Page 39 of Paternal Instincts
“Mr. Marigold.” Quaid shifted positions. “Where were you Tuesday evening between five and seven?”
“I was…” Jude’s cheek twitched, and he rolled a hand as though digging for an elusive answer he couldn’t quite grasp. “At the office… probably. Or at home. It’s hard to say. I could have been driving from here to there at that time. I don’t remember. It was days ago. I don’t even recall what I had for dinner last night.” He laughed, but it was tinged with nerves.
“Have you ever been to the Toronto Soccerplex?”
“No.” The single word came out thin and strangled.
Quaid said nothing and let Jude stew in the lie.
I scanned the office, feigning nonchalance while the tension rose. Before Quaid could unveil our little secret, I rounded the desk and leaned over Jude’s shoulder, encroaching on his personal space as I examined what he’d pulled up on the laptop.
“I’m curious, Mr. Marigold, why you’re in your boss’s office on a Saturday, poking around on his computer. Are those financial reports?”
Jude slammed the laptop closed, shrugged me off, and snapped, “Nixon isn’t my boss.”
“Oh, right.” I straightened and continued wandering. “Equal partners. This is his office, though, isn’t it?” I admired a certificate on the wall with Nixon’s name on it.
“What’s your point?”
I shrugged. “It seems sneaky, is all. No one’s around. It’s Saturday. Were you looking for something in particular?” I motioned to the closed laptop.
Jude pushed back his chair and stood. “I think you need to leave. If Crow is truly missing like you claim, I need to call Nixon, and you need to do your job and find him. I’ll see you out.”
“Sit down.” The whip snap of Quaid’s voice brooked no argument. “We aren’t finished chatting.”
Jude didn’t seem sure of himself. I could tell part of him was ready to tell us to go fuck ourselves, but the other part worried it might make matters worse.
In the end, he decided to sit.
“One last question.” Quaid motioned for me to hand him the tablet.
The video was stopped when Jude entered the camera’s view. It was a clear enough shot to make identification unmistakable despite the angle of the ballcap.
Quaid placed the tablet on the desk, and Jude glanced at the screen. His lips parted. A single drop of sweat escaped the hair at his temple and traveled the line of his face to his jaw, where it clung.
“You were caught on security footage outside the Soccerplex on Tuesday night at…” Quaid leaned forward to read the time stamp on the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. “At six-oh-seven. How about you explain why you’re lying to us?”
Chapter 10
Quaid
The hum of the HVAC system pumping cool air into the room was the only sound as Jude stared at his unmistakable face on the tablet. The summer temperatures were kept at bay despite the wall of windows overlooking the city, yet Jude Marigold perspired like he’d taken to the sauna at the gym.
Dark stains dotted the underarms of his Henley. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead and dampened his upper lip. When a single drop rolled from his temple, along his jaw, and landed on the desk beside the device, he blinked from his stunned state and scrubbed roughly at his face.
“I can explain.”
“They always have an explanation.” Aslan’s comment was directed at me but earned a perturbed glare from the man across the desk.
We were going to have to have a discussion about this good cop-bad cop balance. Aslan had been stealing my thunder through most of the interview, and poor Jude wasn’t getting sympathy from either of us.
“An explanation would be helpful, Mr. Marigold. The floor is yours.” I waved a hand, urging him to proceed.
“I went to the Soccerplex looking for Nixon on Tuesday night. I overheard he was meeting with…” Jude abruptly stopped speaking, clamping his mouth shut.
“We know about his suspicions,” I explained. “That there’s money bleeding from the accounts to places unknown.”
“And you know he accused me of taking it?” Jude’s nostrils flared.
