Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You’re definitely not a game player,” Detective Robertson said, cocking his head as if studying her from a different angle.
Laurel remained still, her expression calm and focused. “No, I’m not.” Hadn’t she just made that obvious? “How many murder investigations have you handled?”
“We’re not sure this is a murder,” Detective Robertson returned instantly, the response so fast it sounded reflexive.
Walter planted his hand on the table. “I think it’s a good question.”
Detective Robertson hesitated for a moment. “This is my first one.” His admission came out flat, matter-of-fact. “We’re a small town, and we don’t have many murders.”
“Lucky you,” Walter muttered. His fingers drummed once against the table before going still. “Have you personally had any run-ins with my brother?”
“No,” the detective said shortly. The word snapped out with an edge that caught Laurel’s attention. His voice sounded certain, but the flatness of it suggested something else. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the discrepancy, but it registered like an error in a line of code.
“Have you met him?” Walter pressed.
“Again, I’m asking the questions,” Detective Robertson replied.
Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Who wanted my brother dead?”
“I have absolutely no idea. We’ll investigate this matter thoroughly, I promise you,” the detective said.
“Any chance that Frostline Peak is on federal land?” Walter glanced toward Laurel, his gaze expectant.
Laurel’s mind scanned through her mental map of Washington State, the boundaries and jurisdictions she’d memorized long ago. “No. It’s owned by the county.” Walter’s attempt to gain jurisdiction wasn’t lost on her, and she admired the tactic.
“Agent Smudgeon, where were you the night before last?” Detective Robertson’s question came out casual, but the tension around his eyes contradicted the tone.
Walter looked up at the ceiling, his eyes distant for a moment. “I was home. Worked all day, went home around five. Had dinner and went to bed.”
“Can anybody verify that?” Officer Jackson asked, her arms still crossed over her chest.
“No. I was by myself.”
Detective Robertson leaned back, adopting what appeared to be a relaxed pose. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign of the tension beneath the surface. Laurel tried to read his expression, but his features remained frustratingly blank. Guesswork wouldn’t help, and she had never been adept at drawing conclusions from people’s faces alone.
She glanced at Walter, whose gaze had locked on Detective Robertson. “What is it you’re not saying?” Walter asked.
Detective Robertson’s shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug, but his gaze never left Walter. “I spoke with Sandra, and she had some interesting information for us. Is it true that upon your brother’s death, the entire residual of your mother’s trust moves to you?”
Walter’s posture shifted. “I don’t care about that trust. I never have.”
Laurel looked at him, her curiosity sharpening. “What’s the corpus of the trust?”
“About five million dollars,” Detective Robertson said smoothly. “The trust remains in place during the life of her latest husband, who’s paid a set amount from it each month. Upon his death, the trust was supposed to be split evenly between the brothers.” The way he delivered the figure sounded rehearsed, as if he’d prepared to deploy that piece of information at the right moment. “I guess that makes quite the motive, doesn’t it?”
Walter’s jaw tightened. “For someone, maybe. But not for me.”
“Interesting,” Detective Robertson said. “Your brother had quite a few enemies. But now, you’re the one in the spotlight. You’d be surprised how often family plays a role when money’s involved.”
Walter snorted. “Maybe in your experience. But Tyler and I hadn’t spoken in years. No bad blood, just different paths. That money doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Laurel studied the detective, her mind racing through the implications. “If you’re going to imply Walter had something to do with his brother’s death, then you’ll need more than an inheritance to back up that theory. I’m assuming you haven’t found anything to suggest foul play, correct?”
Detective Robertson hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly before he answered. “Nothing definitive, but I’m not ruling anything out.”
“I’d hope not,” Walter snapped.
Should Laurel insist Walter obtain representation? Listening carefully, she allowed the questioning to continue. Finally, the detective wound down after also questioning Laurel about the scene at Tyler’s house as well as the attack by the black truck.
Could it all be connected?
The detective walked them outside to a darkening day. “Rain’s coming,” he murmured, looking up at the bulbous clouds. “Be careful on the drive back. That black truck and AK-47 are still out there.”
Chapter 10
Miriam deserved this. The truth smacked her with a painful force, reverberating through her chest and pounding against her skull until her vision swam. Her brain felt swollen, thick and heavy, each tiny thought becoming sluggish. Painfully so. Karma was coming for her, damn it. She stumbled to her car and fumbled for the keys in her pocket.
Her eyes burned like she’d dunked her head in bleach. The pressure built behind her sockets like something sharp wanted to push through. Panic, fear—no, terror—twisted through her veins, coiling tight around her heart. Fuck. She collapsed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door.