Page 24 of Deathmarch
“No.”
“Do you own any unregistered firearms?”
“An antique, nonfunctional, Old West hunting rifle I use in my job as a historical reenactor. They don’t have to be registered. I never had bullets for it. I don’t even think they make those bullets anymore. Did they find the murder weapon in my car too?” She felt the blood drain from her head.
“Not that I know of, but I don’t have all the information yet.”
She held the man’s gaze, tipping over from incredulous to desperate. “I swear to you. I have nothing to do with any guns, or murder.”
Not that anyone in Broslin would believe her, once the news broke in the morning. Just like, back in the day, nobody had believed that she had nothing to do with her father’s criminal activities. She’d been holding on to the hope that her innocence might actually mean something, but this was flipping Broslin. They would do their best to railroad her if she let them.
Screw that.
She shook off the bleak hopelessness that tried to settle on her shoulders and channeled Calamity Jane, who never backed down once in her life, and then she added Annie Oakley’s gunslinger gaze.
“Listen to me.” She was no longer a teenager. She was a grown-ass woman. “Harper Finnegan and the good people of Broslin arenotgoing to shuffle me off to prison, just because they never liked my father. We’re going to clear this up and fast.”
“That’s the plan.” The lawyer nodded with a smile. “Let’s organize what we know. Chuck Lamm was killed. And then his gold was allegedly found in your car.”
Allie nodded. “I don’t know how. Detective Finnegan is the only person who had access to my Chevy. The whole time I was walking through the snow, after my car got stuck, no vehicle passed me going in either direction. Ditto during the ride to town with Harper. Other than Harper, I didn’t see anyone out there. And he had my keys. He asked me for them so he could tow my car in.”
A disturbing thought was forming in her mind, one that didn’t entirely surprise her.Yes. Yesyesyes. It all makes sense.
Maybe Harper Finnegan hadn’t metamorphosed from town black sheep to town Wonder Cop while she’d been gone. Maybe, under the protection of his shield, he’d continued down the path of crime and destruction her father had set him on a decade ago.
Allie let anger fill her all over again, because she preferred that fury over surrendering to defeat. She looked Devon Abram in the eyes. “I’m going to tell you something you probably won’t believe.”
“People tell me unbelievable things all the time. I’m willing to listen.” The lawyer leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead.”
Allie dropped her hands on the stainless-steel table in front of her, metal clinking against metal, and said words that sent a chill down her spine. “Harper Finnegan is framing me for murder.”
Chapter Seven
“This is what happens when people never grow out of playing fort.”Mike McMorris, a transplant from Boston, third-generation cop, pointed at the barbed wire around the chimney on top of the victim’s fortified rancher. “Crazy, huh?”
Harper hurried up the front walk. “Matches the rebar over the windows.”
He scanned the house. The steel security door had DO NOT ENTER hand-painted in red in the middle, and under that JUST AS SOON SHOOT YOU AS LOOK AT YOU.
“No security cameras,” he observed. “Would have expected a couple, considering.”
“None inside either. Chase says not everyone Lamm’s age feels comfortable with modern technology. The old guy didn’t even have a computer.” Mike tapped his boots together for warmth, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Coming from Finnegan’s?” His red hair, slightly longer on top in some new style he was experimenting with, whipped in the wind. “Could have brought a pint.”
Harper leaned closer to the door that had suffered some damage. “From the station.”
“Ah well. Hey, I’ve got a good one for you.” Mike grinned. “There’s this doctor sitting at the bar in a pub. An Irishman walks up to him and says,Doc, do you treat alcoholics?The doctor nods.Absolutely. So, the Irishman slips onto the barstool next to him and says,Well, then get your wallet out. I’m thirsty.”
There was a pause for applause, which Harper used to roll his eyes. “You’re getting worse, and I didn’t think that was possible. Don’t quit the PD. I don’t think standup is in your future.”
He patted Mike’s shoulder before he crouched to bring the lock to eye level, while Mike said with a hand to his chest, “That hurts.”
The porch light provided enough visibility to make out a muddy boot print on the busted wood.
“Forced entry.” Harper snapped a photo with his phone. The grainy image would have to serve until he could take another look at that print in the daylight.
He stood, grabbed the disposable paper booties and rubber gloves from his pocket, then pulled them on.
“I was on my way to grab the backup battery.” Mike ran off to his cruiser, calling back over his shoulder, “Chase is in the kitchen. I’ll be in in a second.”
