A Grand Seduction Read online

  “No. Not exactly.” She hesitated, wondering how much to say. She damn well wasn’t going to tell a cop she was getting paid to fuck the guy. “We had just met at a bar. Didn’t tell me he was married.”

  The officer grunted. His mouth bowed in a perfect curve she found herself drawn to. Why couldn’t she have been getting paid to give Officer Hottie a roll? Of course, why was she even wondering about crap like that under these nauseating circumstances? She must still be in shock.

  Another cop came out of the room, holding two clear plastic bags. One contained a gun. What was that still doing there? Hadn’t the murdering bitch taken it? She couldn’t make out what was in the other bag.

  The man handed Hottie the bag, whispering something and barely glancing her way before leaving. The young guy nodded, then fisted his hips in such a way that the bag was half concealed behind him.

  “You two have an argument this evening?” he asked.

  “We weren’t arguing,” she said. “I told you, we were fucking.”

  “But you said you found out he was married. That must have been upsetting.”

  “Not as upsetting as watching his wife kill him.”

  “The wife no one else saw, you mean?”

  Her heart sped up. “Someone must have seen her.”

  “We’ve got the gun,” he went on, still eyeing her. “It’ll be dusted for prints. Anything else you want to tell me?”

  A thought struck, and she nodded. “They won’t find any.”

  “Really? How would you know that?”

  “She was wearing gloves.”

  “You mean like these?” The bag came out from behind his back, and she smiled. This proof would back up her story.

  “Yes! Exactly. Where did you find those?”

  “In the bottom of your purse.” He nodded to a sweaty fat guy and the uniform standing beside him. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back, ma’am.”

  She watched, detached, as he juggled the bag of gloves while pulling cuffs off his belt. “Why?”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Chester Harrison.”

  *

  Lanie lifted her head from a desk that smelled of old school paste, tobacco, and mildew. At least, it had several hours earlier, when she’d still been capable of smelling. Now her sinuses were swollen and her head felt twice its normal size. Not from any physical police brutality. She’d cried herself out, until her tear ducts dried up and she couldn’t see anymore. Yet the interrogation on her had persisted. All eternal night, Fasto and Hottie had taken turns grilling her. The good news was, she hadn’t been cavity searched. Yet. The bad news was that the good news stopped there. These guys were convinced she was guilty of murder, and refused to listen the twenty times she’d gone over what had happened. Really, how many different ways could they ask the same questions? The whole thing was infuriating and terrifying, and she kept wishing she would wake up from this nightmare. Only it wasn’t night anymore.

  Peering through grit-crusted eyes, the wall clock declared that morning had dawned on this spectacularly shitty day some time ago. Her head rose in response to Hot Cop bounding in the door with a cup of coffee. He was infused with an irritating buoyancy, as though he had just come from a full night’s sleep. How the hell did they pull that off?

  “Here you go. One sugar, extra cream.” The cup was placed before her, and she shifted a butt cheek experimentally off the hard wooden chair she knew must have been used as some sort of medieval torture device. Her ass would never be the same, and that was before the cavity search. Still, she managed a weak, “Thank you,” and sipped at the Styrofoam cup as though it might contain her salvation.

  Sadly, it didn’t.

  “So tell me again,” the all-too-chipper detective said as the chair legs scraped against the floor, “how you knew Mr. Harrison.”

  “I already told you. I hardly knew him. We met in a bar.”

  “Kind of fast, jumping a guy you just met in some motel?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I know. But I wasn’t aware that was a crime.”

  “Depends where you live, and whether the guy is married. And whether you kill him when you’re finished.”

  “I said I didn’t kill him! And I had no idea he was married, either. Not until his wife came busting in and blew him away.”

  “Uh-huh. And where were you standing again when that happened?”

  “I wasn’t standing. I was straddling his cock. His big, fat, giant, hard cock. Get the picture?”

  “But you said you were standing when the shot was fired.”

  “That was later.”

  “You said it happened fast.”

  “He threw me off the bed!”

  “So you were on the floor, not standing.”

  “No!” Lanie slapped her half-empty cup on the table, ignoring the sting of hot coffee sloshing onto her hand. “Why don’t you go ask his wife all of this? Surely you’ve talked to her by now. I mean, don’t you have to notify next of kin or something? Not that she doesn’t already know damn well.”

  “You seem very interested in his wife.”

  “Someone should be, since she’s the real killer. Talk to her—she was there. Hell, she might even confess. Because I didn’t do anything.”

  “We will talk to her, once we find her.” The cop eyed her carefully.

  She slapped a hand on the table. “Aha! See, I told you. She’s on the run already.”

  “According to her neighbor, she’s on a prearranged overnight trip and is due back this afternoon.”

  “How convenient. A lie to cover her escape, no doubt.”

  His jaw twitched. “So she planned to shoot her husband for sleeping with you at least a week before you claim to have even met the man?”

  Lanie’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. Sweat itched at her scalp, and she ran a hand through her tangled mass of hair. “Maybe she’s psychic.”

  “And maybe you aren’t telling me everything.”

