Chapter Four
Jack Marshall glanced at his watch impatiently. He had better things to do than sit in an uncomfortable chair in an interrogation room at the police department. He’d thought the detective was joking when he’d gotten a call to come down to the station for a formal statement.
“If this is about what some woman thought she saw, I already told you, I was in Great Falls,” he’d argued. “I can’t believe you’re taking any of what she said seriously. Was anyone actually killed?”
“We just need to get it on the record,” Detective Hanson had said with a sigh. “The woman’s attorney is pressuring us.”
Once at the station, Hanson hurried him into an interrogation room and closed the door. There was another detective already waiting. Hanson introduced his new partner, Detective Russell Tate, and said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
Jack took a seat as Hanson put the date and time into the video recorder and named those present in the room, Jack Marshall and the two detectives.
“How is it that this eyewitness swears she saw you in Billings committing murder?” Detective Tate asked quickly, his partner shooting him a warning look.
“How should I know?” Jack snapped. “Clearly the woman is delusional or has something against me. Who is this woman anyway?”
“Amy Sue Brand of Dry Creek, Montana,” Hanson said, and Tate groaned his disapproval with his partner revealing it. “The man has a right to know who’s accusing him of murder,” his partner said in Marshall’s defense.
Jack decided he liked Hanson and would remember him if he ever needed a detective’s help.
He’d also remember the other one, the cowboy fresh off the range.
The man clearly didn’t know how things worked around here, but he better learn quickly, or Jack would see that he was back on the ranch. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“Maybe you sold her a lemon of a car,” Hanson suggested with a laugh.
Detective Tate jumped in, “Are you involved in the development under construction in the following area where the alleged murder took place?” He read the address.
“No,” Jack snapped. “This is a total waste of my time.”
“Do you know the developer? Thomas Armstrong?” Tate asked.
“I know a lot of people. Are we about done here?”
“We’ll need your sworn statement that you were in Great Falls the night of the incident,” Hanson said with a sigh.
“Also you might want to add that you didn’t murder a woman that night,” Detective Tate said, and got another dirty look from his partner. “For the record.”
“Fine.” Jack repeated his story, adding the part about not murdering anyone, followed by a curse.
Getting to his feet, he gave them both an annoyed look.
“Waste of taxpayers’ dollars.” He hoped they both got the veiled threat.
He could get rid of both of them and maybe he would, he thought as he stormed out.
But he wasn’t going to make waves until this blew over.
And it would blow over, not that it made him any less angry that it had happened. He’d run through the plan for several weeks before that night. True, the woman had forced his hand, requiring him to move up her demise more quickly than he would have liked.
Still, he’d been meticulous, always had when it came to the important decisions in his life. His father had taught him not to rush things. Take your time. Do it right.
He’d gone over the plan a dozen times before he set it in motion. It had been flawless, and it would have gone off without a hitch if it wasn’t for that horrible woman showing up at the apartment next door when she had.
Once outside now, he climbed into the large luxury car with the dealer plates and tried to relax.
It was over. The woman was mistaken about what she’d thought she’d seen and who she thought she’d seen, he told himself.
The police hadn’t believed anything she’d said; how could they?
There was no body. No sign of a murder. And most important, he’d been out of town at the time.
The only conclusion they could reach was the one he needed them to: Amy Sue Brand was delusional.
It was nice of Detective Hanson, but he hadn’t even needed him to provide him with the name of the eyewitness.
It hadn’t taken much to find out who she was after he’d memorized her license plate number.
He had a friend who often ran plate numbers for him on trade-ins.
He liked to know who he was dealing with.
And now he did. Amy Sue Brand of Dry Gulch, Montana.
A country girl with the most innocent face he’d ever seen.
No wonder the cowboy cop had questioned him the way he had.
Against all reason, Detective Tate had bought her story.
Jack hoped the detective didn’t become a problem—or Amy Sue Brand, either.
Back at the dealership, he sat down behind his desk and tried to breathe.
He’d been feeling anxious since the phone call at the Great Falls hotel, first from his wife and then the Billings cops.
Not that he hadn’t been ready for it. He’d been expecting the call after that foolish woman had seen what he’d done.
But he’d thought that would be the end of it.
After today, he tried to assure himself it would be over.
He’d given the police the statement they wanted.
He shouldn’t be bothered again. So why didn’t he believe it?
Because his superstitious grandmother always swore that bad news came in threes.
The eyewitness was number one. If number two was having to make a statement at the police department, then he couldn’t wait for number three.
He told himself he was bulletproof. He was somebody and not just in this town.
He was known across the northwest. Everyone knew Jack Marshall, recognized him from his television ads, had bought cars from him for years.
He smiled and felt himself relax a little.
As much as he enjoyed the money and what it bought him, he also liked being recognized on the street.
People felt they knew him and came up to shake his hand.
He wished his father had lived long enough to see the life he’d made for himself. Jack had a beautiful, sophisticated wife from a wealthy old family. But he also had all the women he wanted as long as he wanted them.
His smile faltered as he thought of the eyewitness who had recognized him. “Looks like your celebrity status came back to take a bite out of your ass,” he could hear his father say from his grave.
Jack mentally shook himself. He had to do something to get his mind off all of this.
Not someone new, not this quickly, he told himself.
But as he looked up from his glassed-in office, he spotted a pretty young brunette running a hand over the expensive car in the showroom as if she were petting a puppy.
He had a policy that he never mixed business with pleasure, but today he needed a distraction. He rose, adjusted his tie and stepped out of his office. “Like her?” he asked the brunette caressing the expensive car.
The woman’s smile was dazzling. “I do.”
“I normally leave this part up to my employees, but I feel like breaking the rules today. Want to take her out for a spin?” She hesitated, and he flashed her his famous smile. “Not everyone can handle a car like this, but I have a feeling you can.”
She laughed. “You think?”
“Let me get the keys and a dealer plate,” he said, then hesitated. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Tina.” He started to introduce himself, but she stopped him with a laugh. “Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Marshall.”
“Call me Jack.”