“I’m sorry, Angel, but I’ve got to ask.” I try not to fidget with my fingers. I can tell both detectives look as uncomfortable about this as me. “Has Chad ever made you feel uncomfortable?”
I lick my lips wondering why they aren’t asking about the parking lot. They might be working their way into it. The thought of me needing a lawyer crosses my mind.
“Why would you ask me that?” I try and dodge the question with one of my own.
“To be frank with you, we’ve been looking into Chad. It’s come up that some people think he has a thing for you. They’ve noticed some weird behavior on his part when it pertains to you.”
“Did Chad do something wrong?” I try not to sound too hopeful. The man should be behind bars. I don’t know why but I’m sure he’s done something. He is so unsettling. The way he cornered me against my car.
“We can’t really discuss that.” Sanchez shrugs, looking apologetic. I tell them the truth. About Chad seeming to be everywhere that I was. That he offered me a job that I turned down. The way that he’d cornered me in the parking lot. I tell them everything except the part about Lucas throwing Chad into his car. I don’t tell them that. I don’t lie, I just conveniently leave that part out.
“Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Lee asks. I hate this. I don’t want to get Lucas in trouble, but I can’t tell how much they know.
“To be honest I don’t really want to talk about this without Lucas.” I drop my head, looking down at my hands, pretending to be shy and scared about all of this.
“I understand.” Sanchez stands. Lee follows suit.
“Thank you for your time.” Lee nods to me. I lead them to the door, saying goodbye and locking it behind them. I lean up against it wondering when Lucas will be home. I don’t even know where he is and based on my conversation with Detectives Sanchez and Lee, they don’t either.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas
Lee and Sanchez are in the examination room when I arrive. Sanchez is sprawled on my chair, toying with my mouse and Lee is spinning on one of the rolling stools. Since Angel told me that they stopped by, I knew they would be coming. I wasn’t sure what angle they were going to take. Are they accusing me or concerned about my wife?
“I heard you had a run-in with Dering the other day. Want to tell us about it?” Chavez says, not even waiting for me to hang up my coat.
“He was in my wife’s space and didn’t need to be.” I place my leather jacket on the hook and shrug on my lab coat.
“You hit him.”
“You’re free to book me on assault.” The inventory of bodies appears to have increased by two overnight. The new additions are elderly, arrivals from the Good Life retirement home. I’ll have the intern work on these since there’s a car accident victim that needs to be completed.
“It’s not a good look for the county coroner to be attacking a prominent defense attorney. It could be brought up during cross-examination and make you look less impartial.” Sanchez is stalling. She’s not literally wringing her hands, but she doesn’t like being here and asking questions of me. But she brings up a valid concern. I hadn’t thought of it and I admit that. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but that my wife was being harassed. Should that be brought up in court, too?”
Sanchez grimaces. “Look, I don’t want to ask—“
“We don’t want to ask,” Lee interjects. He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees. “But we have to.”
“Or we wouldn’t be good detectives,” adds Sanchez.
I pull the car victim out of the cooler. Sanchez and Lee both turn away as the smell escapes the sealed unit.
Lee puts a finger against his nose, but Sanchez braves the smell. “The thing is while a number of the victims were represented by Dering, he’s not a surgeon. Based on statements from his housekeeper, Dering can’t wield a butter knife, let alone one of these.” She holds up a scalpel.
“I’m very good with the scalpel.” In another life, maybe I would’ve been a surgeon, but I chose this route instead. It’s the best of both worlds. I get to avoid the pesky practice of dealing with live humans and I can wield my blade.
“Yeah, you are.” Lee’s head jerks up. “Wait, are you confessing?”
“To being good with the knife?” I reach over and pluck the scalpel out of Sanchez’s hands and drop it onto a tray of used instruments ready for sterilization. “It would be foolish for me to lie about that. You’ve watched me work.”
“Yeah.” The two detectives engage in an unspoken battle as to who will ask me the most uncomfortable question. Lee loses.