Page 28 of Deathmarch
“Okay. Then maybe aliens will land and take me to a planet populated entirely by hot women who wear nothing but cowboy boots and chaps.”
“You can have that.”
Because Harper was a guy, he gave the fantasy due consideration as he strode to his desk and picked up a sticky note that saidnephew, Kevin Lamm, San Diego, then the address and phone number. “Thanks.”
Nearly 2:00 a.m. in Broslin meant close to 11:00 p.m. for Kevin in California. They were three hours behind PA. Kevin might not have gone to bed yet. Harper pulled out his phone and dialed.
“This is Detective Harper Finnegan from Pennsylvania.” He confirmed that he was talking with the right person before saying, “I’m calling from Broslin. I’m sorry to inform you that your uncle, Chuck Lamm, is deceased.”
Shocked silence on the other end, then “Sorry, I…”
“News like this, coming out of the blue, can be disorienting. Why don’t you sit down?” Harper signed into his computer and pulled up traffic cam footage for around his estimated time of the murder—early evening. “I can wait.”
“What happened?” Kevin asked eventually, his voice shaking. “I mean, we weren’t close, but… Can you tell me how?”
“Your uncle was shot during a robbery.”
“Oh God.” Then another long stretch of silence.
Long enough, so Harper ended up breaking it. “We’re a small town, but I can assure you, this case is going to be our priority until we have a resolution. We are going to do everything in our power to put the killer behind bars.”
“Of course. Yes. I’m sure you will. Sorry, I’m still processing here.”
“Take your time. And, please, accept my sincere condolences.” Harper wished he could give Kevin as much time as the man needed, but he couldn’t keep the lawyer waiting all night. He had to press the nephew for some answers. “I know you said you weren’t close, but are you aware of anyone who would have wanted to harm your uncle?”
“No.” The response was instant and sure. “But lately he’s been… I was going to fly out and check on him as soon as I could catch a break at work. We talked on the phone once a month, but the last few times, I thought he was… I don’t know… More paranoid than usual? He was ranting. Like he was always ranting, but more, about the apocalypse. He was convinced the end times were just around the corner, and the government was covering up how bad things were. I thought maybe early stages of Alzheimer’s?”
Kevin’s teeth clicked together on the other end, as if he was literally biting off a curse. “Do you need me to fly out there tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t think so. I’ll call if I have any further questions. And if you think of anything that could help the investigation, or have any questions for me, you can reach me on my phone.” Harper rattled off the number.
“Thank you. I’m trying to think… I don’t know…” The man kept trailing off as the news kept hitting him. Then he gathered himself again to say, “I know he hoarded supplies. Even money. Was he killed for…”
“At this time,” Harper told him, “we believe so, yes.”
Kevin swallowed, a wet, desperate sound. “Do you have any suspects?”
“We have a person of interest in custody.” Harper closed his eyes for a second. Think of her as just another suspect.
Truth was, he would rather have had anyone but Allie Bianchi in that holding cell. But she was the one, and he was a cop, and this was the job. Someone had killed Chuck Lamm. So Harper was going to get the old man justice.
Period. End of story.
Chapter Eight
Harper pushing the door open without warning startled Allie. And that was the point, she supposed. He’d want to keep her off-kilter.
She was going to have to hold her act together and not fall for a trap. He was framing her for murder—it was the only thing that made sense.
He set the recorder he’d brought onto the middle of the table and nodded at her new lawyer at the same time. “Devon.”
“Detective Finnegan.”
“Coffee?” Harper offered them next.
Allie shook her head. Her nerves were buzzing aplenty. She didn’t want to be any more wired than she was already. She needed to stay calm and collected, unflappable. She could not afford to let him trick or goad her into saying something he could use against her later.
Harper had some tired lines around his eyes, his clothes wrinkled from the long night, yet he emanated strength. If there were any chinks in his armor, she sure couldn’t see them. He treated her in an impersonal manner as if to drive home the point that he represented the law. That they used to be friends would not matter here.
