Page 394 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Hank’s hands might be tied so that he couldn’t step out of the boundaries of procedure and the oath he’d taken. Jacob didn’t want him to do that. He wanted any cop to be someone people could rely on to be honorable. That meant Hank not bending the law—even just to reassure him.

Jacob was on his own here.

“What can I help you with?” He figured he might as well begin as though he was doing them a favor. Not that he was well aware they’d love nothing more than to trap him into confessing to some crime.

Celia Jessop’s murder.

The captain opened his file and studied the contents. Probably waiting in the hope Jacob started talking just to fill the awkward silence.

But Jacob didn’t see silence like that. There was usually some noise, some sign of life, if you listened closely enough for long enough. His cats. Traffic on the street below his apartment. He could hear officers in the hallway and a phone ringing—signs of life that were probably reassuring to the captain to know his people were close by.

All designed to make Jacob believe he was on his own in here.

Which he didn’t need to be. “Do I need a lawyer?”

McCauley looked up. “You aren’t under arrest.”

“So I’m free to leave at any time?”

McCauley’s expression shifted a fraction. Jacob wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an agreement or if the guy was displeased Jacob knew that.

“You know, you guys are the reason I have to keep apprised of my rights.”

McCauley lifted a brow. “Because you feel the police victimize you?”

“What do you think?”

“Criminals often feel targeted by the police. Mostly I’ve found it to be down to guilt of the wrong you know you’ve done.” McCauley shrugged. “You go to church. I’m sure you’ve heard the pastor talk about conviction.”

“And you’ve heard him talk about unjustly judging someone.” Jacob couldn’t help but fire that back. He didn’t have the energy to hold his tongue, probably something he should put that mention of church experience to work dealing with.

He was just about to pray over that when McCauley said, “So how about you go over your whereabouts at the time of Celia Jessop’s death one more time. For my records.”

Jacob considered his words before he spoke. The captain would try and get him flustered and reacting before he thought. That was the last thing Jacob needed to do, even if he had nothing to do with Celia’s death.

Jacob shrugged one shoulder. “When did she die?”

“Tuesday night.”

“What time did you say?”

McCauley paused. “Between one thirty and three thirty.”

Jacob blew out a breath. “The last time I saw her and we talked was a couple of weeks ago.”

“That was the conversation the boyfriend”—McCauley looked at his notes—“interrupted?”

Jacob nodded.

“Guess he sure got the wrong end of the stick.”

Jake didn’t like the tone. He’d have fired something back, but whatever it was didn’t matter. McCauley had already decided he was guilty and lying about it.

Though the town was contending with a killer who kidnapped high schoolers once a year. The police had everyone convinced they had the man in custody two weeks before Jacob and Addie went to theirs. It turned out that wasn’t the guy—and they were taken. He hadn’t been the accomplice either—just some guy designed to be a red herring.

Then Becca Cowell had been killed.

The police in Benson had been trying to repair the public’s trust in them ever since. Whether it was working or not was hard to say. A couple of outfits in town did private security work—one, Vanguard, was all women. He didn’t get involved in a lot of it.

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