Chapter 7 #2
“Ryan,” Yevonne said crisply, motioning toward Blade and Tori. “Detective St. James and Dr. Crew are here about Don Florek.”
“Ryan Petersen. Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Ryan’s handshake was firm.
“Y’all can call me Ryan,” he said, the easy drawl stretching vowels just enough to give it away.
“Always had the utmost respect for law enforcement, Detective. If I hadn’t gone the law school route, I’d probably be doin’ what you do. ”
Beside Blade, Tori tilted her head, already pegging it. “That accent. Louisiana?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without missing a beat. “Born and raised. But I went to law school here in Florida. Fell in love with the beach, and of course, golf. So I never left.”
He took a closer look at Ryan’s face. The black eye wasn’t fresh. Yellow bruising at the edges, deeper purple in the center. A shallow cut marred his cheekbone. Lower down, a fading bruise along his jaw traced in clean lines, like it had come from a single, direct impact.
Blade kept it casual. “Rough weekend?”
Ryan reached up, thumb brushing his jaw with a sheepish grin. “This? That’s what I get for walkin’ too close behind somebody on the driving range. Colleague of mine whacked me good on the backswing.”
Sure he did. The symmetry of those marks looked more like fists than a nine iron. He pressed, just enough to feel for a seam. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Harris Zirinsky in contracts. He’s probably still mortified about it. Happened Thursday morning.”
Blade scribbled it into his notebook, quick and neat. Plenty for someone at the station to run down later. “Funny,” he said. “My deputies didn’t note those injuries.”
“That’s because I wasn’t here.” Ryan leaned on the back of a chair. “I was at Holy Cross with my mother Wednesday night. Kidney stones. They admitted her around nine and didn’t release her until past midnight. The hospital records can verify.”
Tori’s eyebrow went up. “With Florek gone, I imagine there might be some opportunity in the firm.”
Ryan laughed at that, shaking his head. “Generous of you, ma’am, but no. I’m years away from that. Plenty more time carryin’ water for these guys before I see my name on that wall.”
Each “ma’am” earned him the barest flicker of narrowed eyes from Tori. Blade had to stifle a smirk and filed it away for later ammunition.
He nodded toward the two others at the table. “And them?”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder, then chuckled like he’d broken some personal rule. “Pardon me, where are my manners. Let me introduce you to my team. Leslie and Gary are paralegals. They’ve been helping me dig through Don’s old cases, making sure nothing slips through the cracks.”
Leslie gave a polite nod without looking up from her highlighter work. Gary kept his focus on a stack of depositions.
Blade let his gaze linger on the files spread across the table. At Ryan’s end, a yellow legal pad covered in tight handwriting sat on top of a messy pile of folders. A manila tab stuck out just enough to snag his attention.
Psychiatric Research Institute.
Ryan’s hand came down on the legal pad. He slid it over the folder.
“Sorry.” Ryan’s easy smile didn’t waver. “Confidential client matter. You understand.”
Blade did. They weren’t going to get anything from a few stolen glances at someone’s chicken-scratch notes.
He kept going down the list. Last time he saw Florek (Tuesday morning in the break room), any disagreements (none he knew of), clients that caused trouble (plenty, but none that stood out). Every answer came quick and smooth.
Yevonne stepped into the doorway and checked her watch. Ryan gave another politician’s handshake, thanked them for their time, and was back in his seat before they’d stepped into the hall.
In the elevator, Tori nudged his elbow. “Hey. How’d your date go last night?”
He bumped the back of his head against the steel wall, staring at the panel lights as they counted down floors. “Didn’t make it.”
“Oh?” Her tone carried the exact level of feigned innocence that made him side-eye her.
“Case work.” It wasn’t exactly untrue, but it still pinned a little weight across his chest.
“Uh-huh. So you stood her up.”
“Not stood up. I texted her to let her know I couldn’t make it.”
“That’s practically the same thing.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me solve a murder, not grading my social life.”
She arched a brow. “Multitasking.”
They stepped into the parking garage, and Blade dug the keys from his pocket. The Charger’s headlights flashed twice as he hit the unlock button.
A shadow shifted between parked cars. Blade’s hand shot to Tori’s shoulder, pulling her behind him before the thought fully formed. His other hand hovered near his hip.
The receptionist from the lobby rounded a pillar.
“Madison.” He sighed and let his arm drop but didn’t step back.
The twentysomething woman hurried toward them, stopping close enough that Blade caught the tremor working through her jaw. A stack of file folders sagged in her grip. Mascara smudged beneath her left eye. It hadn’t been there upstairs.
Her gaze darted past his shoulder toward the elevator bank, whipped left to scan the exit ramp, then locked back onto his face. Whatever she had to say, she didn’t want an audience.
“Detective.” Madison snapped a glance over her shoulder. “About Don.” A swallow stretched her throat. “It might connect to why he’s dead.”