Page 63 of Shattered
CHAPTER 17
Rourke
Detective Foreman hid behind strings of black hair. I suppose it may have been to make him seem less intimidating, less like law enforcement. From what I could gather from listening to the rest of the office, he was a new detective that had hit a wall when it came to the Angel’s case. Now, he was circling back around, re-interviewing old suspects, and gathering new ones.
Which is where I came in. He might not have caught my scent yet, but now that I was in questioning, it wouldn’t take long. If I was careful, it would take him a great deal of time to prove anything, but I didn’t need him scrutinizing me like that. I would have to think fast.
“Thank you again for seeing me, Mr. Rourke,” Detective Foreman said. “Do you prefer Mr. Rourke or Mr. Cabot?”
“Cabot was my father’s name,” I said. I had only used it on a few documents out of necessity. “Rourke is fine.”
We shook hands and took seats on the opposite sides of a gray table. There was a water cooler in the corner, though the dispenser for cups was empty. The wastebasket next to it was empty too.
“I know it’s not easy to take a break from your busy day,” Detective Foeman said. “I appreciate your time.”
“It’s no problem,” I said. We needed to get to the point, so I could move forward with a plan of action to avoid his harsh gaze. “What can I help you with?”
“According to our records, you’ve attended the Dahlia District before. Recently, that is. Can you tell us anything about your time there?”
I pretended to be puzzled, furrowing my brows, looking up at the ceiling for a brief second. What was there to say about the Dahlia District without giving anything away? That place was full of illegal activity.
“I stayed in the background,” I said. “Kept to myself. Not much going on there, it seemed. Your typical high rollers entertainment club.”
“Did you notice anything about the women or men that work there?” I shook my head, pretending to be oblivious as to what he was getting at. “Most club members have a favorite server.”
“Sure.” I paused for effect. Such a puzzling stream of questions.Not. “I like discussing art with Mel.”
“Mel.” Detective Foreman sat up and jotted down a note on the paper in front of him. “Mel, as in Melissa Foley? What can you tell me about her?”
I pictured Melissa in my place, being interviewed by Detective Foreman. Her dark red hair, the black roots beginning to show, matching her brown, almost black, eyes. The gray table in front of her, like a deliberate challenge. Had she been brought in for questioning? Before me? What would prevent Melissa from exposing me? If they agreed to the right offer, perhaps she could secure her freedom from the Dahlia District by turning me in.
But Melissa wouldn’t do that. If she was interested in that, she would have done so already. She may not have been the most innocent person, but she trusted me.
She knew I trusted her too.
Or was that trust to fool me into believing her, before she put me in prison?
I thought back to what Jake had said when we talked outside of the club, using that to give the detective vague details. “She has a reputation for being a good girl,” I said. This was to remind myself, as much as it was to tell the detective, that there was no reason to question Melissa’s actions. Her only crime, if you can call it that, was that she had beat up a co-worker. “Anger management issues. Standard stuff.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Is she a suspect?”
“There are,” Detective Foreman paused, looking down at the gray table, choosing his next words carefully, “a few different victims from the killer that point directly to the Dahlia District. Reeves Aldrich was Mel’s regular customer—excuse me,club memberbefore he died. He was a long time patron of the entertainment club, but she was the last one he had taken an interest in. And her roommate, Colin Smith, had applied for a job there but had been denied. Based on the time of death and the distance from the Dahlia District in Cresting Heights to where the rest of the murders took place in Sage City, we know that it’s unlikely for Mel to have acted on her own. Aldrich’s death and Colin’s death took place when she was off of the clock, but enough of the other ones happened while she was at work.”
An alibi, then. “She had an accomplice?”
“Or she might be working for someone.”
Clever man. “Or it’s coincidental.” Had I said that because I wanted to shelter my legacy of deaths, to claim them as my own? Or was it because I wanted to protect her?
Detective Foreman jotted down a note. “You don’t think it’s her, then?” he said.
I shook my head. “No.” I tilted my chin. “She doesn’t seem like the type.”
“They never seem like the type, Mr. Rourke.”
Detective Foreman was more capable than he was letting on. He knew she was connected, but he needed the puzzle pieces that put her there.
I wasn’t upset that the detective was closing in on Melissa; I always knew that this would happen. But I refused to encourage him into her direction. I had to throw him off somehow.
“You’re telling me a lot, Detective,” I said. “It seems like an inordinate amount to spill. Is there a reason?”
