“Not good,” she whispered.
“Can I get you something? Water? A soft drink?” She shook her head but didn’t look up, and Miranda took the seat across from her. “You know why we brought you here?”
“You need to ask me some questions. About Richard.”
“Yes. And about the night he died.”
“I don’t know anything about that night.”
Miranda sent Jake a warning look and he bit back whatever he’d been about to say.
“We know you lied to us, Jessie.”
“I didn’t.”
“Sweetie, you called Richard Stark the night of his murder. In fact, you called him three times. We have his phone records.”
She looked up then, pale as a ghost.
“We just want to know why you called him and what you talked about. That’s all.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
Miranda smiled reassuringly. “We didn’t say you did.”
“But that’s what you think.”
“I don’t think that, Jessie. But I do believe there’s something you’re not telling us.”
She paused to give her words a moment to sink in. And to offer Lund the time to respond.
When she didn’t, she went on. “Jessie? Look at me.”
She did, eyes wide and watery. The expression in them vulnerable.
“You were in love with Richard. Isn’t that right? In love with the man you thought he was?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“When did you realize he wasn’t that man?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” she coaxed. “He wasn’t a nice person, was he? That’s what you found out.”
“Detective,” Jake broke in, “could I have a word with you out in the hall?”
“Not now, Detective Billings.” She turned back to Lund. “When did you realize you’d been wrong about him?”
She hugged herself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know it’s difficult, but you can trust me.”
Jake jumped in. “Why did you lie to us about having talked to Richard that night?”
“I was scared. I knew how it would look.”
“Like you’re guilty,” he said. “Right?”
“Yes. I thought … I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Why should we? You’ve done nothing but lie to us.”
“That’s not true! I swear it!”
“I believe you,” Miranda said.
“You do?”
She looked so hopeful, Miranda’s heart hurt. “I do. There was a time, a long time ago, that I was in a similar position. And no one believed me.”
“What happened that nobody believed?”
“I was attacked.” She saw Lund digesting the information, hope easing toward trust. “Were you attacked, Jessie? Is that what you’re afraid no one will believe?”
Jake made a sound of surprise; Miranda half expected him to grab her arm and drag her into the hall. Truth was, she wouldn’t blame him if he did. She was going way out on a limb with this.
“Richard,” Lund began, voice quivering, “he … I think he—”
She bit the words back, shook her head and looked away.
“You can tell me,” Miranda coaxed. “Did he rape you, Jessie?”
Jessie flinched; her gaze flew to Miranda’s, wide and terrified. She opened her mouth as if to respond, then shut it as the interview-room door burst open.
“Detective Rader,” Buddy snapped, “I need you out here. Immediately.”
Miranda stood, knowing she would not be returning. She held Lund’s gaze. “Don’t be afraid to tell the truth, Jessie. It’s always the best path.”
“Detective, now!”
She smiled reassuringly at the young woman. “It’s going to be all right.”
When the door clicked shut, the chief faced her, features tight with fury. “What the hell was that?”
“I was playing the good cop to Jake’s bad cop. Earning her trust—”
“Bullshit. You were leading the witness. Putting ideas in her head and trying to put words in her mouth!”
“I was making progress.”
“Progress in what? Your own agenda? Dragging Richard Stark through the mud? Stark’s the victim here, Miranda. Not Lund.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Chief. She’s a victim, too, I’m certain of it. And if you’ll give me five more minutes with her, I know—”
“You’re not to have any contact with her, do you understand?” His face turned an angry red. “Not one more minute, not one more word. And if I learn you’ve defied my order, I’m taking your badge.”
“But Chief—”
He held up a hand. “You’re done for the day. I hate having to do this but you’ve left me no choice. Go home and get your priorities straight. Your job is to find a killer, not to vilify the victim. If you can’t do that, you don’t have any business on this case.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
8:20 P.M.
The knock on Miranda’s door didn’t surprise her. Nor did seeing that it was Jake standing on the other side of it. She hadn’t contacted him after Buddy relieved her of duty for the day, and he hadn’t called her.
But even so, she’d known he would come.
“Hey,” she said, opening the door and stepping aside so he could enter.
“Hey,” he said back. “You okay?”
“As well as can be expected. Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
She motioned toward the couch as she passed it on her way to the kitchen. She got them each a bottle of Abita Amber, popped the caps, and carried the bottles back to the living room.
She handed him his and he took a long swallow. He looked tired, she thought. And tense. The same as she must look. How different from the way they had been that morning, sleepy and satisfied, relaxed with each other.
And hopeful, she thought. For the day, the future. Maybe even a romantic relationship between them. Now, that seemed impossibly optimistic.
The memory was bittersweet, and Miranda forced it aside and sat in the chair directly across from him. “What happened with Lund?”
“She clammed up after you left. Her mom showed up with a lawyer.”
Miranda lifted the bottle in a mock toast. “Clammed up and lawyered up, no surprise there.”
“Tracked down a local dominatrix. Calls herself a lifestyle mistress.”
She nearly choked on her swallow of beer. “Lifestyle mistress, no kidding? And right here in little old Harmony, Louisiana.”
“She said Stark contacted her six or so months ago about interviewing her for a book he was writing. They met several times.”
“You ask whether he was into the real thing?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a grimace. “He had no interest in the submissive role.”
“But the dominant?”
“Asked if he could watch her and a client. Strictly for research.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “And?”
“She had a client that was into it. So she made it happen.”
“Name of the client?”
“She wouldn’t say. Not sure it would help us anyway.”
“What else did she say about him?”
“What do you mean?”
“She say he was a nice guy?”
“Actually, yeah, she did.”
“Figures,” she muttered, taking another swallow of the brew and making no attempt to mask her incredulity and disapproval.
He frowned, looking confused. “What gives, Miranda?”
The elephant in the room, she acknowledged. Sitting squarely between them.