"When was that?"
"December twenty-eighth," I tell her as my mind flies mentally through my calendar. "I believe it was a Monday night."
That was the week that I had been playing nice with JT, hoping to gain his confidence and trust knowing that he'd be approaching me for money soon. I hope to fuck he didn't have some other plans that Monday night that would show up on a credit card receipt or something.
Detective Denning stares at me a moment, perhaps considering the truth of my words. But finally she nods in acceptance before she says, "Just a few more questions, Mr. North, and I'll let you get out of here."
"Sure," I say, feeling some stress coming off my shoulders that this is winding down.
"Mr. Townsend was your half brother, correct?"
Fuck. Detective Denning has been very busy, it appears.
"That's correct."
"Wasn't common knowledge, was it?" she asks with an almost lecherous smile.
I shake my head. "Just me, my father, and JT's mother."
"Well, Mr. Townsend knew, didn't he?"
I hope my look of surprise seems genuine. "Now that I did not know."
Well, didn't know that until yesterday when my girlfriend told me that JT told her that, but whatever. Denning absolutely doesn't know that.
"Really?" she asks skeptically.
"Really," I say firmly. "I only knew because I overheard a conversation between my dad and JT's mom when I was young. I talked to my dad about it maybe twice since, but it was a very hush-hush secret. My dad even told me specifically that JT didn't know."
Suck it, Dad. You're going to have to fend for yourself on this one when they come knocking on your door to ask you about this.
"That's not what your father told us," she says with an almost feral grin at me.
Goddamn that motherfucker.
"Then he lied to me," I grit out.
"In fact, he told us that his will left half to you and half to JT if your mother predeceased you both," she seems to relish in telling me.
Again, I try to look surprised, because I sort of figured that was true, based on JT's offer to rescind rights to my dad's fortune just before he tried to kill Sela and she, in turn, killed him. "I'm sure your investigation into that has been thorough, Detective Denning, but again...I had no knowledge of that, and frankly, I don't give a shit. I have no need of my father's money."
Her eyebrows raise slightly and that might even be a pinch of respect I see, but then she cuts my legs out from under me again. "Did you know that your sister was explicitly cut out of your father's will?"
"I didn't," I say guardedly.
"Why do you suppose that is?" she asks with her head tilted to the side.
"I suppose it's none of your goddamned business," I say as I lean forward in my chair, Detective Denning finally having succeeded in getting under my skin. "Caroline doesn't have a damn thing to do with anything."
"All right," Doug says with a hand to my shoulder. "I think Mr. North has been more than patient and forthcoming with you, Detective. Wrap it up."
"Mr. North...where were you on January fourth between the hours of noon and five P.M.?"
Knew this was coming too.
"I had lunch at Michael Mina with a colleague, ran to the market after, and then went back to my condo," I tell her.
"And who did you have lunch with?" she asks.
"Dennis Flaherty. He runs a security and investigations firm."
"And what was the purpose of that meeting?" she pushes.
"I'm afraid that's confidential because of patent issues," I tell her smoothly. "But it had to do with security work for The Sugar Bowl."
She nods in acceptance of that, but I know she'll check it out. She's too thorough not to, and I'm glad Dennis is out of the country for a while, and equally glad I did not call him, because I'm sure my phone records had been checked too.
"Anyone that can vouch for your time while at the condo?" I ask.
And I tell her my second bald-faced lie. "My girlfriend, Sela."
"Anyone not as...biased?" she asks with a smirk.
"Oh, I don't know...she's my girlfriend. She can be pissed off at me for any reason, especially when she's PMS'ing."
Hello snarky, smartass Beck North.
Denning stares at me a moment and the smirk never slides off. Finally, she turns her eyes to Doug and stands. "That's all I have. For now. I'll be in touch if I need anything further."
Doug and I don't say a word but watch her round the conference room table and head for the door. When she places her hand on the knob, she pauses and turns to look at me. "Did you know that just this past November, an appeals court struck down a prior ruling that the death penalty was unconstitutional in California?"
"I remember seeing that in the news," I manage to say, even though my stomach is threatening to rebel against me the minute she said death penalty. "What's the point?"
"It's just that capital murder charges are called for if the murder happened for financial gain," she says lightly.
Fucking bitch.
"Then I expect when you find the bookie that killed JT, you'll be filing those charges, right?" I can't help but ask.
She doesn't respond to me but nods her head slightly. "Have a good day, gentlemen."
I flip through the textbook I had picked up this morning at the university bookstore for my class entitled Perception and Sensation, which is scheduled to start day after tomorrow.
I've got nothing but time to kill while I wait for Beck while he gets interviewed at the police station and I sip on my second cup of tea. Beck and I have been busy today. We left this morning for his office, where he gathered everyone in the largest conference room they had. People were standing shoulder to shoulder, three to four deep in the area around the table, as they all listened to Beck talk with heartfelt grief over the passing of JT. A few cried, most had stoic looks on their faces. Karla wasn't there and I assume she was too consumed with grief to come in today.
