night.”

“You have the surveillance video,” Conor said.

Jackson nodded. “We’d like to hear what happened in your words.”

“A group of Flyers fans came in after the game. One girl and four guys. The guys were drinking pretty hard. One of the guys grabs his girl. She protests, but he won’t let her go. I interceded. The guy took a swing at me, so I popped him. Then I bounced him. The other three guys took him and left. The girl stayed behind. I offered to call her a cab. She declined, saying she’d call her roommate for a ride, but when closing time came, she was still there. I asked her how she was getting home, and she said the subway. I locked up, gave her a ride to the station, and went home.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

The cop stared. “Why did you give her a ride to the station? It’s only a few blocks from your bar.”

“I didn’t want anything bad to happen to the girl,” Conor said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

Jackson pounced. “Why would you think anything bad would happen to her?”

But the damage was done. “My little sister was attacked in a parking garage when she was in college. So I’m well aware that this city isn’t as safe as it should be. Young girls shouldn’t trust anybody.”

The cop stared. Conor stared back.

Jackson switched gears. “How’d you get that scratch on your face?”

Oh shit. Conor had forgotten about that. “After I got home, I found an injured pit bull in the alley behind the bar. A kid came looking for her. Considering she looked like she’d been in a dogfight, I declined to give her back. He pulled a knife on me. I disarmed him, but he managed to nick my face.”

Jackson tilted his head. “What happened to him?”

“I punched him in the nose, and he left.”

“Two fights in one night?” Jackson’s brow rose. “Do you have a history of violent behavior, Conor?”

The question felt loaded, and Conor didn’t respond.

Damian cut in. “Both the incidents my client described were clearly self-defense.”

Jackson nodded. “But you were a fighter at one time?”

“Amateur boxer,” Conor clarified. “But I’ve been out of that for years.”

“Detective,” Damian said. “I don’t see how my client’s sporting activity is in any way related to the events of Monday night.”

“She called your cell,” Jackson said.

“I asked her to call me when she got home,” Conor answered.

“Let me summarize the situation for you.” Detective Jackson raised a fist. “You were the last person to be seen with Zoe Finch. We have a witness who saw an altercation between you two in front of the station. The transit surveillance videos do not show Zoe entering the station. You have a scratch on your face. The last call on Zoe’s phone records is to your cell.” He ticked off each point by extending a finger until he ran out of digits.

Altercation? Oh no. Someone had seen him startle Zoe with that tap on the shoulder and misinterpreted the act.