Chapter 11
Despite the ice-cold interrogation room, sweat slicked down Berkley’s spine. She was glad to have on a jacket though—to hide the sweat pools under her armpits.
She’d arrived two hours ago with Micah, and her lawyer was supposed to have met her, but she’d just been alone in here. Waiting.
She knew the detectives in charge were likely watching her via the two-way mirror in the wall and she didn’t have her phone to distract her. Or have it as a way to contact Micah to see what the hell was going on and where her lawyer was.
Since they hadn’t told her not to leave, she decided to get up and go find a bathroom. Mostly just to have something else to do. But the minute she reached the door, two detectives she vaguely recognized opened it from the other side.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the first said. He was in his fifties with a bushy gray beard that sort of reminded her of Santa Claus.
The other detective was a younger man. Maybe in his thirties. Good-looking. And he didn’t say anything. Just stood next to the mirror behind the table while Santa Claus sat down across from where she’d been sitting.
“Where’s my lawyer?” she asked. Because she knew enough not to say a damn word without her lawyer present.
Santa—she needed to know his name—opened a manila file that likely had nothing to do with whatever this was about, and shuffled some stuff around. “He’s checking in but we thought we’d just wait here with you until he finished up at the front.”
Okay so Santa was going to act like a bumbling fool. Great.
“First we’d like to thank you for coming in of your own accord.”
She simply nodded because she wasn’t a hundred percent sure what they knew. Obviously they knew about Henry—something she was still trying to process. Her sister had told Micah that he was murdered.
Now she was glad she hadn’t seen him on the bed. Not because she was worried about leaving forensic evidence behind, but because despite everything, she didn’t think she could handle seeing him…like that.
Of course her mind went to the absolute worst-case scenario, filling in all the blanks. But then she wondered if he’d been killed in the same manner as James Reed. Which would make sense since it seemed highly likely that the same person had dumped her at both places.
“Let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“Without my lawyer?” she asked.
The man behind Santa Claus cleared his throat.
“Right, of course,” Santa said with a chuckle.
“Also, you two haven’t even introduced yourselves. Are you detectives?”
Santa’s gaze sharpened on her then, maybe realizing that she wasn’t na?vely going to play his game.
“Detective Dylan Levitz,” the younger man said, his tone even and soothing, like one of those ASMRtists who lulled you to sleep by their voice alone.
“And I’m Detective Sean Dewey. But you can just call me Dewey.” He glanced at his watch, frowned. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I just realized how long you’ve been in here.”
“I’m good, but thank you.” She didn’t want food—didn’t trust herself not to hurl—she wanted to leave. Or to at least get this thing over with. If she was going to jail, she’d like to know sooner than later.
Dewey’s jaw ticked once, but he didn’t lose that easy expression she was sure had lulled plenty of people into feeling like they could open up to him.
Under different circumstances, she probably would have too.
Or if she hadn’t already had more than enough experience to last a lifetime with law enforcement, she wouldn’t have pushed for her lawyer.
She’d have trusted his stupid Santa Claus face.
Young her had been dumb. Or maybe just inexperienced.
“Let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“Okay.” She thought about asking for her lawyer again, but held back. These two hadn’t read her rights to her or even told her what they wanted to talk to her about. So she could at least sit here and listen.
Detective Dewey (which sounded stupid, as if he’d walked off some show from the fifties), just watched her.
So she watched him right back. She’d grown up with three brothers and one sister and knew how to win a staring contest. Being a younger sibling had some advantages.
Levitz finally took a step forward but didn’t sit. Just loomed over the table, his dark gaze laser sharp. “Let’s talk about where you were last night.”
“Why does that matter? Am I under arrest for something?” Keep it vague and keep asking questions.
“Who told you to come in here today? Was it your sister, Detective Knight?” Dewey asked.
Before she could even think about answering, the other detective spoke.
“I’m more interested in your relationship with your ex-husband.
And whether or not your sister called or texted you.
” Levitz seemed a little smarter than Dewey because he wasn’t technically asking her questions, just making statements.
