Sleight Malice (10 page)

Fergus
scratched his jaw. “So what you’re saying is the field is wide open?”

“Exactly. What
I don’t understand is why you think I would know any better. Are you testing
me?”

With a stiff
shake of the head, he said, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I
think you have a right to know…”

Words
guaranteed to pique anyone’s curiosity
, she
thought. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Forensics have
matched the blood found on the poker in the kitchen as Selena’s…”

Desley stared
open-mouthed at Fergus, and just knew what was coming next.

“They’ve also
matched your fingerprints.”

“Of course they
have. I told you, I didn’t know what I was walking into. It was the first thing
that came to hand. What would you have done in my place?”

He opened his
mouth to speak.

“And please
don’t say, ‘stayed outside and called the police.’”

“Yours were the
only prints found on the poker,” he said, his gaze not moving from her face.

It took a
moment to digest what he was saying. “Doesn’t that in itself tell you
something? I can’t be the only person to have ever touched it with my bare
hands. There should’ve been dozens of prints.”

“You’re right,
but that leads to the next question—“

“Stop right
there—” The thought that his breakfast home-delivery might be nothing more than
a Trojan horse hit her. She leapt off the barstool and stepped back. “What’s
with all the questions, Fergus? You are a private investigator, right? Not an
undercover cop or something equally devious?”

A slow grin
replaced his startled look. “Fergus Coleman,” he replied, tipping an invisible
cap in her direction, “private investigator, at your service.”

She crossed her
arms, making a theatrical show of tapping her foot.

He laughed and
held up his long-fingered hands in surrender. “I swear to you I’m not working
for the police. It’s a hard habit to break. However I do have someone on the
inside feeding me details about the case. I’m only asking you the same
questions they will.” He glanced at his watch. “When they eventually get their
act together, that is. Think of it as a practice run if you will.”

“Who is this
person on the inside who’s prepared to risk his or her career for you?”

“I’d rather not
say. The fewer people who know the better.”

“And I’d rather
not answer your questions.”

Checkmate…

Desley resisted clawing at the
rollneck of her thick woolen jumper. After the briskness of the day outside,
the cramped confines of the airless, overheated room felt claustrophobic, but
she couldn’t let her discomfort show.

“Please take a
seat,” said DS Kim Mitchell, gesturing to the lone chair on the far side of the
steel-framed table. “I’ll be back in a moment. Can I get you anything?”

Yes, out of
here
, Desley thought. She shook her head.

Shut in the
bare-walled, fluoro-lit interview room she felt like a prisoner. The air had
that institution-green smell, the same color as the scuffed floor. She couldn’t
see outside, the only window in the room a small pane of frosted glass set high
in the outer wall. She could hear voices, but it sounded like they were talking
under water and she couldn’t make out individual words.

She stood,
paced the room twice and sat down again. Informal chat, they had said. She had
her doubts. Had they left her alone intentionally? Was it part of their ploy to
unsettle her? Why couldn’t they have talked to her in the familiar surroundings
of her own home, or anywhere less official than a police station? She narrowed
her eyes, squinting at a metal grate above the door. Were they watching her?

Back on her
feet, she told herself not to be ridiculous, but rolled her eyes at the probably
non-existent camera anyway. Where were they?

She didn’t have
to stay; she wasn’t under arrest. Not prepared to wait any longer without some
sort of explanation, she headed for the door. Before she could open it, someone
on the other side pushed down on the door handle. She leapt back, her hand
recoiling as if the bronze lever were alive.

“Sorry to keep
you,” DI Grant Buchanan said, looking anything but, his grey eyes steely. He
motioned her back to the table.

“I’m free to go
at any time, right?” She still wasn’t sure why she was there, but had to know
she had an out if she needed it.

“Correct,” he
said, holding the door open.

DS Kim Mitchell
bustled into the room, a notebook and a beige file tucked under one arm and
three full steaming foam cups clamped in her hands. Setting the hot drinks on
the table, she gave Desley a quick smile.

The detectives
waited until she was seated before settling themselves in the chairs on the
opposite side of the table. Simple courtesy or a show of control?

Past caring,
Desley reached for the one black coffee on the table. She hadn’t asked for it,
but her body could certainly do with the caffeine shot. Though the hot, strong
instant coffee left a bitter aftertaste, she continued drinking it.

In between
mouthfuls, she answered their questions, covering old ground about her
relationships with Laura, with Ryan and with Trent for what felt like the
umpteenth time. Were they trying to trip her up, hoping she would reveal
something she hadn’t yet?

“How many times
do we have to go over this? My answers aren’t going to change, you know.” She
pushed back in her chair.

“Pleased to
hear that,” DI Buchanan said, stony-faced.

DS Mitchell
glanced at him and leaned forward. “Desley,” she said, her voice soft and low,
“we want the same outcome as you: to find out what happened to your friend,
Laura, and her husband. We also need to determine if the attack on Selena Papa
is related. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not, you are a common factor
in both.”

“I hardly know
the woman.” The foam coffee cup in Desley’s grip warped under her tensing
fingers. “You can’t seriously think I’m in any way involved.”

“I take it
you’re referring to Selena Papa and not your good friend Laura,” the DS said,
not pausing long enough for Desley to retort. “Relax; we’re not accusing you of
anything.”

Not yet
, Desley thought. “Laura was… is my best friend. Selena Papa happens
to be engaged to my ex-husband. They may know of each other; I probably
mentioned Selena in passing to Laura…”
Slight understatement.
Who else do
you vent to about the ‘other woman’, but your best friend? She sighed. “But as
far as I’m aware, they’ve never actually met.”

