Page 89 of Ruthless Cross

"No. I was alone. I already told the agent this."

"When did you find out Judge Corbyn had died?"

Callie turned back around at that question, wondering at her answer.

"A friend called me to let me know," Layana said.

"Who was the friend?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters. Answer the question."

"I don't have to talk to you."

"Actually, you do, and I'd be happy to have you come down to our office if you'd rather be questioned there."

Layana frowned. "It was Kyle Logan."

"What did he say?" Flynn asked.

"He said someone killed Arthur."

"What time was this?"

"I don't remember."

"Try a little harder."

"Probably about nine. He was still at the museum. He said everyone was being questioned."

"So, he called you very soon after Arthur's death. Did he know you were having an affair?"

"He knew that I cared about Arthur. That's all."

Callie didn't believe her, and she didn't think Flynn did, either. If this Kyle Logan knew about the affair, then maybe he knew other stuff, too.

"I have to go. I have a meeting," Layana said. "If you want to talk to me again, you can talk to my lawyer."

"Who's your lawyer?"

"I'll find one," Layana said, moving past Flynn.

"What do you think?" she asked as Layana left the office.

"She's cagey, but whether that's because she was sleeping with a married man, or she's guilty of something worse…who knows?"

"Who's Kyle Logan?"

"He runs a gallery in New York. He took it over for his father. I actually met him years ago at a trade show."

"Have you interviewed him? I haven't heard his name mentioned before."

"He was interviewed after the event. I have not followed up. I haven't had a reason to—until now." As his gaze moved around the office, he added, "Anything look out of place or different in here?"

She followed his gaze. The space was small and crowded with a desk in the center, two filing cabinets on one side and a table laden with boxes of giveaway items that her mother used for special events. On the desk next to her mom's computer was a pile of flyers for the upcoming event on Valentine's Day, an artist's celebration of love, as well as two framed photographs: one of Arthur and her mother, and the other of her mother and herself.

As she walked around the desk, she thought things looked a little messier than usual. A few of the drawers were partly ajar, but since the room had been searched by various people, that was probably to be expected.

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