Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
The heating in the small holding room was cranked so high it gave a new definition to making suspects ‘sweat it out.’ Moisture beaded at her temples and trickled down between her shoulder blades.
Beside her, Ciaran shifted in his chair.
It had been hours since the officers had led them to the unmarked car parked out front and ushered them into the back seat.
Thankfully, the detectives had allowed Jal to change out of her pajamas and hadn’t put her in handcuffs.
But still the ride from her apartment to the precinct couldn’t have felt any worse had she actually been under arrest. And because she wasn’t, they had allowed Ciaran to go with her.
His presence had been a steady calming influence that had kept her from completely spiraling out.
But they had been cooped up in this room for hours and Ciaran swore they had been slowly ratcheting up the heating the whole time.
He had already loosened his tie and the collar of his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms, and his patience was starting to wear thin if the hand reflexively opening and closing was any indication.
The action made the corded muscles of his forearm bunch and release in a way that had her mouth watering.
No, you will not ogle him in a police station, she told herself and forced her gaze to the closed door, flanked on either side by large windows, covered now with dusty black blinds.
Yet, that’s what she had been doing, even as her worst nightmare was coming true.
Her skin was flushed with heat from more than just the temperature, as if she could still feel his strong hands on her body, ghosting over her skin. Stop it!
She welcomed the cool air that blew in when the door opened, even when it was opening to admit the two detectives. But all too quickly, the door closed again, and the stifling heat returned to the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Takeda took a seat in one of the two chairs across from them and placed two clear evidence bags, one holding the envelope of money, the other holding the bracelets and the jar, and a leather portfolio on the table.
The diamonds sparkled merrily in the light over the table, oblivious to all the trouble they were causing.
Detective Ward lingered by the door a moment longer, studying them with her piercing dark eyes, then took the chair beside her partner and placed her phone on the table, its screen open to a recording app, and made a show of tapping the red button at the bottom of the screen. The timer started ticking.
Takeda opened his portfolio and flicked through the short stack of papers. “Miss Morrow,” he began. “Or is it Colleran?”
Jal’s hand stilled where it had been toying with the end of her thick braid. “It’s Morrow,” she replied. “As I told you, I legally changed it two years ago.”
“Of course,” Takeda replied. He made a note. “And where was that again?”
Jal cleared her throat. “Um, it was Clearfield County. Pennsylvania.” She added the state as an afterthought.
Takeda made more notes, then slid one of the evidence bags into the spotlight in the middle of the table.
“I’d like to start today with this first bag.
The contents of which are: two tennis bracelets, one diamond, the other diamond and amethyst; one gold charm bracelet with a gold heart; and one jar made from blue glass with a yellow plastic lid. ”
Detective Ward poked at the bag with a pen, shifting the bracelets around so they continued to glitter in the light. “Now, Miss Morrow, can you corroborate where these items were located?”
Jal looked at her and tried not to get too riled from her tone and the haughty superiority that radiated out of her pores.
Innocent until proven guilty, my ass. “Of course. You—Detective Ward, I mean—found the jar in a box of random toiletries in the back of my bathroom linen closet that I have not touched since I moved in a year and a half ago.”
“Yet the jar says menthol cream.” Ward countered, “Not diamonds.”
“I don’t know about you Detective, but I grew up in a household where the margarine container in the fridge rarely actually contained margarine.
” Jal said, pleased that only a fraction of the snark she wanted to use came through in her voice.
“Have you never reused a single-use container for another purpose?”
“We’re not talking about me, Miss Morrow. And what was the purpose for this reuse?”
Jal looked down at the evidence bag and inwardly sighed in relief that at least this interview wasn’t going to start off with lies.
That would come later. “The bracelets were gifts from Andy, from early in our relationship.
When I first met him, Andy worked in finance, and he made good money, before he started gambling all of it away, that is.