“So it’s pure
chance that Selena Papa turned up in the same place you went looking for Laura
Noble?”

Desley
shrugged, her gaze dropping to the tabletop. Of course, she didn’t think it had
been a coincidence.

“Selena’s
pregnancy.” DI Buchanan. Blunt but cutting.

Desley
flinched. “Excuse me?” She forced herself to meet the inspector’s penetrating
stare. “What does that have to do with me?”

“How do you
feel about it?”

“You should be
talking to Trent about that, not me.”
Not that he’s the father of her unborn
child
, she added silently.

“Please answer
the question.”

“Her pregnancy
has nothing to do with me. How should I feel?”

“Hurt? Jealous?
Resentful?” A pause. “Angry perhaps?”

“No! What are
you on about?”

“Didn’t you and
Trent James try for many years to have a child without success?” the DI said,
goading her.

Desley’s jaw
dropped. Who had told him that? Not Trent, that was for sure. “Why don’t you
just say what you really think?” she snapped.

DI Buchanan
leaned back in his seat, his arms folded loosely over his broad chest. He
contemplated her, one eyebrow arched, a tiny tic playing with the corner of his
mouth.

“I’m not the
bad guy here, you know. I don’t know why Selena was at the cottage. I don’t
know who attacked her. In fact, I could’ve very well saved her life. She would
still be lying there if I hadn’t turned up.” She took a breath. “Anyway, talk
to her. She’ll tell you it wasn’t me.”

“She has no
memory of what happened, but she was hit from behind, so it’s quite plausible
that she didn’t see her assailant,” DI Buchanan said.

“And you
believe her?”

“We have no
reason not to, unless you have something to tell us otherwise.”

Desley gave her
head a dismissive shake. Why couldn’t they extend her the same courtesy? “And
this amnesia has wiped her memory of why she was there in the first place?
Convenient that.”

“They weren’t
her fingerprints on the weapon.”

Fergus had
warned her that they would try to rattle her, provoke her into saying something
she hadn’t intended. She bit down hard on her tongue.

DS Mitchell
drew her chair in closer to the table, as if distancing herself from the DI’s
remarks. “Desley,” she said, sliding a hand in her direction, “it might help
you to see where we’re coming from if you think of the police investigation as
a giant jigsaw, one without straight edges.”

Good cop.
Desley studied the sergeant’s lightly freckled hand, waiting for the rest of
the analogy. She would go well with Trent and his word games.

“No two pieces
are alike,” the DS continued. “And we don’t know how many pieces we’re
missing.”

DS Kim
Mitchell’s fingers bore no rings, nor the indents of any. Her nails were clean,
cut short and left unpainted. Plain and simple. Desley looked up, waiting for
the inevitable punchline.

“On top of
that, we don’t have the benefit of the picture on the lid to guide us.” With a
sheepish, half-smile, she added, “I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m rambling, but
I thought it might help explain where we’re coming from.”

Desley poked
her right hand up. “Desley Piece present.”

The DS’s eyes
lit up. “Exactly.”

Desley
pretended she didn’t hear DI Buchanan’s stifled snort. DS Mitchell’s roundabout
explanation had given Desley breathing space and she wasn’t about to give Bad
Cop the satisfaction of winding her up again.

He didn’t have
the chance, a sharp rap at the door diverting his attention. He rocked back in
his chair, his head tipped toward the narrow opening, and nodded. Excusing
himself, he left.

Desley let out
a long, slow breath. She didn’t have the energy to continually match wits with
the man, weighing every word she uttered in case it could be misconstrued and
turned against her. “Well, if that’s all,” she said, standing, “I would like to
go home now.”

“Sure, if
that’s what you want. But if you were Laura, wouldn’t you want your best friend
exploring every avenue to find you, even if they turned out to be blind?”

Blind
avenues?
“Have you met my ex-husband? Never mind,”
she added as DS Mitchell’s forehead puckered. “In answer to your question: yes,
but I wouldn’t want the police wasting time looking in the wrong direction.”

The DS smiled.
“I agree entirely. So what is the right direction?”

Desley opened
her mouth, closing it again when she realized she had been outmaneuvered. She
didn’t have the answer. The detective was right: if she were in Laura’s shoes,
she would want her best friend to do everything within her power to help the
police, regardless of who it compromised. Every lead, no matter how improbable
or unlikely, had to be followed.

Her hands
locked together in a tug-of-war under the table, radiated tension up her arms,
across her shoulders and into her neck. She flexed her fingers and took a deep
breath. “I don’t see how this has any relevance on Laura’s case, but it may
have something to do with Selena being in Howqua…”

DS Mitchell
gave a half nod, prompting.

Desley
swallowed. “Trent isn’t the father of Selena’s baby. Rumor,” she continued,
watching the DS for a reaction, “has it that Selena and Ryan Moore were having
an affair.”

Another nod.
The detective’s face remained impassive. Was Desley not telling her anything
new? Had Selena, while claiming amnesia for the attack, confessed her dirty
secret? Desley couldn’t see Trent disclosing his infertility to the police and
thus, his fiancée’s infidelity. Then a thought struck her.

“You must know
Fergus Coleman quite well then?” Desley said, expecting her words to either hit
their target square on or miss altogether.

A deep blush
enveloped DS Mitchell’s neck and face.

Bullseye.

Fergus sighed. He should’ve known
better. He should’ve been upfront with her from the start. She hadn’t yet
broached the issue of Kim, avoiding all reference to anything not strictly
business and web related.