Page 14 of Night Prey
“Yeah, but I don’t know what else to make of it.” He returned the flyer to where he’d found it. “I’m going to check out the bedroom.”
He went down a short hallway, passing a guest bedroom and bath, picking up a hint of a spice he couldn’t pinpoint coming from the bathroom. At the end of the hallway, he found the main bedroom decorated in dark gray and black, a little too classy for the guy Ian remembered, but then not many guys were classy in high school. Ian riffled through a dresser, two nightstands, and the closet. He didn’t find anything unusual, other than the fact that the clothes were organized by color, and Junior had a full wardrobe of expensive clothing.
If Junior had possessed information on how he learned about the Rices’ car accident, he didn’t keep it there. Hoping it was on the computer, Ian called in forensics on the way back to the great room. He told them to be sure to bring a printed warrant for the doorman. He and Londyn would be long gone by the time they arrived, hopefully sitting across the table from Malone.
He and Londyn finished searching the condo without locating anything to help the investigation, then drove back to the Justice Center building. PPB offices and the Multnomah County Detention Center were housed in the same building. Ian stepped up to the metal detector in the detention center, where he and Londyn surrendered their weapons and walked through. They were soon seated in a small interview room, Ian tapping his thumb on his knee and trying to ignore the strong smell of bleach.
The door opened, and a burly male deputy stood back for Malone to enter. She was cuffed, as was protocol for such a serious offense. Her usual meticulous hair was frizzy, and strands had fallen out of place. Gone was the dress with straps as thin as wire in a rich aqua that had hugged her curves and fueled his imagination. The blue jail prison garb was drab and worn, and he felt bad all over again. He hated the situation. Hated what he was putting her through.
She sat, her posture regal, her chin lifted while the deputy secured her wrists to the table. She looked up at the man. “Thank you, Carl.”
He nodded and stepped back. “I’ll be just outside. Let me know when you’re done.”
“Malone,” Ian said. “This is Detective Londyn Steele.”
“Nice to finally meet you, Londyn.” Malone smiled. “I’ve overheard Russ and Peggy Byrd talking about your family, and they have such good things to say about all of you.”
Londyn opened her mouth then closed it as if she didn’t know how to respond to a compliment from a murder suspect. Ian didn’t know if Malone was sincere in her praise or was trying to disarm Londyn by using tactics she’d learned as a lawyer.
“Detective Steele will be joining me in working this investigation,” Ian said.
“Great. The more detectives, the better. Hopefully, you can find the real shooter.” She locked gazes with Ian. “Did you check the hallway by the ballroom? Talk to the manager? Did anyone see the shooter? Or is he on video?”
Ian held up his hands. “We’re the ones who’ll be doing the questioning.”
Malone narrowed her eyes. “No point. I won’t answer anything without Sal by my side. Told him not to bother coming until you charge me with Junior’s murder. I assume youareplanning to charge me.”
“My LT presented it to the DA,” Ian said, so she knew the department was prepared to proceed. “But at this time, the DA has decided not to bring charges.”
“But I—” Her mouth dropped open. “I’m thrilled, of course, but it’s a surprise for sure.”
“I agree,” Ian said. “But I don’t have to tell you that you’re still a person of interest and not to leave town without consulting me first. And if you’ve thought of something else regarding Junior’s death since we last spoke, now would be the time to tell us.”
“Like I said. I’ll wait for Sal.”
“The sooner you let us ask our questions, the sooner we’ll be able to find Junior’s killer and clear your name,” Londyn said, her tone flat.
Malone lifted that perfectly sculpted chin. “I’ll be investigating on my own. I believe in the justice system, and I know the truth will come out.”
Ian wished he could be so confident for her. The system worked most of the time, but it wasn’t perfect. Especially like now—if her story was true—she was being framed for murder, and even if the DA didn’t bring charges now, further evidence could ensure he would have to.
4
Malone stripped out of the prison garb and slipped into the jeans and sweater Reed had dropped off. The police were keeping her dress as evidence for the blood and potential GSR—her favorite evening dress, but that was the least of her worries. She never imagined herself dressed like a prisoner, barely escaping a felony charge.
Or spending the night behind bars. More than once, she’d fought tears by giving herself a pep talk, reminding herself she was innocent and would clear her name. And she kept adding that it was a good experience to see what her adult clients faced when they were incarcerated. She’d always had empathy for them, but she better understood now.
Still, she’d been given special treatment. That was the only thing that made sense. Someone, somewhere had spoken up for her and gotten the DA to hold off. She would have to use the reprieve she’d been given to find the real killer, just like she’d told Ian she would.
She folded her County-issued clothing and left the cell to join Carl, where he waited to escort her to the exit. At the counter, her belongings were dumped from a large envelope onto the worn Formica, and she signed for them. She stuffed everything back into the envelope and nearly ran for the door. She prayed on the way out to never have to set foot inside that place as an arrestee again. She’d told Ian she believed in the system to get it right, but she knew justice failed more often than any of them wanted to believe.
She stepped outside, closed her eyes, and inhaled the chilly air. Sure, it was tainted with exhaust as traffic hustled by on a Sunday afternoon, but she was free, and it smelled like heaven to her.
Free for now.
She wished she could still that part of her brain and simply enjoy the moment, but the thoughts nagged at her until she opened her eyes.
Her mentor, Sal, climbed the exterior stairs toward her. His wavy brown hair was longer than most professional attorneys might wear it, and silver threads ran through the thick waves, matching his silvery close-cut beard. He was dressed casually in jeans, a black shirt, and a red fleece jacket. No matter his clothes or his hair, he always had an intensity in his gaze that told her he was assessing and weighing everything around him.
