over her shoulder, waiting for the moment when the Voice of Doom would appear. She shuttered. If he didn’t spill his guts to the investigators, she’d have to find the phone and flash drive. If juries wanted motives, she’d find one. There was no way this psycho would stroll out of jail ever again.
An antsy she could shake itched its way up her spine and she paced around Hank’s office as she chewed her bottom lip. She’d been hanging out in the cramped space for the past hour, ever since the investigators finished talking with her. They’d introduced themselves as Strunk and White, no first names, asked her a few questions and released her right as the first-shift deputies were heading home for dinner.
The walls of Hank’s office closed in on her as she marched around the small space. She had to get out of here. Waiting and worrying was making her nuts.
She grabbed Hank’s coffee cup and hustled out the door. The fluorescent bulbs, sizzling above the hallway’s Army-green vinyl floor, intensified her hungry headache. Her stomach growled for dinner, a snack, anything. Maybe she could snag a donut in the break room.
Anything would do, but the apprehensive little girl inside her cried for comfort food: creamy mashed potatoes, lasagna stuffed with meatballs, warm chicken noodle soup, anything made with chocolate. Unfortunately, she’d have to placate her hunger with the vending machine’s heart-attack-in-a-plastic-sack food.
Hank’s oversized “I Heart Nebraska Football” cup quivered in her hand as she strode down the hall. Already, she’d had four cups of strong coffee. Caffeine ran through her veins faster than a rabid dog chasing a squirrel. Still, she jonesed for more. The joys of addiction.
She half hoped and half dreaded running into Jake in the hall. She hadn’t seen him since the deputies separated them at Harvest for questioning.
“My name is Frank Darcy and I want to call my attorney.”
That voice. Every hair on her body stood at attention. Frank Darcy? Burlington had told the truth about Kendall’s biological father.
Appetite forgotten, she jerked to a stop. Where was he? If she could listen in on the interview, she wouldn’t have to wait on Hank for the answers. A quick glance around confirmed no one else would see her eavesdropping. If she got caught, there would be hell to pay, but it would be worth it.
To her left, a door stood ajar. She tiptoed over and stood with her back flat against the wall. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse inside the video room. Hank and two deputies crowded around a black-and-white TV watching the closed-circuit feed from the interrogation room.
“Look, Barney Fife, I said I want to call my lawyer. Give me a phone. Now.”
Small speakers attached to the TV added static to Darcy’s cynical tone. Hearing him talk and watching him on the grainy footage sent a cold blast of fury across Claire’s skin.
The murdering jerk slouched back in his chair and dismissed the investigators with a turn of his head. Strunk and White sat across a narrow table from him. An unopened case file filled the space between the two sides.
He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The EMTs must have shot him full of some pretty damn good meds to even out his meth high. If he worried about going to prison for murder, it didn’t show on his face.
The cup handle cracked in her tight grip. She’d shoot the bastard in the ass again if she had the chance. Of course, at the time, she’d been aiming a bit higher. Nervous about hitting Jake, she’d flinched.
Too bad.
“Sure, sure. You’ll get your call,” Strunk said. He smiled. No malice touched his face.
Judging by his companionable attitude, she figured he played good cop.
“Course, we’ll have to put you into lockup until he gets here. It’ll only take, what, five hours for him to get here from Denver. Sound right, Steve?”
White cracked his knuckles. “Yep.”
“It’s a pretty drive, what with everything turned nice and green from last night’s rain. The lawyer might stop for dinner. Maybe even at Harvest. The wife has been begging me to make reservations there for months. Your attorney, he might check into a hotel. Be here what, around nine tonight?”
“Yep.” White lumbered over, stood behind Darcy. A feather couldn’t have fit between his protruding belly and Darcy’s shaved head.
“You’ll have to spend the night. Deal with the drunks pulled over after Monday Night Football. Might get puked on. Man, those are nice shoes you’ve got. Hate to see what regurgitated nachos and beer would do to them.” Strunk paused, flipped through some papers. “So why don’t you talk with us a bit first. Dragging in a lawyer only slows the process down.”
Darcy and Strunk faced off against each other in silence. After a few moments, Darcy leaned forward, his face a mask of gullibility drenched in sweat.
“Really? You think my lawyer-free cooperation would make your DA look kindly on little ol’ me?” Sarcasm thick as honey, but nowhere near as sweet, coated Darcy’s words.
“Now, Frank…can I call you Frank?” Strunk leaned forward, hands open, palms showing.
“You can call me Sugartits McGee if it makes you happy. But I’m not talking without a lawyer. Phone. Now.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Good cop looked straight into the camera, shrugged his shoulders. Without a word, he gathered his papers and left the interview room.
Frustrated, Claire wanted to holler at the men in the video room. They couldn’t just give up. They had to make him talk.