Page 28 of The Perfect Poise

“For a while. Why?”

“She broke up with you, yes?” Ryan pressed, ignoring the man’s question.

“It was mutual,” Blackwell said carefully, trying to appear unflustered, but Jessie could feel the growing anger simmering just below the surface. She decided now was the time to join the conversation.

“Is that what the broken window in your condo was about?” she asked saccharinely, “a mutual breakup?”

Blackwell fixed his gaze on her, and she could almost see his eyeballs vibrate with bitterness. He contorted his mouth into a smile before replying.

“What are you, cops or the National Enquirer?” he asked with a forced chuckle.

“I’m a cop,” Ryan said matter-of-factly, glancing at his watch, “which is why I need to ask you where you were an hour and forty-five minutes ago.”

Blackwell was silent for a moment. Jessie noticed a drop of liquid near the man’s temple and wondered if it was sweat or water from the shower he claimed he needed after his workout.

“Why are you asking?” he demanded. “Did she accuse me of something?”

Blackwell was being so guarded that there was no way for Jessie to confidently determine if he was asking sincerely or if the question was intended to cover up what he might have done.

“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Blackwell,” Ryan said sharply.

“I’m sick of this,” the man retorted, his voice rising, “you need to show me some respect in my own house!”

"This isn't a house, Mr. Blackwell," Jessie teased acidly. "It's an office tower."

“Listen,” he said resentfully, glaring at her as he took a step toward her, “I built this empire with my own hands, with my sweat, and I don’t appreciate how you’re belittling it.”

“Developing Peopster required sweat?” she replied dubiously. “Come on, we’re not exactly talking about a coal mine here.”

That seemed to push the man over the edge. He took another step toward Jessie, and before anyone could stop him, he reached out and grabbed her forearm—hard.

Everyone in the office froze.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The man’s grip on Jessie only lasted a second.

In a flash, Ryan’s hand was on Blackwell’s forearm, ripping it off Jessie and pinning it behind his back. The man dropped to his knees in obvious pain. His giant protectors took simultaneous steps in that direction, but Jessie turned to face them and held up both palms.

“Bad idea, gentlemen,” she said calmly but forcefully. “Mr. Blackwell is in a bit of a pickle here, but it doesn’t have to be your pickle too.”

The men stopped moving and, in fact, returned to their original positions. Just behind them, the two officers, one of whom had his hand on his gun holster, relaxed as well. Jessie turned to Blackwell, who was wincing.

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Blackwell,” she said with faux concern, “now you’ve gone and assaulted a law enforcement officer. That’s not quite the same thing as beating up a waiter. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices here. Answer our questions honestly, and I’ll consider letting this incident slide. Or get led out of your ‘house’ in handcuffs. Which do you prefer?”

She wasn’t yet sure if she had any intention of letting things slide, whether or not he answered their questions. But letting him think he had a way out of this that didn’t involve getting arrested served her purposes right now. Whether he was innocent or guilty, she expected he’d take it.

“What was the question again?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Jessie nodded to Ryan that he could release his grip on the guy. Her husband and partner did so grudgingly. She refreshed Blackwell’s memory.

“Detective Hernandez asked where you were an hour and forty-five minutes ago, around 11:15. He’d like a straightforward answer.”

Blackwell got to his feet slowly, then dusted off his still-immaculate jeans. When he felt that he’d re-established some measure of dignity, he answered.

“Like I told you, I was at my health club, Bodies @ Beverly. I had an 11:30 session with my trainer. I guess that technically I was on the way to the club at 11:15. We worked out until 12:15. I showered and drove over here, where I’ve been until you lovely people showed up.”

Jessie looked over at Ryan and knew he was making some of the same calculations that she was. If Blackwell had killed Isabella, would he have had time to get from the shopping complex parking structure to his gym by 11:30? And if so, what did he do with the all-black outfit the killer wore—just toss it in a dumpster and have his workout clothes underneath? Could he have effectively cleaned up all the blood that would surely have landed on some parts of him?