I was na?ve, detectives. I never had anything fancy growing up, and he wooed me pretty easily with sparkly things. "
Ciaran took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Jal gave him a thankful half-smile. "That didn’t last long, and when things ended between us, and he went to prison, I didn’t want to see any reminders of him, even a couple of bracelets in my jewelry box.
So, I put them in the jar when I was packing up my old place, and put them in a box that ended up in the back of a closet.
I knew they were real, and I held on to them in case I ever needed the money. Is there a crime in that?”
Ciaran took her hand and gave it a warning squeeze. She glanced down and then up at his face, to the soft understanding in his eyes and only then noticed the vibrating tension in her muscles, the heat that burned in her cheeks.
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry. The last few days have been dredging up a lot of memories of a time that wasn’t exactly pleasant.”
Takeda glanced up from his notes. “I understand.”
“Do you have any documentation for the bracelets?” Ward asked, the look on her face saying that she already knew the answer and was just itching to pounce. What gives?
Jal shook her head and just barely kept from rolling her eyes. “Of course not,” she replied sharply. “They were gifts.”
“Jal—” Ciaran warned under his breath.
“Again, my apologies,” Jal replied slowly so she could make sure her voice was even. “I’m just not sure why I’m being grilled over a couple of bracelets when I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Takeda held up a hand. “No one is grilling anyone,” he said, giving his partner a meaningful look. Ward didn’t even look his way, but the sparkle in her eye said she was enjoying whatever game she was playing.
“Why don’t we move on?” Ward grabbed the other evidence bag and tossed it on top of the first with an audible slap. She leaned back in her chair, pen poised over the paper, and looked ready for the main event. “Can you tell me in your own words where this money came from?”
Takeda consulted his notes. “For the record, we are referring to the envelope hidden in the ductwork above Miss Morrow’s bathroom door. There is a total of $11,465.00 in cash, primarily in twenties and hundreds. An additional $965 was found in a hidden compartment in the dining room table.”
Ciaran’s thumb paused in drawing circles on the back of her hand, but only for a moment.
The money he had returned to her had been less than a quarter of that.
She couldn’t help the bloom of pride that lasted for only a moment before she remembered that the “work” she’d done to get that money was the reason they were sitting in this room. Right. Focus, Jal.
“For the record, can you explain to us again Miss Morrow, how you came into possession of such an amount and why it was hidden in your apartment.”
Jal swallowed, the sides of her throat rubbing together like sandpaper and began, telling the detectives about her upbringing, such as it was.
The car crash that had killed her parents, the grandmother who had given her shelter, if little else.
She gave them the story she’d rehearsed in her head on the drive over, building on the inheritance story that she had blurted out in her apartment.
“I never really knew how deep my ex’s connections went.
So, under my new name, I did my best to keep my head down and my footprint small.
I didn’t open any bank accounts or credit cards.
I rented my apartment from a relative of a good friend and have used cash for everything.
As I told you, my needs are few and I do some work on the side to help preserve my savings. ”
While she spoke, Takeda took notes, despite the recording. Jal suppressed the urge to fidget while he finished. Ciaran squeezed her hand gently to get her attention, and the glow of pride she saw in his eyes would have had her blushing at any other time.
Takeda opened his mouth to speak, but Ward jumped in before he could.
“And again, for the record,” she began, and her scornful tone put Jal’s teeth on edge.
Ciaran’s eyes flared wide once in warning before too much of her irritation showed on her face.
“You stated that you do not have any paperwork for the inheritance money your parents left you upon their deaths twenty years ago?”
Jal tore her gaze away from Ciaran. “That is correct,” she replied.
“They were only in their late 20s, so they never thought to make a will. From what I understand—because I was only seven—they rented their apartment. My dad was self-employed and did construction and handyman jobs that paid mostly in cash. My mom didn’t work. ”
Her throat closed, choking off her words.
The memories of her parents were fuzzy after all these years, but she remembered clearly how her mother had always been there.
Remembered her gentle touch while cleaning a skinned knee, the gentle circle of her arms holding her when she woke up from a nightmare. Until suddenly, she was gone.