He flashed a grin. “I didn’t think you were.”
“The reception seems such a long time ago. I had surgery shortly after that and the days all blended together. As far as the list goes…”
“Yes?”
“I thought I was going to tear it up and throw it in the fire like all the other people were doing, but I had to step into the hall to take a phone call, and when I went back inside, Sheilds had moved on to what Cordie called his inspirational, aren’t-I-wonderful segment.”
“What was that like?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t listen. I went to get the car. That’s when the man came after me, and I fell. I dropped everything. I didn’t realize I’d left my phone and the folder there.”
“So, tell me exactly what was in the folder.”
She looked off into space trying to remember. The image of the blue folder filled with the glossy pages vaguely emerged. “There was the notebook I wrote the list on… and there were testimonials about Shields… and photos… I took one of them and began a reminder list… notes, work stuff… things I needed to get done… just stuff.”
“You’re going to have to remember what all the ‘stuff’ was and, when we get to the station, you can write it down for Detective Wincott.”
“Why?”
“Those notes were left in the folder. He’s going to want to know about them.”
Regan didn’t know if she could remember what she’d written. She thought about it and didn’t say another word the rest of the way to the station.
Alec parked the car in the adjacent parking lot, opened her door for her, and took hold of her arm when they crossed the street.
“It’s going to be a long afternoon,” he said. “Everything you’ve gone over with me, you’ll have to go over with Wincott.” Again and again and again, he silently added. Wincott was big on repetition.
“And what will you be doing?”
“I’ve got some calls to return and some paperwork to finish up. Wincott will let me know when you’re finished.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I think maybe you do.”
“Then I’ll hire-”
He interrupted. “Look, you’re stuck with me no matter how many others you hire. The choice isn’t yours.”
She decided that arguing with him would be pointless. She must have looked forlorn, though, because he said, “Cheer up. It could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could have written ten names on that list, or twenty, or thirty…”
They started up the flight of stairs. “How many names did your friend Cordie write?”
“Seven,” she said.
They reached the landing, and he led her down a narrow hallway. “There you go,” he said. “Your friend’s more bloodthirsty than you are. That ought to make you feel better.”
“Not really. She wrote the names of the Seven Dwarfs.”
He laughed. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head.
“What’s she got against the Seven Dwarfs?” he asked.
She gave him a weak smile. “Nothing.”
“It’s impressive,” he added. He opened the door and stepped back so that she could go inside first.
“What’s impressive?” she asked as she walked past him. “That Sophie and Cordie were smart enough not to write names of real people?”
“No, it’s impressive Cordie could name all Seven Dwarfs. I can only get to four. Let’s see. There’s Doc and Sleepy and Dopey and Slurpy-”
She interrupted. “Slurpy isn’t one of the Seven Dwarfs. It’s a beverage.”
“Huh. What about Loopy?”
“Sorry, no,” she said. And then she laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like you’re on your way to a firing squad.
And we stopped doing that over a month ago. And like I said, it’s going to be a long afternoon for you.”
The police station seemed to be a maze of corridors. Alec reached around her to open yet another door. She was going to need bread crumbs to find her way out of here.
“Where are we going now?”
“The coffee room. I told Wincott we’d wait there for him to get back.”
“What about the sketch artist?”
“He’s next.”
He pulled a chair out for her and got a whiff of her perfume. Damn, she smelled good.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.
“Water, please.”
Regan looked around with interest. The coffee room was nothing like the ones she had seen on television with peeling paint and dirty barred windows. This one was spacious and clean and had obviously just been remodeled. The faint smell of paint still lingered in the air. The walls were bright-almost too bright-and the color was a rather putrid shade of turquoise. There were two square tables with chairs that looked new.
Alec noticed her staring at the walls. “Makes you want to put on sunglasses, doesn’t it?”
“Who picked out this color?”
“No one will own up to it.”
The refrigerator was also new and was stocked with water and soft drinks. Alec handed her a bottle of water and then pulled out a chair across from her and sat down.
There was a steno pad and a ballpoint pen in the center of the table. Alec pushed both toward her. “You might as well get a head start and write the names you put on your murder list.”
Murder list. Oh, God, what a mess this was. She picked up the pen and quickly wrote the five names. She labeled the bodyguards A and B since she didn’t know their real names. When she was finished, she pushed the pad toward him.
He leaned across, glanced at the list, and then pushed the pad toward her again.
“Okay, now write down all the notes you were making while Shields was talking.”
That was easier said than done. She tapped the toe of her shoe on the linoleum floor while she tried to concentrate. Emily Milan came to mind. Regan remembered she’d made a note to have it out with Aiden’s assistant. Oh, and Peter Morris. How could she have forgotten him? She’d made a note to talk to security about him. But who else? Was there anyone else?
The tapping increased. “There’s no need to be nervous,” he said.
“I’m not nervous.” It was a lie, and he knew it.
Then she realized she was jiggling the table with her knee, making a racket with her foot. She forced herself to stop. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”
She put the pen down and once again pushed the notepad toward him. He looked at her notes but didn’t comment.
She stared at the tabletop while she tried to recall what else she’d written on those papers. Had she left anyone off her doom list? She remembered wanting to add Emily’s name at the last minute, but she never got the chance.
She looked up at Alec, and for a second she actually lost her concentration. That had never happened before. But then, Detective Buchanan was a very interesting man-and a definite contradiction. He was a bit disheveled with his tie still askew, his wrinkled suit jacket, and his desperate need for a shave, but he had impeccable manners, was obviously well-educated, and had a sense of humor-a trait she thought would have been the first to vanish in his line of work. When he was giving her his full attention, she could almost feel a magnetic pull.
Okay, I’m losing it, she thought. She cleared her throat and said, “I saw you in Lieutenant Lewis’s office when I was there before, talking to Detective Sweeney.”
“I saw you too.”
Momentarily sidetracked by his admission, she said, “You did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes, well, the thing is… the lieutenant was shouting at a police officer,” she said. “Actually, as I remember, he was screaming. I had never seen anyone behave like that. No one in such a position of authority, anyway. I thought his conduct was appalling.”