But right now it was pretty obvious he was stressed and worried. Obviously something more was going on.
“Have a seat, Kara,” he said. I complied, doing my best to keep my expression even and calm. He’d had the walls painted in here, I noticed—a warm blue that matched the tones in the Beaulac PD seal on the wall behind his desk. The carpet had been updated too—a dark gray that that was a huge improvement over the bilious tan of its predecessor. The desk, chairs, and bookshelves were real wood now instead of metal, but nothing that looked like it cost and arm and a leg. Not much else had changed, though. The books and various awards were still aligned neatly, and I doubted I’d find any dust on the shelves. The overall effect was “serviceable and classy,” which pretty much fit the chief to a T.
He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers together on the desk in front of him. His face fell into lines of concern that I knew weren’t fake. “I’m not going to waste time with bullshit small talk, Kara. I received a tip this morning, from an anonymous person, stating that the deaths of Barry Landrieu, Evelyn Stark, and Thomas Chartres are connected. And that we should be looking at you as a murder suspect.”
I took an unsteady breath. “As I told Sergeant Crawford, yes, I knew all three. And no, I sure as hell didn’t murder any of them.” I gave him a terse explanation of who each person was—everything I’d told Sarge. Okay, maybe not everything. I could probably safely leave out the bit about the demons and portals and whatnot.
He blew out his breath and leaned back in his chair. “So there are two possibilities that leap to mind. First is that you’re being set up, and second is that you’re a serial killer.” He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Or both,” I replied with a weak laugh.
“Or both,” he acknowledged, barest hint of a smile playing on his mouth, but the tension around his eyes hadn’t left.
“Sir, I’d like to point out that that there’s nothing to suggest any of these people were murdered.”
“True enough. However, I’ve spoken to Dr. Lanza and he’s concerned that all of them had similar causes of death, though right now he’s more worried that it could be something contagious, and he’s currently going back and forth with the CDC.”
That was a troubling thought, but I had a tough time believing it. If it was contagious then more people would be affected than just the ones on my not-invited-to-my-birthday-party list. The tox didn’t show anything because it wasn’t the sort of thing a tox screen could detect. At least that was my theory.
He cocked his head. “Do you think it’s all a giant coincidence?”
“Fuck no,” I said. “What’s that saying? ‘Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.’?”
He steepled his fingers in front of him. “There’s a variation of that phrase that says ‘three times is enemy action.’?”
Scowling, I nodded. “Can you tell me how this tip came in?” Because if that wasn’t sent by my mystery summoner or someone working with him, I’d eat my demon’s cat.
“Phone call, from a prepaid cell phone. Cash.”
Crap. There’d be no chance of tracing that.
“It’s a damn good thing that you told your sergeant about your connection to these victims,” he said. “But until we—”
He was cut off by the opening of the door. I glanced back to see who it was, deeply unsettled to see Mayor Peter Fussell enter and close the door behind him. I fought to keep any of it from showing on my face. The mayor gave me a tight smirk of a smile, which didn’t do a damn thing to relax me. He didn’t like me, and the feeling was completely mutual. Not long ago he’d attempted to coerce and threaten me into revealing confidential information on an active murder investigation. With the help of my sergeant, I’d recorded the conversation and had threatened him right back. Yeah, he didn’t love me.
“She’s still here, Robert?” he said as he pulled his overcoat off. “I’d have thought you’d have her gun and badge by now at the very least. And maybe have her in jail for good measure.”
My stomach dove into my toes. I was fully aware that the Chief of Police was appointed by the mayor. It didn’t matter how much Chief Turnham admired, respected, or even tolerated me—if it came down to a choice between me and his job, I knew which way it would fall.
Annoyance swept over Chief Turnham’s face. “I have nothing to arrest her for, Peter.”
The mayor dropped into the other chair and eyed me. “Three people dead. And you hated them all, didn’t you?”