“Of course it does. I want to get to the bottom of this as badly as you do. Probably more, considering I have a personal stake.”
“How did you get the blood on your sweatshirt?”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe I tried to help him.”
“How did you get the abrasion on your knee?”
She hadn’t noticed the small wound until the police photographer had taken a snapshot of it at Betancourt’s prompting. “I don’t remember.”
Raking his hand through his hair, he punched the off button on the recorder, frustration plainly visible on his face. “Right.”
Her temper spiked. “I’m telling the truth, damn you.”
“You’re withholding information in an official investigation.”
Michelle felt as if she were under siege, not by his questions, but by those intense, knowing eyes. “I’m cooperating to the best of my ability.”
He turned on the recorder. “How did you meet Landsteiner?”
“I was a waitress at Terrebonne’s. He was a customer. He came in for dinner regularly.”
Betancourt’s gaze cut to his partner, then went back to Michelle. “You were never romantically involved?”
“Never.”
“How did you come to work for him?”
“I’d just enrolled in law school. I needed experience and a mentor. He was one of the best attorneys in the city. I registered for the work program at Tulane. He hired me through the program. It’s all in the school’s records.”
“What brought you to New Orleans?”
“A scholarship.” The scholarship was the single most important achievement in her life, a one-way ticket out of Bayou Lafourche. She wouldn’t let anyone take it away from her. Not fate. Not Betancourt.
She held her breath, praying he didn’t ask any more questions about her past. Having spent the last four years putting the nightmare behind her, she’d be damned if she’d let him dredge it up now. What had happened in that dank little town wasn’t relative to what had happened to Armon Landsteiner.
“You can bet we’ll check it out,” Philip said.
“I have nothing to hide.”
“We all have something to hide.”
She gave him the best go-to-hell look she could manage and lied. “I don’t.”
Michelle lost track of time and place as the interrogation continued. Betancourt questioned her relentlessly, asking her the same questions a dozen different ways until she thought she would scream in frustration.
At 2:00 a.m. he blew out a sigh and plowed his hands through his dark hair. “In light of the circumstances, I’m going to ask you to agree to a psychological evaluation by the department psychiatrist.”
All the strength drained out of her as she realized how little had been accomplished in the time they’d been locked away. For the first time in a long time, she felt utterly and completely vulnerable.
“I’ll agree as long as my attorney doesn’t have a problem with it.” She didn’t have an attorney, but Betancourt didn’t know it.
“I’ll set it up.” He switched off the recorder and stood.
Feeling exhaustion press into her, Michelle rose. She wasn’t sure if they were finished, but she didn’t care. She wanted out of there. “I’ll do everything in my power to cooperate, Detective. Let me know when the evaluation is, and I’ll make myself available.”
He looked as if he wanted to say her schedule no longer mattered, but he didn’t. Instead, he approached her and extended his hand.
Michelle couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d pulled an alligator out of his pocket. She wiped her damp palm on her jeans and reached out. Their hands met. His eyes darkened, intensified as his fingers curled around hers. The contact went through her like an electric shock. His grip was warm and firm, his hand covering hers completely. For a startling moment, she almost forgot he was the enemy.
“Where in Lafourche Parish are you from?” he asked.
His question jerked her back to reality. Michelle stiffened, starkly aware that he still gripped her hand. She knew Betancourt was too discerning a man not to have felt her reaction. Belatedly, she realized he’d run a cursory background check on her as she waited.
Unnerved, she extracted her hand. Her gaze swept to Detective Sanderson, then back to Betancourt. She considered not answering his question; she even considered lying, but knew he’d eventually find out. Better to tell the truth than get caught in a lie. After a while, lies just got all tangled up anyway. “I’m from Bayou Lafourche, Detective.”
“I’m not sure where that is.”
“Most people aren’t. It’s a small town.” She wasn’t about to elaborate.
A smile quirked one side of his mouth. If she hadn’t been so angry, she might have admired the way it softened the hard lines of his face. He was a good-looking man, and knew it. Too bad he wasn’t smart enough to realize she was immune.
The door to the interrogation room swung open, and a uniformed cop poked his head in. “There’s a lawyer by the name of Baldwin Landsteiner here who says he’s going to personally contact the deputy superintendent if Miss Pelletier isn’t released in the next thirty seconds.”
Chapter 3
Philip leaned his hip against the table and watched Baldwin Landsteiner burst through the door like a doctor into an emergency room. Wearing his trademark Italian suit and expensive tie, he epitomized everything Philip hated about lawyers. He was brilliant. Ruthless. With a complete disregard for the truth.
“Michelle.” Landsteiner’s eyes fastened on the pale young woman standing at the table. “Are you all right?”
She took a tentative step toward him. “Baldwin. My God, what are you doing here?”
With self-righteous indignation etched into his boyish features, Baldwin approached her. “The cops came to the house and told me…about Dad.”
She blinked rapidly. “I’m so sorry—”
“I came to get you the hell out of here.” His icy gaze swept to Philip. “I’ll have your badge for this, Betancourt. You know better than to haul someone in for questioning without the benefit of counsel.”
