“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was at the town hall. Told the mayor the council will offer rewards for information whether he likes it or not. Drake and your brother are on their way back now, and Sheriff Bates is working with the media team at the hall.”
“You did? How did you do that?”
“I told him if he didn’t, the FBI would fully descend on his town and turn it into an investigative circus. He about had a heart attack and agreed without another thought. I guess he doesn’t want them looking into his questionable spending of council money.” He winks and takes the seat next to me.
“You know, despite our rocky start, I’m really startin’ to like you.” I laugh.
He grins. “Your rocky start, you mean. Has he been questioned yet?” He nods toward Alistair in the room.
I shake my head. “He’s getting a lawyer. Put up a bit of a fight when he was arrested too, apparently.”
“He’s odd,” Jason says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands in front of him. “He seems like a bit of a loner, so I have to admit that I’m surprised this was true. I thought Jackson was just trying to deflect some attention off himself, but then again, I had no idea Dina was his mother, either.”
“So… We’re deducing that you know not a lot of anything,” I tease.
He looks at me, smirking. “That sounds about right.”
The door opens once more, and Drake pokes his head in. He looks at me. “Ready?”
“For what?”
“Interviewing Alistair. He likes you, remember?” He smirks.
“Bastard,” I mutter.
Jason raises his eyebrows. “You question suspects often?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I drawl, straightening the neckline of my dress as I get up.
“Are you allowed?”
“Unfortunately, I have a contract that says I am.”
“You love questioning suspects. Your favorite hobby is tying people up in knots. We all know who’s gonna come out traumatized in this interview, and it won’t be you.” Drake’s eyes twinkle. “Goldberg is his lawyer.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna need to change my shoes. Hold that thought.” I spin and walk to my purse.
“Change your—oh. Do you often carry a change of shoes in your purse?” Jason asks with a chuckle.
“Honestly, y’all know nothin’ about women.” I slip my feet into my Louboutins and tuck my flats into my purse. “Okay. Let’s go give Alistair Carpenter and Mr. Goldberg the interview equivalent of a colonoscopy.”
I stalk past Drake into the hallway as he says to Jason, “Get comfortable. Trent’ll bring the popcorn.”
I slap his chest. He laughs. Fucker.
“Mr. Goldberg,” I chirp, entering the interview room. “How lovely to see you again so soon. You must be busy.”
“Well, your department will continue to arrest people who need representing,” he manages through a tight jaw, clasping my hand unnecessarily tight.
I squeeze his fingers until he freezes, making sure to look right into his eyes. “This isn’t my department. You should remember that when representing your client. I’d hate to tear you apart in front of one again.”
I swear I hear Drake whisper, “Oh boy,” under his breath.
“Perhaps we should get started,” Drake suggests, pulling my chair out for me.
Reluctantly, I drop Goldberg’s hand and sweep my skirt beneath my thighs as I take my seat. Drake takes the one next to me and hits the button on the recorder. He states the date and time then turns to Alistair.
“Please state your full name, age, and date of birth for the record.”
“Alistair Henry Carpenter, twenty-one, March thirteenth, nineteen ninety-one.”
“Your chosen lawyer is Mr. Samuel Goldberg from Goldberg Law. Can you confirm?”
“That’s correct.”
“Before we start, you should be aware that you do not have to answer anything you don’t want to. You can exercise your right to remain silent, but this may harm your defense should you appear in court. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ms. Noelle Bond, owner of Bond P.I., will be assisting me, Detective Nash, in the interview today. Ms. Bond is working with the Holly Woods Police Department in the murder cases of Toni Thompson, Melissa Samuel, Annabelle Porter, Tracey Young, and Dina White. Mr. Carpenter, if you or your representative would prefer a police officer to be present instead of Ms. Bond, please make that desire known before we begin our questioning.”
Alistair looks at Mr. Goldberg. The elder man pauses, his eyes coming to me, but he shakes his head.
“Thank you for the offer, Detective, but we’re happy to have Ms. Bond assist you.”
I love how they all say “assist.” Of the four of us in this room, three of us know that I’ll be running it.
What can I say? I do so love questioning people.
Drake looks at me and nods. He’s trying to keep his amusement from his eyes, but I can already see that he’s struggling and I haven’t even said a word yet.
I place my clasped hands on the table in front of me and meet Alistair Carpenter’s eyes. “Earlier today, you were questioned regarding your relationship with the late Dina White. You lied to us. Why?”
He says nothing. He just stares at me.
“Your fingerprints were found in her apartment, Alistair.”
Again, silence.
“I don’t understand how that could happen if, like you claimed, you didn’t have a personal relationship with her. Did you help Jackson Bullock with any maintenance of the store and her apartment?”
Still nothing.
“For the record of the tape, Mr. Carpenter would make an excellent competitor in a staring contest. He’s very focused.”
“Ms. Bond,” Mr. Goldberg starts.
“Mr. Goldberg, please advise your client that, although he can exercise his right to remain silent, it’s helpful for him to state, ‘No comment,’ when he declines to answer a question,” I say without breaking my gaze with Alistair. “Right now, he is the prime suspect in the murder of Dina White, and if he’d like to change that, I’d suggest he decides not to exercise his right to remain silent. Please also advise your client that semen traces were found on Dina White’s body during her autopsy and I’d be happy to offer my opinion that we test Mr. Carpenter’s DNA from his cheek swab during his booking process against the semen sample obtained. I’d like to place my bet that we’ll get a match. Don’t you agree, Alistair?”
He takes a deep breath. “Yes. I had a personal relationship with Dina White.”
First: Ew.
Second: There’s the first line on my bingo card.
“Elaborate for me,” I request.
He averts his gaze. “I was having an affair with Dina White.”
“Sexual affair?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When was your last sexual contact with Dina White?”
“The morning she died.”
Oooh damn. “After she returned from California? Walk me through that morning.”
“She landed at four a.m. I arrived at her property just before seven. We had sex. Then I left just after eight.”
“Was she alone when you left?”
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t mention seeing anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did you enter the building through the front or the back?”
“The back.”
“Are the shoes you’re wearing now the same as the ones you wore that day?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I raise an eyebrow.
“You can scoot your chair back some and look if you’d like.”
“Yes.”
“Can you confirm your shoe size and the brand of your sneakers for the record, please?”
“Size ten and a half, and Nike.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
I lean back. “Mr. Carpenter, do you recognize any of these girls?” I take the photos Drake’s handing me and spread them out in front of him.
“Ms. Bond, I was under the impression you were here to question him about Dina White’s death,” Mr. Goldberg interjects. “Not the others.”
“We have every reason to believe the deaths are related,” Drake responds. “If Mr. Carpenter recognizes these girls, we may have more to connect with, and his cooperation would be appreciated.”