“About that,” I say without offering anything more.
“You’ve had quite the rise to fame,” he says, and my back tightens. I don’t like discussing how I got to where I am today. It was through a lot of hard work, busting my ass, and then just a whole lot of luck. A lot of times people focus on that luck and don’t seem to give credence to my talent or perseverance. I have no clue what category this dude falls in, so I don’t bother engaging.
“Shunned by all the major recording labels,” Turnbull says, sounding as if he’s reciting a book report. “Decided to produce your own LP and released it on iTunes. Did some creative marketing, including a YouTube video of your debut single, which garnered over nine million views in under a week, and shot your album up to the top of the Billboard charts. Now you’ve got all the majors clamoring to get you signed, and you’re gracing the cover of Rolling Stone.”
I can’t fucking stand it. The shock of being told Keith is dead and that I might be a person of interest, as well as having this cop recite my crazy but meteoric rise in the music industry as if it’s almost a fluke, has me getting punchy.
“Well, congratulations, Officer,” I say in what will go down in history as my most sarcastic voice ever. “You know how to read Wikipedia.”
He’s unfazed and merely chuckles before saying, “It’s detective. Not officer. Patrolmen do not ordinarily investigate homicides.”
I cringe. His message is pointed and hits me direct center. I might be in some serious fucking trouble.
And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Kasick walks back into the kitchen with Tyler right behind him. Tyler looks at me with wild eyes.
“No girl up there,” Kasick says.
“She must have jetted out of here fast,” Tyler says apologetically while looking at me.
No clue why he should be sorry. I’m the one who practically pushed her out of the bed and demanded she leave.
So much for my alibi.
“I think it’s best if you come on down to the station with us,” Turnbull says, trying to sound as if this is just an ordinary day. “We’ll stop and get some coffee and donuts on the way… We want you to be comfortable while we talk.”
I let out a pained sigh and scrub my hands through my hair. It’s long and messy on top, hanging in tangled layers down to my ears. I look up at Turnbull. “Can I grab a shower first?”
“I’d rather you not,” he replies with almost a taunt. “We’re going to ask you to let us take some swabs for DNA comparison and check your hands for gun residue. Can’t have you washing away evidence now, can we?”
A surge of nausea wells within me as the shit is starting to get real. Of course they won’t find anything on me that will link me to Keith’s murder, because I didn’t fucking do it, but I’ve seen enough shit through Midge to know that the police will fabricate evidence, particularly in a high-profile case.
I turn to Tyler. “Call Midge. I’m going to try to call her on the way there, but tell her what’s going on and to meet me down at the police station.”
Tyler nods at me, his own face green with fear. I try to remind myself I have nothing to worry about because I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill anyone and the truth shall prevail.
At least I hope that’s how it works in the criminal justice system.
CHAPTER 2
Emma
The Pit is buzzing with energy this morning. One of our best civil litigation attorneys, Leary Michaels, left for the courthouse about an hour ago where she’ll be giving closing arguments in a wrongful death lawsuit. This particular case has captured the hearts of almost everyone here at Knight & Payne, as Leary represents the estate of a four-year-old little girl who was killed by a drunk driver.
Who happens to be the mayor of our city.
Well, former mayor actually. He’d been indicted on a host of criminal charges, including bribery, and was awaiting trial when he tied on one too many at a local bar one night and made the terrible and stupid mistake of trying to drive home. He blew through a red light and hit the car being driven by sweet little Caroline Allen’s mom.
Mom made it out with a broken femur. Caroline died in her car seat.
Last I heard, the former mayor’s insurance company had offered seven million last night at the close of court, and Leary told them to go to hell. She’s got some serious lady balls, which while I admire her tenacity, sometimes I think she could tone down the way in which she does things. Telling them to go to hell? Well, that’s not seemly… or professional… or how an attorney should act.