“It’s good to see you again, too, Landsteiner. How’s tricks?” Philip smiled despite the anger rippling through him. He didn’t like the man and knew the sentiment ran both ways.
The lawyer’s pale green eyes glittered with contempt. “I’ll bury you this time.”
“I look forward to it.”
Rounding the table, Michelle reached for Baldwin’s hands and gripped them in hers. “It’s all right. Please, just take me home.”
Baldwin turned his attention to Michelle, then looked down at their clasped hands. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have been here sooner. I couldn’t believe it when they told me you were being questioned.”
“You had enough to deal with. How are Danielle and Derek holding up?”
“I spoke with Derek on the phone. He’s handling this better than Danielle. She isn’t dealing with this well at all.”
Philip watched the exchange with interest, wondering about the relationship. Michelle Pelletier wasn’t the kind of woman the high-profile lawyer typically surrounded himself with. Landsteiner preferred society women with diamonds the size of chicken eggs and a wardrobe befitting a queen. With her denim jacket and faded jeans, Michelle didn’t fit his criteria by a long shot.
Philip studied her face for clues as to how she felt about Landsteiner, but saw only grief. Few people could fake such a powerful emotion. Still, he had worked plenty of cases where the murderer was close to the victim and actually had mourned his or her passing. The irony never ceased to amaze him.
“How about you, Baldwin? Are you all right?” she asked.
“Still in shock, I think. But I’m dealing with it. I just hope they find the bastard responsible.”
An uncomfortable twinge went through Philip when Baldwin embraced her. Almost against his will, he watched their bodies come together. Before he could identify the source of his discomfort, he ruthlessly
shoved the twinge away.
She pressed her cheek against Baldwin’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming. This is a mess.”
Landsteiner’s gaze landed on Philip. “What the hell is she doing in your dungeon, Betancourt? Is she the best suspect you could come up with?” A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him. “You must be desperate.”
“She’s a witness in a murder case,” Philip said. “I think you know the routine.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t seem to grasp the routine. There are laws in this country against the police questioning a suspect without a lawyer present.”
“There are also laws against murder and racketeering, but that didn’t keep you from defending scum like Rosetti.” Philip shouldn’t have said it. He knew better than to dredge up another case at a time like this. But men like Baldwin Landsteiner didn’t bring out the best in him—and he didn’t necessarily give a damn.
Amusement sparked behind the lawyer’s gaze. “Still sore about that one, huh? I can’t blame you, considering it was your shoddy police work that got the case tossed. I merely pointed it out to the judge.”
Anger punched through Philip. He left the table and advanced on Baldwin. “There are plenty of scum in this town and even more scum-sucking lawyers to defend them. But your card will come up again.”
“Next time I’ll make sure you get your badge yanked for good. Shouldn’t be too hard to do with your record.” Baldwin’s gaze slipped to Michelle. “Let’s go.” He guided her toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “You’ll be off this case in twenty-four hours, Betancourt. I guarantee it.”
Philip stared, his heart drumming. Two strides and he would be on top of Landsteiner. He pictured his fingers clos ing around the other man’s neck. Fury-fueled adrenaline burst into his muscles.
Cory laid a firm hand on his forearm. “Easy, my man. He’s just trying to rile you.”
Cursing, Philip let out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. He should have known that was coming, should have expected it. He told himself the Rosetti case didn’t matter. That shopkeeper had died over a year ago; Philip had been cleared of wrongdoing. Still, people had long memories when it came to mistakes. As much as Philip didn’t want to admit it, the fact that it had been his mistake still cut him to the quick.
He watched Michelle walk to the door. “Miss Pelletier?”
Turning, she met his gaze levelly. “Yes?”
She looked pale and shaken, but her expression told him she was anything but weak. He’d seen that look before, and it revealed plenty about what she was made of. Not exactly steel, but some alloy that was just as strong.
“I’ll schedule that psychological evaluation as soon as possible,” he said.
Landsteiner’s eyes narrowed on Michelle. “What evaluation?”
She ignored him, her gaze never leaving Philip. “I’ll cooperate fully, Detective.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take any trips in the coming days. I have more questions.” Philip steeled himself against the force of her gaze, telling himself those sultry eyes were the last thing he should be thinking about when there was a murder to be solved—and she was the prime suspect.
“Of course. I’ll be available.”
Landsteiner’s protest elicited a smile from Philip. Watching them walk out the door of the interview room, he wondered how the illustrious Baldwin Landsteiner would feel after learning his client was claiming amnesia about his father’s murder.
“Shakespeare had the right idea when he said we should kill all the lawyers.” Cory’s voice severed the remaining tension.
Philip accepted the coffee being offered. “Thanks.”
“You took it easy on her.”
Is that what he’d done? Not quite sure how to respond, he sipped the coffee, grimacing at the bitterness.
Cory studied him. “You could have arrested her.”
“I know.”
“Ten to one her prints show up on the Beretta.”
“Probably.”
