“So tell me, Miss McKay. If you knew your boyfriend wasn’t financially stable, then how did you think he could afford to give you such an extravagant gift?”
Cali stiffened her shoulders at the implied accusation. “I thought the bracelet was fake. Detective Lowell can even tell you that I’d thrown it away. He dug it out of my garbage the day he came looking for it.”
The woman looked at John. “I’m surprised Detective Lowell isn’t here now to offer her his support.” Her brows arched. “He’s so good at supporting his female witnesses.” She hung her implication out like underwear on a clothesline.
John squared his shoulders, but some of his cool composure slipped and hit the floor. “Brit had some other matters to tend to this morning.”
The woman’s gaze landed back on Cali. “Tell me. Did you have the opportunity to see the detective this morning?”
Chapter Forty
“Ma’am, I’m with the Hopeful Police, Detective Brit Lowell.” He sat down across from Mrs. Chavez in her candle-scented, peach-colored office. Oddly, the middle-aged woman didn’t appear surprised to see him.
“Detective Lowell? Your name came up at our last meeting. Mrs. Craft mentioned she was going to ask you to speak to the group at our next quarterly meeting.”
“Who?” He leaned forward.
“Tanya Craft. A teacher at Well’s High.” Mrs. Chavez looked perplexed.
“Yes, Tanya Craft.”
“I do hope you’ll agree to come. Our programs are set to encourage students to overcome the hurdles that might lead them to dropping out of school.”
Brit held up his hand to interrupt. He didn’t need the sales pitch on the program—he needed information. “Mrs. Chavez, I’ll be more than happy to speak with your group.” If you still want me after I try to bust a couple of your future dropouts. “But I’m not here about that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed. What can I do for you?”
~
“Did you see Brit this morning?” Mr. Paxton asked Cali again.
“Let’s stay on track here,” Adams said as if the question had disturbed him as well.
While relieved to be off that hook, the accusation that Cali may have been aware of the robberies still needed to be addressed. She met the woman’s glare head on.
Ms. Paxton squared her shoulders and Cali imitated her posture. “I didn’t know Stan was robbing jewelry stores, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m simply covering all our bases, Miss McKay. The questions I ask are nothing compared to those Humphrey’s lawyer will ask when you’re on the stand.” The woman tapped her pencil against the table. “So your boyfriend shot at you?”
“Someone shot through my apartment door,” Cali replied.
“Someone?” Red leaned closer. Cali swore the woman breathed in as if attempting to catch Brit’s scent on her. Somehow she knew. Of course she knew, just like Cali knew. The woman rapped her red fingernails against the file. “According to this report, you said it was your boyfriend.”
Cali leaned in, actually hoping the woman got a big whiff of Brit’s musk and sandalwood. “Yes, I did say that, but when I came in to file a restraining order against him, I think I mentioned to the other officer that Stan claimed he wasn’t the one who shot the gun. I may not have made a big deal about it, because at the time I didn’t believe it.”
“But you believe him now,” the DA said, and the tapping of her nails on the table grew intense. Tap, tap, tap. “Forgive me for being frank, Miss McKay, but for the sake of the case I’d like to know.” She paused. “Do you, or do you not think Stan Humphrey is guilty?”
Adams shifted in his seat. “Does it matter what she thinks? She’s a fact witness. Can’t we stick to the facts?”
The woman twisted to look at the sergeant. “You do your job and let me do mine.”
Adams’ brows pinched and Red’s acute focus shifted back to Cali. It was the kind of direct eye contact that made lumps appear in the target’s throat. And Cali’s lump started to crowd her tonsils.
Brit’s sergeant looked up, and Quarles leaned back in his chair, studying Cali with the same intensity. Three pairs of eyes drilled holes in her. Lying would be so much easier than telling the truth. She knew what they all wanted to hear. They wanted her to say that she believed Stan did it—that he killed the band members, that he shot that cop, but that wasn’t what she believed.
Reaching up, she brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The pause seemed to swell with tension. For just a second, she considered taking the easy way out. It would make them happy. It would make Brit happy. Then she remembered her dream and her mom’s words. Just remember that a little conflict won’t kill you. Sometimes, it even makes you stronger.
~
Brit looked at the woman directly. “So there’s no mistake here? It was definitely Keith Bolts and Mike Anderson who spoke.”