  Christ. Why was this happening? Wasn’t getting bashed around by a drunk boyfriend enough? “So you decide I’m guilty and want to lock me away without even talking to her because I happen to be handy?”

  “And happend to have the murder weapon and gloves on you. But I’ll be talking to a lot of people. Meanwhile, I have probable cause to hold you. So enjoy the jail décor. We’ll have another chat again soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Detective Warren Ross made his way back through the urgent bustle of the precinct, rubbing the back of his neck. Similar knots of tension always plagued him when a case like this came along, especially when partnered with lack of sleep.

  He was reasonably satisfied that they had the right suspect in custody, but reason sometimes had little to do with justice. He needed to be fully satisfied with the facts before turning things over to the D.A. Only then could he light up a post-game cigarette and breathe.

  Lanie had motive, he could place her at the scene, and she had physical evidence. Plus she was lying about some things, of that he was certain. Still, if twelve years on the force had taught him anything, it was that dishonesty was part of the human genome. You could always count on people to lie. Trouble was, though you could often tell what they were lying about, it took a great deal more digging in the dirt to uncover how and why.

  Halfway back to his desk, he spotted his partner’s characteristic half-strut, half-slump headed his way. He was carrying two paper cups.

  “Stopped for coffee, I see,” Warren said.

  Liebowitz held one out. “Double shot, no cream. Figured you could use some yourself.”

  Warren shook his head. “Figured wrong. I’ve been downing Maggie’s sludge since midnight. Any more and my gut might explode.”

  The other man shrugged. “Shoulda held out for the real thing. A puddle of her coffee could fool a Texan into thinking he’d struck crude.”

  They turned and walked back to their desks, Liebowitz still holding both cups. Once there, Warren half sat on the edge
of his, knocking a pencil cup and photo of his niece slightly askew. “What’d you get aside from overpriced coffee?”

  “Still no lead on the friend Mrs. Harrison is allegedly visiting. No one knows whether she’s got a cell, and there’s no listing for one. She’s due back soon, so I left an unmarked nearby to report in if she shows.”

  “Neighbors think she was acting suspicious?”

  “Right as rain, whatever the hell that means. Both Mr. and Mrs. were acting status quo. Did another flyby on witnesses at the motel. Several heard the shot, but most ate carpet instead of sticking their head near a window or door to see the gunman. Go figure.”

  “Safety before curiosity. Could be a first.”

  The other grunted. “Got a couple highlights worth mentioning, though. Ran a check of the guests we interviewed at the scene against the motel’s registration roster. One was missing.”

  “Ducked and ran?”

  “Looks like. Probably had their own dirty laundry to hide, heard the shot, and figured the cops were about to get too close for comfort. But it could be something else.”

  “Get a name?”

  “An alias. Alice Smith. Phony address. Paid cash. Day clerk doesn’t remember her checking out.”

  Warren nodded. “Be worth trying to get a description from the night staff. See if she stayed there before.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Oh, and one other thing from the Harrison’s next-door neighbor. This wasn’t the first time our boy had strayed.”

  “It never is.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently it wasn’t a secret. The missus knew everything.”

  Warren chewed on that for a moment. “Neighbor ever see any of the women?”

  “Nope. Just over the fence gossip.”

  Warren stood up. “That definitely opens up the whole woman scorned thing.”

  “Yep.” Liebowitz dropped his empty brew in the can next to the desk, then started on Warren’s cup. After one sip, he screwed his face into an ugly twist. “Christ. Shit on a stick warning, two o’clock.” He nodded over Warren’s shoulder. He turned to see a brown nose from Forensics shuffling over.

  “Got some news on the Harrison case,” the guy said, chewing a toothpick. “You got a problem.”

  Liebowitz grunted. “Yeah, well, murder usually is a problem, genius. Whaddya got?”

  “Still trying to match up the bullet, but there were no prints on the gun.” The kid shifted the toothpick with his tongue. Not even partials.”

  Warren nodded. “We expected that. Gloves were used.”

  “Not the ones you sent in. They’re clean.”

  His partner scowled. “Clean? They were in her purse.”

  The forensics nerd shrugged. “Snatched a couple of cloth fibers off the gun that were a match, but the gloves have no traces of gun oil or powder residue. Even better, I couldn’t dredge so much as a skin flake from the inside. They’ve never been worn.”

  Warren sighed. “So they weren’t used for the shooting, then.”

  “Not likely.” The kid pulled the toothpick from his mouth, pointing it at Liebowitz while she spoke. “She might have dumped the real gloves somewhere and planted these to throw you off.”

  The detective sneered at the toothpick. “And you might have been watching too many CSI episodes.”

  Ignoring the comment, the lanky man stuck the toothpick behind his ear and went on. “Also noticed something on your crime scene photos. Spatter patterns on the suspect and sheets are consistent with her standing beside the bed, near the victim and facing the door. But he was shot from farther back.”

  Liebowitz looked at his partner. “Well, shit. That corroborates her story.”

  “Square one, then,” Warren said. “Sure like to question the wife, five minutes ago.”