In fact, Beck had told everyone that he was closing the offices down except for nominal tech support until next Monday, and then I waited around while many of the employees came up to Beck to express their condolences. Within an hour of arriving, we were out the door and headed to the bookstore so I could get my materials for spring semester. We then had a quick lunch and headed to Sausalito, where we met with Beck's attorney about an hour prior to his scheduled "interview."
But let's be honest...it's an interrogation.
And the minute they both walked out of the coffeehouse and left me behind at approximately 1:50 P.M., I became a mess worrying about what was happening.
By two P.M., I didn't wonder anymore. The coffeehouse door opened, which caused a jingling from the bells attached to the door, and I saw Detective DeLatemer walk in. His eyes came directly to me and I knew without a doubt that this was a planned visit on his part. The detectives were splitting Beck and me up, and hitting me by surprise while Beck was sequestered in a planned meeting.
Devious, and my palms immediately started sweating.
He saunters up to me, not even bothering with pretending this is a chance meeting by going first to order some coffee. "Miss Halstead...imagine running into you here," he says with an affable smile.
"Yeah, imagine that," I say dryly.
"Just came in for my routine caffeine fix," he says as he turns toward the counter. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'm good," I say with a nod down at my tea.
"Be right back," he says with that same cheerful smile.
I watch as he puts his order in and patiently waits for them to make it, hands tucked casually into his dress pants and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. When he has coffee in hand, he turns back my way and sits down at my table without invitation.
"Studying?" he asks as he looks down at my textbook before taking a sip of his coffee.
"Just scanning," I say pleasantly, forcing myself not to look and sound like a guilty-as-fuck murderer.
"Have a class starting soon for spring semester."
"What are you studying?"
"I'm getting my master's in counseling psychology."
"Interesting," he says as he sits back comfortably in the small cafe chair. "My daughter had considered a degree in psychology but eventually went with social sciences."
"She can pursue a lot of noble careers with that," I say so we can hopefully keep this small talk going and avoid the harder questions I know are coming.
"So, I'm not going to bullshit you," he says, getting down to business. "I know Mr. North is at the station now talking to my partner, and I knew you were in here. Thought I'd knock out a quick interview. We were going to request a formal one of you anyway."
"Appreciate the straight shooting," I say, and I truly mean that.
"You know you have the right to an attorney to be here if you want," he offers.
I wait for him to go on, but he remains silent...watching me.
"I thought my list of rights were much longer," I mutter.
He laughs and it's genuine. He's totally the good cop. "I only read you your Miranda rights if I arrest you. I've got no intentions of doing that right now unless you want to confess to Mr. Townsend's murder."
My tea almost explodes violently out of my gut but I manage to give what I hope is an amused chuckle. "Yeah...I most certainly won't be doing that because it wouldn't be true."
"So you're good talking then with me right now?" he presses.
"Sure," I say, but I want to pick up my textbook, conk him over the head with it, and run.
To Mexico.
Beck can find me later.
"Well, we're obviously taking this information about his gambling debt very seriously. We've received the records from Marin General and there's no doubt he had the snot beaten out of him. We also verified that Mr. North came to pick him up, so we think that's credible evidence that Mr. North wasn't involved in that."
You think?
"But we're running low on finding anything else," he says, and then just waits for me to say something.
I try to wait him out, but the silence is too unbearable so I say, "Well, I don't know anything about it. Only what Beck told me after he came home that night after JT got beat up."
DeLatemer nods. "I'm sure Detective Denning will cover that more with Mr. North. And I'm sorry, but I have to ask, can you account for your whereabouts on January fourth from noon to five P.M.?"
I nod confidently. "I was at school and classes got out around twelve thirty. I went to the condo to study. Beck got there about two P.M."
"Gotcha," he says like we're buddies having a beer together. "So, you had roughly an hour and a half that your whereabouts can't be verified, correct?"
I give an amused laugh. "Well, the doorman at my condo can verify what time I got back from class, I'm sure. But Detective, if you think I had time to get to Sausalito, kill JT, and get back before Beck arrived, good luck in trying to figure out the logistics on that one."
He laughs along with me and gives a carefree shrug. "Hey...you know I have to ask these things, right?"
"Of course," I say kindly, and try to look at him with open honesty as he proceeds to ask me all my darkest secrets.
"So...tell me about JT and Beck's relationship. I understand they were friends for most of their lives, and then of course, hey...what a success with The Sugar Bowl, right?"
"Incredible," I agree with a smile. "But I'm afraid I don't know much. Beck and I haven't been together that long, and frankly, I've only been around him and JT together a few times."
"But has Beck said anything to you about strained relations?"
"I think every business partnership probably has that, right?" I say vaguely. "But nothing comes to mind as being troublesome."
"And you said, you've only been around them both a few times," he says as he picks up his coffee. He takes a sip, sets it back down. "Tell me those instances."