But at this point they weren’t even being subtle, and it pissed her off. They wanted her to say something and slip up. “I’ve asked for my lawyer multiple times. I’m not talking without them.” She stood, but paused when Levitz went as if to grab his weapon.
She held up her palms. “Seriously?” That was when she realized he was making a move for his cuffs, not gun. But still.
“Come on now, just have a seat.” Dewey was still sitting down, completely unruffled.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then I’m free to leave?” She’d come in here of her own accord, but it was clear they were trying to get her to talk without her lawyer, so she was going to make them arrest her.
They’d have forty-eight hours to do something about her arrest and then be forced to let her go.
And given the direction of their questioning, she didn’t think they had enough to arrest her.
Or more importantly, to get a search warrant.
She hated that she couldn’t contact Micah to find out what he knew. This could be the wrong move, but she wanted to force them into action.
Before either of them responded, a statuesque woman in a dark black skirt suit that probably cost more than Berkley’s car strode in, her long, platinum blonde hair and heart-shaped face what men wrote odes about.
And to her utter surprise, Nick Storm was right behind the woman, his expression dark.
“Berkley Knight, don’t say a word to these men,” the woman said. “Sinead Goode entering the interrogation room, where I would like to note that two detectives are questioning my client without her representation.”
This wasn’t the lawyer she’d called from Micah’s phone.
This was…oh. Ooooh hell, she recognized the name, if not the woman’s face.
Sinead Goode was some big-time criminal attorney who’d represented a handful of well-known cases that made national news.
Including one of a woman suspected of murdering her husband—and Goode had gotten her off, if Berkley remembered correctly.
She wondered who the lawyer was making a note to, but then saw the little red light on in the camera in the corner of the room. Oh, she was officially documenting herself. Had the camera always been on? Clearly Berkley wasn’t paying as much attention as she should.
Dewey stood, and gone was the easygoing detective as he stared Sinead Goode down. “No need to get all twisted.”
“Ms. Knight, please come with me. You’re not saying another word until we’ve had a chance to talk—in private.” She gave a pointed look at the camera. “Because I don’t trust them not to record our conversation.”
Detective Levitz frowned. “Now see here—”
But his partner held up a hand and gave Berkley a look that sent a chill down her spine. “It’s all right. Let her talk to her lawyer. We’ll get what we want. We always do.” With that, he strode from the room.
Before Berkley could think about talking, her lawyer motioned for her to follow.
She gave Nick a curious look, but his expression was granite as he followed after her, flanking her. As if protecting her.
For some reason, she liked that he was here, even if she had a dozen questions. Probably more.
They ended up in a quiet office that belonged to…one of the higher-ups for sure, since it had a window. This actually looked like the sheriff’s office, but she’d never been in here so couldn’t be sure.
“Ms. Knight—”
“Berkley’s fine,” she murmured. “And you’re my lawyer?”
Sinead Goode smiled softly, a stark difference from the shark in the interrogation room. “I am, if you accept my representation. And you can call me Sinead. Before we go over anything else, what did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Berkley recapped the non-conversation, and got a surprised but approving look from the lawyer. “Okay this is good. Very good. They’ve got nothing on you. Nothing but suspicion because your ex-husband was murdered and you’re his ex-wife.”
She winced slightly. “So he’s really dead?” She’d known what Krystal had said to Micah, and what she’d seen in Henry’s house but still…the reality was different. The knowing.
“He is,” the woman said.
“Who…called you? I know your name and I kind of doubt I can afford you, so if you want to let my other lawyer—”
“Your fees are taken care of so don’t even worry about that. Unless you have an objection, I’m your lawyer of record.”
Berkley glanced at Nick, who’d given her his back and was staring out the window that overlooked the parking lot. She wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing here and if he was paying for her lawyer but that was crazy. She knew that much.
Maybe he was friends—or more?—with the high-priced lawyer. More than likely Micah had called in one of his infamous favors. She’d talk to him later. Damn it, she really needed her cell phone.
“I don’t have an objection and thank you. I’m just…this is a lot to take in. This morning has been…” Oh god, her voice cracked and she had to fight back tears as the reality of her situation crashed in on her. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t even know where to begin.”