Page 69 of Sinful Fantasy

“Who is in this room?” I stop by the next officer, posted outside interview room two, and glance past him to the frosted glass window. “Which woman?”

“Janice Davies.” He moves to the left to give me room to pass, but I remain still for a beat.

“Janice is the woman who couldn’t have children,” I murmur for Fletch, to remind ourselves of each player in this case. “They attempted IVF, but it was unsuccessful.”

“Pretty fucking cruel,” he grumbles. “A man obsessed with procreating would’ve lost interest in her so fast, she’d have felt the whiplash.”

“Mmhm. Let’s go see what she has to say.”

I grab the door handle and repeat my steps from my entrance to the room before this one. I set my coffee down, then the Pickford file. But now, I have the addition of a single sheet of folded paper.

“Mrs. Davies.” I take a seat opposite her and smile to let her know we’re all friends. “We really appreciate you coming down here today.”

She meets my stare more intensely than the woman who came before her, and holds it when most others would glance away. “Did you find out who hurt my husband?”

“Not yet.” Fletch pulls out the chair beside mine and sips his coffee. “Is there anything we can get you, Mrs. Davies? Something to drink?”

“I’d like to know who hurt my husband. I want this to be over, and for the news people to not be on my front lawn when I wake up in the mornings.” She whips a tissue from the box in the middle of the table, telegraphing a metric-ton of anger that brings my brow up high. “I’d like for that nasty wench, Miranda London, to leave me alone.”

“She’s bothering you?” Fletch sneers.

“She wants a story. She wants to be number one again, and I guess word got out about my husband. She nags me day-in, day-out, and promises money for my time.”

“You can have her removed from private property,” I tell her sincerely. “She has no right to be there, not even as a member of the press.”

“She says it’s the Freedom of Information Act or something.” Janice’s hardness makes way for vulnerability. “She said I don’t get a choice, because the public has a right to know.”

“Not on your lawn,” I grit out. “Not in your private space.”

Again, I stand and head to the door, and when I open it, I meet the officer’s gaze.

“Detective?”

“Have Miranda London removed from Mrs. Davies’ private property immediately. Get a No Harassment order signed and stamped, then serve her. If you run into a wall, call the mayor.”

I step back to close the door, but a thought hits me, so I lean through the gap again and lower my voice. “If the mayor won’t take your call, contact Chief Medical Examiner Minka Mayet. Tell her I said to call, and that you need her to contact the mayor on your behalf. Tell her you want an RFA brought up on Miranda London, and you need it done this morning. If she gives you trouble—”

“I’ll mention your name,” he concludes. “Yes, Detective. I’m on it.”

“Great.”

I turn again and close the door so the lock catches with asnick. Then I head back to my seat.

“There’s a difference between reporting for the news, and abusing one’s role, Mrs. Davies. Miranda London seems to have forgotten where the line is. But she’ll be reminded. Today,” I assure her. “Now, I was hoping we could talk about Aaron for a few minutes. He traveled for work a lot, right?”

“Literally.” She crushes a tissue between her fingers and nods. “When clients asked to fly, he took them where they wanted to go.”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Roger Wilson?” Fletch asks. “Or Benedict McArthur?”

She shakes her head so dangling earrings swing and tap her neck. “No. But I didn’t know all of his clients’ names. He had a lot, so I long ago stopped paying attention.”

“That’s okay,” I assure her. “What about Kyle Andrews?”

Immediately, her eyes flash with recognition, but her lips clamp closed.

“Do you know Kyle Andrews?” Fletch questions. “He might’ve known your husband.”

“I knowofhim,” she hedges. “His name. One of his kids is an elite cheerleader, right? She travels for competitions, and maybe…” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I think maybe Kyle was a rich real estate tycoon, no? He had money to splash around, so when his daughter needed to get across the country for her sport, Mr. Andrews would come to us.”

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