"Let's see...I met JT briefly at a Sugar Bowl Mixer, same night I met Beck. Then another time in Beck's office, both of those times only for a few minutes. Then Beck and I had dinner with him one night at a restaurant and he brought a date. And then the last time was at Beck's parents' Christmas party. Again, that was only for a few words."
"Any other times?"
"Nope. That's it."
DeLatemer nods. "And what did you think of Mr. Townsend?"
And here, I cannot lie. I just can't.
"I didn't care much for him," I tell the detective. "I found him arrogant and a misogynist. But I was polite to him because I didn't want to come between him and Beck."
"Did Beck know how you felt about his partner?"
"Probably not," I lie to his face. "I kept that stuff to myself. Didn't want to be that nagging girlfriend, you know?"
"Are you saying Beck had no clue of your feelings? I mean, he seems like a pretty nice guy. And if Mr. Townsend is as much of a jerk as you say he is, surely that's not news to Beck, right?"
"Well yeah...Beck knew those things about JT," I admit, but I feel like this is a slippery slope. "But it was business, you know."
"But Beck wanted JT out of the business, didn't he?"
Christ. Definitely a slippery slope.
"Yes," I have to say truthfully, because clearly this cop knows this for sure. "They had discussions."
"More like arguments, right?"
"I guess," I hedge. "Beck doesn't really get into a lot of details about that stuff with me."
And shit, shit, shit. That just made me sound so guilty because it was completely evasive.
I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. I wait for him to drop the next hammer on me.
But instead, he picks up his cup of coffee and stands. "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time. I think I've got what I need here."
Not sure if that's good or bad, but I smile at him politely. "Glad to help."
He nods his head and gives me a wink. "Have a nice day, Miss Halstead."
"You too," I murmur, and watch as he walks out of the coffee shop, and I have to physically restrain myself not to run out after him.
Call out, Wait, Detective. I did it. I killed JT.
I want to do that because it's patently clear to me that they're focused on Beck, and I can't bear the thought of him taking the blame on my behalf. I can't even think about the possibility of arrest.
But then I have to remember Caroline's words that I needed to trust in Beck that we were doing the right thing. I had to remember Beck's confidence and determination that we were doing the right thing that was best for both of us at this moment.
I force myself to try to calm down. I take deep breaths, hoping to get my heart rate back under control. I tell myself over and over again that this will all work out for the best.
The church is overflowing with people, which doesn't surprise me given the large circle of people that JT knew. What does surprise me is that his parents are having his funeral service in a church. They must have given a hefty donation to the St. Luke's United Methodist Church in Sausalito to have the funeral here, because JT and his parents weren't Methodist. They weren't churchgoers at all. I expect they chose to have his funeral in the house of God because that would be expected by polite society, and after all, news of JT's death was in all the papers. There's no way Candace and Colin Townsend would want to be caught with pictures in the society page of JT's service being held in something as common as a funeral parlor.
Sela and I were surprised when Caroline showed up at the condo this morning, dressed in a long-sleeved black dress with black high-heeled boots. I took one look at her when I opened the door and said, "You didn't have to come."
She gave me a light, backhand slap to my stomach and I gave an equally fake doubled-over ooph, and she breezed by me into the condo. "I didn't come for you. I came to see Sela."
I laughed because I know my sister. She came for both of us.
We made a unanimous decision to leave for the funeral a bit
late to put us there with no time to spare for socializing once we arrived.
The church is overflowing with cars and we have to park in a public lot a few blocks down. Caroline insisted on following us in her car because she was going to head straight back to Healdsburg after the service. By the time we walk up to the chapel, it's only a few minutes before the service starts and I'm surprised when we're met at the chapel doors by my father looking upset.
Because Sela and I walked in together holding hands, and Caroline followed behind us, my father's eyes come first to me, then Sela, then back to me without even noticing Caroline.
"You're late," my father says by way of greeting. "I was afraid you weren't going to come."
"Why in the hell would you think I wouldn't come?" I ask, affronted that he gives me so little credit.
"We'll talk about it later," he says dismissively. "After the service. But your mother and I saved you a seat up front."
He then has the grace to look at Sela, and I'm surprised he remembers her name. "Hello, Sela. It's good to see you again."
"Hello, Mr. North," she says with polite reserve. Like me, she's written my parents off and isn't going to spare them much more than common decency.
"Well, come on, you two," my father says impatiently, and I'm surprised his invitation includes Sela. My mother would certainly have a cow if she knew her husband was fraternizing with the riffraff.
"Actually, we're going to sit back here with Caroline," I say to my father, and he blinks in surprise, then his eyes immediately cut over my shoulder to see his daughter standing there. He hasn't seen her in almost five years...not since the rape.
He appears confused for a moment and I think he might even be compelled to say something to her, but then an organ plays a sad melody indicating that the service is starting and his mouth clamps shut. He merely nods at me and says, "We'll talk after the burial."
I nod back, wishing this day would just hurry up and get the fuck over. Why the hell you have to have a service and then a separate get-together at the gravesite is beyond me. Why can't it all just be done there at once?