Page 23 of Deathmarch
This was work.
He put her coffee on the table. “I’ll cuff you up front so you can drink this, but I have to cuff you for the attorney’s safety. I’m going to let you have some private time with him before we start the official interview.”
He gave her a few seconds to calm down before he clicked the metal on her slim wrists. “I think your father talked you into something before he died. I think the plan went south. Someone died. I’m sure you regret it, Allie. Best thing to do now is confess. I hope you can see that.”
“I hope you trip, swallow your own tongue, and choke.” Red flashed across her face. “My father, Harper? That’s what you think? That I’m working with my father? What the hell is wrong with you? You know me!”
“Not anymore. Ten years is a long time.” He stepped to the door then glanced back. “If it was an accident, if you didn’t mean to do it, confess now. Abram can argue for a lighter sentence. Think about that while I’m gone.”
He wanted to drive out to the crime scene while Allie had her initial meeting with her attorney. Chase might already have found enough proof to seal the case. And then that’d be that. Allie Bianchi would be formally charged, shipped off to the county jail in West Chester, and out of Harper’s hair.
And not a moment too soon,he thought as he closed the door behind him, while she yelled, “I hate you, Harper Finnegan!”
* * *
The lawyer was going to get her out because she was innocent and the police couldn’t possibly have any kind of serious proof against her. She had not killed Old Man Lamm.
Allie tempered her fury and frustration and closed her eyes as she struggled to bring up an image of the guy. Skinny and bald, Lamm had been at least forty years older than her. As a teenager, she’d had little interaction with him. For one, he was a recluse. Two, she hadn’t hung out with guys Lamm’s age.
She’d done most of her hanging out with Harper—a past that clearly meant nothing to him. He was treating her like a criminal. All the times she’d imagined meeting him again, she’d never imaginedthat.
She wanted to grab him by his ridiculously wide shoulders and shake him.Gah!If she’deverbeen tempted to murder a man, it was Harper.
She was too wound up to sit, so she began to pace the small interview room along the wall, where the table and chair weren’t in her way. Ten steps to one end, turn around, ten steps to the other end.
No way, no flipping way, would Harper be able to find a connection between her and Lamm. She couldn’t wait until her lawyer got there. They were going to have to let her go, and Abram was going to tell them.
She rounded the table and dropped into her chair just as he came in, midthirties, black eyes, shaved head, dark suit matched with snow boots, tie crooked as if he’d dressed in a hurry.
He gave her an encouraging smile as he sat across the table from her. “Devon Abram, attorney. Nice to meet you, Miss Bianchi.”
He looked more like an absent-minded English professor than a lawyer.
“Allie. Thank you for coming.” And thank God, she didn’t remember ever seeing him before. “New to town?”
“Five years or so.”
He hadn’t known her father, then. Hopefully, that meant her government-provided attorney wouldn’t be prejudiced against her.
He tugged an expensive silver laptop from his bag and opened it, glanced at her over the top. “You are being held on suspicion of murder.”
Okay, she’d known that, but the simple sentence, so officially spoken, still had the power to steal Allie’s breath.
She swallowed painfully. “Based on what evidence?”
“Property stolen from the victim was recovered from your car. The police have also found some blood on your vehicle.”
He might as well have spoken in another language. She shook her head. Maybe the words banging around in her brain would make sense if they got rattled into a different order. They didn’t. “I don’t understand. My car? 2011 Chevy Malibu.” She rattled off her license plate number. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so.” He flashed her a patient look. “Let’s start at the beginning. From your point of view. What happened?”
She told him in a rush, starting with the storm, her car spinning out and getting stuck in the snow, Harper’s rescue, then the inexplicable arrest.
The lawyer took notes.
He paid attention. He seemed thorough. He would get her out of there.
“Do you have any firearms registered under your name?” he asked.