  “Yep. Down here at the station, sounds like.”

  “You handle that. I’m going to chat with Lanie again.”

  “Kicking her loose?”

  Warren fisted his hips. “Not quite yet. She’s not telling us everything. I’m going to spare her this latest news for a bit, see if I can’t find out what it is.”

  *

  Lanie’s momentary elation at being let out of her hellish cell turned to bitter annoyance when she saw where the deputy was taking her. Still, anything was better than keeping company with a toilet, a lumpy mattress, and the endless screaming and anguish coming from other cells all night long.

  As she was escorted in, Detective Hottie was waiting. “Lanie. Thank you for coming.”

  “Like I had any fuckin’ say.”

  “Just a couple more questions, and there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

  “Oh sure. I live to serve.”

  “Can I get you anything? Soda? Cigarette?”

  “The key to my jail cell would be nice.”

  His laugh was flat. “You gave a sketchy description of the woman you say came in and shot your boyfriend.”

  “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Would you recognize her again if you saw her?”

  Lanie blinked in surprise. “Yeah. I guess. Why?”

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  He nodded to the deputy, who led them down the hall to another room that was just as sparse as the first, but somehow less foreboding. One of the inner walls was covered by a curtain, reminding Lanie of the viewing room at her father’s funeral. She knew what must be coming.

  “So you believe me now, right? Or else we wouldn’t be here.”

  He turned to face her. “This is just procedure, like you said before. I’d like you to take a look at some women, see if you recognize any from the night of the shooting. They won’t be able to see you.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “I watch cop shows.”

  He leaned over and flipped a switch. With a word from him, the curtain slid open.

  “Just take your time,” he said. “No rush.”

  A number of women dressed in her own garb stood against a wall, facing her. Staring at the drained, dull faces, there was no doubt in her mind even before having to wait through a faceless voice directing the group through a series of paces.

  When it was over he said, “So?”

  She stared once more, then shrugged. “She’s not here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  They went back to the other room, Lanie growing more heated with each step. Once inside, she refused a seat. “Why did you bother making me look at a bunch of jail hounds? I told you, the wife did it. Drag her in here and I’ll prove it.”

  He blinked. “The wife was there. You didn’t ID her.”

  Her jaw went slack. “What? Impossible.”

  He fished around inside a file lying on the table, then held up a photo of Chester with a well-dressed older woman.

  Lanie frowned. “That’s not his wife.”

  He nodded. “Yes it is. This photo was taken two months ago.”

  She blinked in confusion. “That isn’t the woman I saw. I mean, I assumed she was, the way they acted. Him cheating and all. Who else could it be?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? Which brings me back to you.”

  “It wasn’t me!”

  “Please, sit down.”

  After she complied, he joined her across the table. “Who, then, Lanie? Who would have wanted him dead?”

  “How should I know? I didn’t even know the guy! They just told me to hook up with him.”

  Shit. She snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late.

  The detective’s brow went up. “They? They who?”

  She shook her head. “Nobody.”

  “I’m trying to help you get out of here. But you have to level with me.”

  She sighed. “A couple of women asked me to make friends with him. They told me where he was going to be.”

  “What women?”

  “I don’t know. I’d never seen them before.”

  “So two strangers said a strange guy was at the Night
Cap Lounge, and you just up and went to meet him? Why would you do that?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come on, Lanie. You need to get real straight with me, real quick.”

  Lanie bit her lip, wondering how clean she should come. After all, if there was a chance to skip a long-term lease on that jail cell, she should take it. Then again, things weren’t looking so hot. Maybe she should spill her guts and nip this whole murder rap thing right now.

  She took a deep breath. “They were going to pay me to be nice to him.”

  “How nice?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Real nice, okay?”

  He shook his head. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “I’m telling the truth! I swear!”

  “Yeah, like the other chats we’ve had?”

  “Look, I’m not crazy. I didn’t want to bring it up if I didn’t have to. And I didn’t think how I met the guy mattered.”

  Lanie told him the story of the woman who called her out of the blue, followed by the two who showed up to hire her. Afterward, he shook his head. “So here we are again on a wild goose chase. These women supposedly contacted you, but you can’t identify them and didn’t catch their names?”

  “I said they probably didn’t use real names. Cindy and Angel is what they called themselves.”

  “And you met them in person, but don’t know what they look like?”

  “They were both wearing hats and big sunglasses. Both were slim. One was my height, the other a bit shorter. I think one had brown hair.”

  “How were you expecting to get paid, if you didn’t know anything about them?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Oh! I was supposed to call. I have their cell number programmed into mine.”

  Without a word, he stood up and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get my partner and your cell phone. Feel like making a call?”

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened. “You can trace it!”

  “To the cell phone tower nearest them.”

  Hope dared to creep into her marrow. “How close is that?”

  “Depends. A few yards to a few miles, maybe. Close enough.”

  “What should I say about the murder?”

  He paused at the door. “Nothing for now. Just let them think everything went off as planned. You know, do what you do best. Lie your ass off.” She tried not to curl her lip at that last as he reached for the door handle. “They owe you money, right?”