Page 61 of The Criminal

It had been hours since I melted down, slapped a cop, gone catatonic, and collapsed into Derek’s arms. Derek’s arrival at that exact moment was a miracle. I don’t know how I’d have fared without his support. I’d been holding it together, not saying a word, but when the cop that brought me into the station said something about how a fancy-ass rich lady like me would end up as some gangbanger’s bitch in prison, I cracked.

Derek put me back together. It was a combination of his unflagging support and being force-fed the worst turkey sandwich I’d ever tasted, chased with a gallon of sports drink. He kept talking about brain chemistry and electrolytes. I concentrated on not throwing up.

“But you had a key?” Detective Alvarez faked looking confused by the situation. There was no confusion. I’d explained it to him six times.

“We have been over this, detective. Why don’t you cover some new territory,” my lawyer, Franklin Wright, injected while drawing stars on his legal pad. He’d already covered two pages with the doodles.

Everyone underestimated Franklin because he was short and unassuming. I think in his lifts he made five foot six. But his brain power and ruthlessness made up for any vertical challenges he faced. He was a Yale grad with a shining future who had become a criminal defense attorney for the money. And the Delgatto family paid very well.

It had pissed Derek off that I insisted on my lawyer. He wanted one The Smith Agency kept on retainer. Yeah, that would have been a shit show. When you worked for Jimmy Delgatto, you kept everything, even legal counsel, in the family. So to speak.

“I’m trying to understand why the owner of a fancy store like Mr. De Wispelaere’s would give a key to that establishment to a stranger.” The detective looked between me and Franklin.

I sighed. This was not a new question. Even Derek, leaning against the far wall, rolled his eyes. Derek looked every inch the private security contractor he was, wearing black military-style fatigues and, ominously, an empty holster strapped to his thigh. I wondered if his night had been as traumatic as mine.

“Again, detective, they share a mutual acquaintance.” Franklin never looked up from his doodling.

“I still don’t get it.”

“Detective.” I sat forward like I was about to tell him a secret. “De Wispelaere’s offerings are paltry compared to the value of the jewelry I sell at Oleander.”

“Then why exactly would you be looking at an item he had on consignment?”

“Our mutual acquaintance asked me to. It was a favor.” I sat back and crossed my arms. We were treading a well-run path.

Derek shifted, recrossing his arms. A vein along his temple throbbed, and his jaw ticked with annoyance. At this rate, he would develop an eye twitch by the time we completed this interview. I wasn’t sure who hated the word acquaintance more: him or Detective Alvarez. Two peas in a pod. They both knew myacquaintancehad me involved in something highly illegal, but they had no way of knowing what. Oh, I was sure they each had a guess, but I wasn’t telling.

“Do you have anything new for Ms. Vance? It’s been a very long night.” Franklin pointed his pen at the pale gray light filtering in through the tiny window high on the wall behind the detective.

“Are you still unwilling to give the name of that acquaintance?” Alvarez asked for the sixth time.

Franklin looked at me, eyebrow raised in dramatic fashion. I shook my head. The last person whose name I’d utter in a police station was Tony Delgatto. I enjoyed breathing.

“This acquaintance. You think he killed De Wispelaere?” The detective actually used air quotes around the word acquaintance this time.

I’d been considering this question for hours, long before Detective Alvarez got around to asking it for the first time. And I couldn’t see any logical reason for Jimmy to have De Wispelaere killed. Not while he still had the merchandise… If he still had it. That was a big fucking if.

The problem of the missing watches would land in my lap the moment the police let me go. Because the Delgattos would want to know where the fuck they were. And I was sent to fetch them. Thus, my problem.

“No. Charles, like myself, was providing a service to the acquaintance.” I heard Derek’s soft hiss of frustration at my use of the hated euphemism. Franklin shot him a disapproving glare.

“Detective. Let’s cut to the chase. I have a seven a.m. squash game at the racquet club.” Franklin stood, pushed from his chair, and assumed the attitude of a lawyer addressing a jury in closing arguments on a TV crime drama. “You found a grizzly crime scene. Blood splashed everywhere. Correct?”

Alvarez nodded.

“The police were responding to the store’s silent alarm. What’s the response time to that very posh part of the city?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Excellent.” Franklin looked duly impressed. “Please take another look at Ms. Vance’s clothes. The only blood evidence was on her shoes, yes?” He pointed at my feet, which were shoved into cheap jailhouse plastic slides.

Reluctantly, the detective nodded again.

The cops had taken my favorite snakeskin Louboutins as evidence a few hours ago. At the scene, they had collected my purse, gun, and cell phone, all of which Franklin promised I’d get back. Eventually.

“So, Ms. Vance had fifteen minutes to murder a man. Clean herself up. And dress head to toe in white. Without transferring a speck of blood anywhere but onto her shoes. I’m not seeing how that is possible.” Franklin threw up his hands.

“If she would divulge the name of the acquaintance, it would go a long way toward me accepting what you’re selling, counselor.” Alvarez pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temples.

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