Page 62 of Hell Hath No Fury

He closed his eyes. Emma was stressed. Overwhelmed. He knew he shouldn’t take her words to heart, despite the sharpness of their sting. Exhaling, he opened his eyes again and checked the time. Too early to call Fergusson. Pissing off the trooper by rousing him from his sleep might be fun, but not if Matthias hoped for his cooperation. Instead, he propped himself up with pillows, unplugged his phone from the charger, and began searching.

A notice had been posted on North Star Developing’s webpage. Due to the untimely death of its owner, the company would not take on new projects at this time. The announcement was followed by a statement. Anyone wishing to do business with them in the future should email a request. A response would be sent as soon as possible.

North Star Developing planned to continue operations without Sonny Jones at the helm. In addition to pondering who would take over, Matthias wondered who had placed the announcement on the website.

His next search was Eric’s company. There was no hint of trouble; no mention of its owner being incarcerated. Death was an acceptable topic for the business public. Being jailed was not.

Or Eric handled his own website and wasn’t in any position to update it.

Matthias noticed the background of Eric’s website included photos of his offices. Sleek and modern, lots of chrome and wood, but no full glass doors, dividers, or floor-to-ceiling windows. Nothing that might’ve broken and been used as a murder weapon.

He checked the time again. Technically, it was still too early to contact Fergusson.

He placed the call anyway.

As expected, Fergusson sounded pissed when he picked up. “Who is this?”

“Not a very professional way to answer the phone.”

“Honeywell?” Fergusson swore. “I should’ve known. Call back in a couple of hours. Imightbe willing to speak to you then.”

“Or you could give me a few minutes now, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

Fergusson repeated the epithets. “I didn’t get home until two in the morning, but hey, what the hell. Let’s give Detective Matthias Honeywell a pass on being a son of a bitch.”

Matthias almost mentioned it took one to know one but decided that went beyond the tipping point.

From the other room, the shower fell silent.

“Have you heard anything new from the lab?” he asked.

“Why do you think they would have any more than the last time we talked?”

“Because if they didn’t, you’d just tell me ‘no.’”

Fergusson called Matthias a few more names. “All right. They contacted me late yesterday. The glass we found in Jones’s car wasn’t from a window or a mirror.”

“What then?”

“It’s thicker. More like what they use to make glass room partitions, tabletops, maybe a shower door. Except this wasn’t tempered, which we already knew since it fragmented into shards.”

“Interesting.”

“Before you bother asking, forensics have been to Baker’s house. We have his computers and a phone that I don’t think is his. It’s password protected, but our tech guys’ll get into it today.”

Matthias debated whether to mention who the phone belonged to. Yes, they would have no problem accessing it, but part of him wanted to make them work for it. Then again, cooperation on his part might mean Fergusson would share if they found anything pertinent. “The phone belongs to Nell Anderson.”

“I figured as much. Does your girlfriend know the password?”

“I doubt it.”

Fergusson chuckled, a low, repugnant sound. “Honeywell, you sure can pick ’em. Let me guess. You met Emma Anderson when she was a suspect in one of your cases.”

Matthias’s jaw clenched so hard that pain shot through his temple.

Fergusson clearly took his silence as an affirmative. “I knew it. You have a type. Helpless female, accused of a crime—maybe falsely, maybe not. Tearful. ‘Help me, Matthias.’ And you, the hero, swooping in to save the damsel in distress. Except the damsel isn’t so helpless after all. Nor is she so pure and innocent.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Matthias growled into the phone.