Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(23)

Damian waved a hand in the air. “All of that evidence is circumstantial.”

Ianelli didn’t blink. “Now let’s get down to what was seized during the search. We found a bloody T-shirt in your hamper and long dark hairs both in your car and in your apartment. Was Zoe in your apartment, Conor?”

Conor reeled. How could this be happening? His voice sounded far away when he answered. “Just for a minute. I had to run up to get my keys. It was raining, so she followed me.”

No one spoke for two long breaths.

“Did you hurt Zoe Finch?” Jackson shot questions at him rapid-fire. “What did you do with her, Conor? Is she still alive?”

“I didn’t hurt anybody. The blood on my shirt is from the kid who attacked me.”

“How do you know Riki LaSanta?”

“I didn’t.” Conor leaned forward to press the pads of his fingertips to his throbbing eyes. “Louisa told me about her today. That’s the first time I heard her name.”

“Why were you at the museum three weeks ago?”

Conor lifted his head.

Jackson’s smile was predatory. “We spotted you on the surveillance videos at the museum.”

“I’d read that Louisa had taken a job there. I thought about asking for her, but I changed my mind.” Conor scrubbed his face with both hands. He wouldn’t buy his own lame story.

“Why?” Jackson leaned in.

“I don’t know,” Conor answered flatly. That was the honest truth.

“How did you know Dr. Hancock had been hired by the museum? I doubt an assistant curator made the Lifestyle section of the Inquirer.”

Conor sighed. “I googled her.”

“How often did you perform Internet searches on Dr. Hancock?”

“A few times since I met her last spring.” Conor answered.

“Why?”

Conor chose his words carefully. I couldn’t get her out of my head made him sound like a stalker. “I was curious.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” Conor was not admitting he had a thing for Louisa. The cops would no doubt turn his attraction for her into something perverted.

“I’m surprised. You have nice, neat answers for everything else.” Jackson gestured with his cup. “Almost like you planned every detail.”

Conor groaned.

“Detective, my client has answered every question you’ve asked him.” Damian pressed his forefinger into the table. “Are you prepared to charge him with a crime?”

Jackson scowled but didn’t answer his question. Instead, he reached into his file and slid a photo onto the table. For the first few seconds, Conor’s eyes and brain refused to register what he was seeing. But the image clarified all too quickly: a charred body. Conor closed his eyes, but it was too late. He couldn’t unsee the horror on the stainless-steel table that had once been a young girl. It took all his strength not to hurl everything he’d eaten in the past three weeks onto the floor.

Louisa had mentioned the picture at the bar earlier. He knew it was going to be disturbing, and he was even sorrier that she had seen it.

“What the hell?” Damian’s palms hit the table. “Was that really necessary?”

Conor rested his head in his hands. Damian pushed the water cup at him, but Conor shook his head.

“That’s it. My client is done answering questions. Unless you’re prepared to charge him with a crime, we’re leaving.”

Conor agreed. He was done answering questions. If the detectives thought he could do what had been done to that young woman, it was hopeless to try and convince them otherwise.

The cords of Jackson’s neck went tight as steel cables, and his lips compressed into a bloodless line.

Ianelli stood up. “Your client will have to sit tight for a few more minutes.” He left the room. Jackson followed without speaking.

“Just breathe for a minute. I didn’t even get a good look at the picture, and I nearly lost it.” Damian put a hand on Conor’s shoulder. “On the bright side, if I hadn’t already been convinced of your innocence, your reaction sealed the deal for me.”

Conor raised his head. Acid burned up the back of his throat into his nasal passages. He needed to get out of this claustrophobic room. But the holding cell had been worse. What were they going to do with him?

Damian leaned close to his ear. “They’re obviously checking with the DA to see if he’s willing to file charges.”

“Will he?”

“Frankly, Conor, it could go either way. They’ve gathered the perfect storm of circumstantial evidence.”





9


Louisa found a metered parking spot across the street from the museum. The exterior design of the Livingston Museum mirrored the exhibits within. Renovations over the years had given the old building a modern flare, a slide down the timeline of history from present to past.

The streetlight behind her reflected on the dark glass, casting her own image back at her. It was past closing time. She stepped closer and shielded her eyes with her cupped hands. She couldn’t see any movement inside. But she knew people were in there. The night security guard would be on duty. He was likely making his rounds. The cleaners worked at least until midnight. She didn’t have a key to the front door, and there was no one in sight. Heels ringing on the concrete, she slipped down the narrow alley that led to the rear of the building. She pulled her key ring from her purse and opened the back door. In the corridor, a tiny green light on the alarm panel blinked. She swiped her card through the reader and entered the four-digit security code, and the light stilled.