Page 128 of Dead Man's List

Daly’s face went frighteningly pale, his swallow audible. “Hugh?”

“Yes, sir,” Kit said. “We may need more information as our investigation continues. Please don’t try to escape your safe house.”

Daly mopped his face, now drenched with sweat. “Iwon’t.”

Chapter Fifteen

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Thursday, January 12, 12:15 a.m.

It had already been a very long night.

Kit rubbed her temples as she stood in the observation room looking through the glass. They’d brought in everyone on Simon Daly’s list, excepting Hugh Smith, of course.

Smith was in the morgue.

Their interview rooms were full, with a few of the people being held in conference rooms until space was cleared. At this point, every name on the list had lawyered up, their attorneys arriving wearing suits and looking awake.

Unlike us.Kit and Connor were tired and she knew that Kevin Marshall and Alf Ashton were as well. But they were going to power through, conducting at least the preliminary interviews while they still had each suspect separated to keep them from comparing stories with the others.

Kit and Connor had already interviewed Estelle White, who continued to deny that she’d been blackmailed by Munro, but there had been desperation in her gaze. Estelle had also denied being in Hugh Smith’s home and had denied participating in a discussion about hiring a hit man.

The woman had lied about everything. Even the threat of an examination of her financial records hadn’t been enough to break her. But Estelle was terrified. It was easy to see.

At this point, Estelle—and all the others who’d been interviewed so far—were counting on their comrades to keep the secret. If one went down, they all went down. If no one spoke, nothing could be proven, especially with Hugh Smith being dead.

The five surviving male suspects on Simon Daly’s list didn’t even have the courtesy of having different body types. Every one of the five was around five-ten, with an average weight and average build.

Any one of them could be Neckbeard.

Or none of them.

The man currently in the interview room was Peter Shoemaker. Shoemaker was forty-five, married to the same woman for twenty years, and a father of three. His oldest was a college freshman in San Francisco and his twin daughters were eight years old.

He had been a high school English teacher in an exclusive private academy for years but had recently transitioned into administration. He’d been an assistant principal for the past three years. Shoemaker looked nervous.

His attorney was an older man who appeared bored with the whole proceeding.

“You okay?” Sam asked quietly from behind her.

“Tired, that’s all.” She sent him a smile over her shoulder. “I’ve been worse.” Then she caught the aroma of coffee. “For me?”

He handed her a travel mug that looked familiar. “You and everyone else. I called your mom.”

Kit’s heart melted. “You did?”

“She made me promise to call her if you needed anything, so I did. I went to McKittrick House to pick it all up. There’s sandwiches, cookies, and an entire urn of coffee. Should keep you going most of the night.”

“Thank you, Sam. You’re too good to us.”

He just smiled and tapped the end of her nose. “Now get in there and make him talk.”

“If Estelle is any indication of how this will go, it’s not looking good.”

Marshall joined them at the glass. “Juanita Young confirmed the blackmail.”

Kit’s brows went up. “She did?”

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