“My gut tells me that lady is guilty as sin.”
Philip didn’t want to think of her in relation to sin. “Maybe. Guilty of something.”
“You think she did it?” Cory asked.
“I think she’s knows something. I’m not convinced she pulled the trigger.”
“An older, affluent man with lots of flash and money. An attractive young woman looking for security works her way into his will or life insurance policy. It’s been done before.”
Philip nodded, hating it that he didn’t trust his gut on this one. He’d known Michelle Pelletier for just a few hours and already she was wreaking havoc on his judgment. “I want a thorough background check on her. Finances. Family. I want to know everything there is to know about her all the way down to her favorite color. See if Landsteiner had life insurance policies.” He downed the coffee, knowing he was going to need the caffeine before morning. “Check to see if he filed a will.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to see what the lab turned up and go over the witness reports and the 911 tape.” He fished the cuff link out of his pocket and held it up. “I’m taking this to the lab.”
Cory raised his brows. “Where’d you find it?”
Philip grimaced, and told Cory about Michelle gripping it so tightly she’d cut herself. “She didn’t even realize she was bleeding.”
“She could have been playing you.”
“I don’t think so.” Philip looked at his watch and frowned. “First light I’m going to pay the Landsteiner clan a visit.”
“Sort of like walking into a wolf’s den unarmed, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, only I’m not Little Red Riding Hood.”
Cory gave him a sober look. “You can’t let him get to you like that, man.”
Philip rubbed his hand over his bristly face, wishing he had the time for a shower and shave. “Let it go, Cory.”
“He’s pushing your buttons, and you’re letting him.”
“Tell it to the people who have suffered because of the creeps he puts back on the street. Or else keep it to yourself.”
His partner’s eyes hardened. “I’m on your side, Betancourt, but I’ve never see you so close to losing it. Don’t let Landsteiner rattle you. The man’s on a mission and you’re his target.”
As much as Philip didn’t want to admit it, he knew his partner was right. But anger still pumped through him from Landsteiner’s remark about the Rosetti case. Thanks to Landsteiner, Philip hadn’t gotten a conviction, and Rosetti had been put back on the street. Two days later, the only witness had been shot down on the sidewalk outside his shop. Philip had taken that one personally. How could he not when an innocent man had died because of him?
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He dropped his coffee cup in the trash. “Let’s work this case.”
The hum of the Lexus’s tires on the wet street seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence inside the car. Michelle gazed through the passenger window, barely noticing the rain or the darkened storefronts along Canal Street. She knew Baldwin had questions, but she just couldn’t face any more right now. She felt exhausted and battered, as if every question Betancourt asked had been a physical blow. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the seat.
“What happened to my father?”
The question jerked her nerves taut. She looked at Baldwin, wishing she had an answer. She wanted answers so badly she could taste it. “I don’t know.”
He glanced away from his driving, his gaze meeting hers with a sharpness that made her want to look away. “Why did Betancourt drag you downtown like some kind of criminal?”
Unable to hold his gaze, she focused on the darkness beyond the window. “I found…Armon’s body. I made the call to 911. I may have seen what happened.” A hysterical laugh hovered in her throat. “But I can’t remember any of it. For whatever reason, my mind has completely blanked out the memory. Other than what I’ve just told you…I have no idea
what happened.”
“You don’t remember? Were you there when it happened? My God, if you were there, you had to have seen something.” He stopped at a red light and gave her his full attention. “What the hell’s going on, Michelle?”
Oncoming headlights illuminated his features. A patrician nose dominated his face. His mouth was sculpted and oddly feminine. Golden blond hair tumbled onto a forehead that was high and sloped. Most women considered him almost godlike in his masculine beauty. Michelle had never seen him that way. In the four years she’d known him, he’d been like a brother to her, and she’d worked hard to maintain that balance.
She forced her gaze to his. “I’m trying to tell you I have some kind of amnesia.” Even as she said the words, disbelief welled inside her. Amnesia didn’t happen to people like her. She hadn’t received a blow to the head or physical trauma of any kind. Why couldn’t she remember?
“Are you serious?” Incredulity resounded in his voice.
“That’s why Betancourt wants me to agree to a psychological evaluation.”
“Betancourt won’t be a problem.”
“He’s just doing his job.” Why was she defending him?
Baldwin didn’t speak again until he parked the Lexus curbside in front of the Pontchartrain Hotel.
“Why did you bring me here?” She couldn’t imagine walking into New Orleans’s plushest hotel after what she’d been through. She felt dirty. Exhausted. She wanted to be alone. In her own apartment where she could grieve, where she could fall apart in privacy.
“I reserved a room for you. The cops are at your place. You can’t go home tonight.” He shut down the engine, then turned to her and regarded her through pale green eyes. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Michelle?”
What did he expect from her? “I’ve told you everything I remember.”
He looked through the window at the bellman approaching the car. “It’s nearly 3:00 a.m. Maybe we’re both too tired to talk.”
He was right. She felt numb with exhaustion and the remnants of shock. On impulse, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Baldwin.”