Will hesitated. “Do you know why my daughter went to prison, Detective?”
“Yes, sir.” That is why we’re here, Marilyn mentally added.
“Then you’ll understand my reluctance to have her implicated undeservingly in yet another legal matter.” He gave his daughter a stern look. “Sophie is a good girl, a law-abiding citizen. She just falls in with the wrong boys.”
Watching Sophie roll her eyes, Jerry stifled a laugh. That was the understatement of the year.
“And I will not have her carted off to prison again when she’s totally innocent.”
“I understand, Mr. Taylor,” Marilyn said. “We just have some routine questions for her. Please, sir, the sooner you let us begin, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair, and you can both get back to your lives.”
Reluctantly, Will nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen—just holler if you need anything.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Once the three were settled on the overstuffed floral-print sofas, Marilyn extracted her notepad from her jacket and repeated her previous question. “Ms. Taylor, why did you think Grant Madsen was dead?”
“Because his family is Mafia, and I thought they might hurt him,” Sophie responded. “They’re bad people. His brother is Logan Barberi.”
“Do you know where Logan Barberi is right now?”
“No,” Sophie said. “I wish I did, so I could tell the police where to find him. He needs to go down.”
Marilyn raised her eyebrows at Jerry.
Oblivious, Sophie sighed deeply, and then seemed to notice Jerry staring at her. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed. “Did I just get Grant in more trouble?”
“Relax,” Jerry said. “I already knew about his Mafia connections. Once I realized his brother Logan was the man who put you in prison, I told Madsen he should come clean with you about his identity.”
Sophie nodded sadly, remembering how Grant had needed to tell her something, but once again she’d thwarted his efforts at honesty, insisting on sharing her own story first. She wished she’d allowed Grant to tell her about his family—that would have been a much better way to discover the truth. Or would it? The news of the brothers’ connection was devastating no matter how she learned of it.
“And then Madsen came back to see me yesterday morning,” Jerry added.
“He talked to you?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah, he came to tell me about his brother showing up at his place. He was basically turning himself in for associating with a known criminal.” Jerry watched Sophie’s eyes widen with alarm. “But I didn’t have the heart to arrest him.” He paused and then added, “He was too torn up about losing you.”
Sophie looked down.
Marilyn took it all in and glanced skeptically at the parole officer. What the hell was going on here? Choosing not to dress down the PO in front of a suspect, Marilyn asked him, “What time was Mr. Madsen in your office yesterday, Officer Stone?”
“Let’s see, about eight-forty in the morning.”
“And what time did he leave?”
“A little before nine.”
“Why are you asking these questions, Detective?” Sophie butted in. “If Grant wasn’t the one who was murdered, who was?”
Marilyn finished writing, then trained her green eyes on Sophie. She gave the obligatory Miranda warnings, making Sophie’s expression even more frightened, and then ordered, “Ms. Taylor, please account for your whereabouts the past twenty-four hours.”
Sophie looked questioningly at her PO, who returned her stare. “Answer the detective’s question, Taylor.”
“Yes, sir,” she gulped, realizing she was being questioned as a suspect. This overwhelmed her so thoroughly that she was unable to figure out who the murder victim could be. One of her father’s associates? A former client?
Sophie took a deep breath. “I, um, Wednesday night I left Grant’s—”
“You left Grant’s?” Marilyn interrupted. “Was Logan there?”
“Yes,” Sophie confirmed. “I left Grant’s apartment, and I walked around downtown for a few hours until I landed on my dad’s doorstep.” A blush feathered her high cheekbones and she continued, “We hadn’t talked for over a year, but luckily he let me in. I spent the night here, and then we had some coffee the next morning.”
“What time did you wake up Thursday morning—yesterday morning?” Marilyn inquired.
“It was kind of late,” Sophie said. “Almost ten I think?”
“And what did you do then?”
“I came down to the kitchen and was surprised to find my dad still here. He took the morning off of work. We talked for a little bit”—she grimaced—”he told me yet again that my taste in men was horrible and I should have gone to work for him, blah, blah …” She met Marilyn’s gaze and cleared her throat. “Sorry, that’s probably irrelevant information. Anyway, I realized how late it was getting, and I needed to get to work to tell my boss I was quitting before, um, before …” Her voice drifted off and she looked at Jerry.
“Before what?” Marilyn prodded.
“Before Grant got there. I didn’t want to see him.”
“You and Grant work together?” Marilyn asked curiously.
“Yes, he got me a job on an architectural cruise.” She sighed fondly. “And then he got me another job teaching psychology at DePaul. I start in a couple of weeks. But after what happened …” She looked down at her hands, twisting them nervously in her lap. “After I found out he was Logan’s brother, well, I couldn’t work with Grant anymore. I just wanted to quit and leave and never see him again.”
“And did you manage to avoid Grant when you got to work?”
“No,” Sophie replied, feeling a pang of sadness. “He was there.”
Marilyn turned a page in her notebook. “What time was this?”
“Um, right around eleven, I think? The time our shift would normally start.”
“What happened when you saw him?”
Another sigh. “He begged me to talk to him, but I couldn’t. It, ah, hurt too much.” She looked away. “I told my boss, Roger, that I was resigning, then I got the hell out of there.”
“And what did Grant do?”
“Stayed on the ship, I guess. He had to work.”
Marilyn nodded. “Where did you go next?”
“I went to DePaul to try to work on the syllabus for one of my classes.”
“Can anyone verify that you were there?”
Sophie looked up, startled, and her heart rate increased. Anita was already in Spain—who could vouch for her? “Oh! Yes, the department secretary gave me the keys to the office I’m using. I was going to stay there all afternoon, but I wasn’t getting anything done.” Grant’s pleading crystal eyes had haunted her all day, mixed in with distracting images of his brother’s deep-blue gaze.
“So, I came back here. It was around three or so,” Sophie added.
“Was your father here?”
“No. He got home around six-thirty, I think.”
“So, you were here alone from three to six-thirty, then. What were you doing?”
Sophie looked down and bit her lip. She continued to wring her hands.