DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS (5 page)

Dixon shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Did he ask you to come, too?”

Dixon shook his head.

“That figures. I suspect his real question will be if I’ve interviewed Travis.” Ethan sighed. “Wait for me outside, will you, Dix?” Ethan said.

He turned to Laney. “Despite my partner’s amusement, this is a very serious matter, Ms. Montgomery,” Ethan said. “I realize that you are a victim, just like Senator Sills, but you’re also the only witness to his murder. I don’t have to tell you how much publicity is going to be surrounding this case, especially in light of Congressman Whitley’s involvement in the kidnapping of Max Chalmet.”

“Oh, you certainly don’t have to tell me anything about that, Detective
Delancey.
I read the paper. I’m perfectly aware of the latest scandal involving the Delanceys.”

Ethan bristled. “The
scandal
didn’t involve the Delanceys. The scandal was the kidnapping plan cooked up by Gavin Whitley, who by the way did his best to implicate your boss.”

“Congressman Whitley was mistaken. Senator Sills had nothing to do with that.”

“And you would know because—?”

“I know because I’m—” She paused. “I was his personal assistant.”

“The fact that you worked for him isn’t proof that he wasn’t involved in the kidnapping. You say you know. How?”

“I handled all his correspondence. All of his phone calls go through me.”

“All?” Ethan laughed. “Can you prove that?”

“I—” She stopped and Ethan knew she’d gotten to the place where he’d been ever since she’d said
I know because—
Of course she couldn’t prove it.

Ethan pushed back his chair and got up.

“Oh, good. Are we done now?” Laney asked, sliding her chair backward. “Because I have a lot to do. There is a checklist a mile long that includes who all is to be notified, who is to be invited to the wake and to the funeral,
where
the wake and funeral are to be, how the family should be brought in—”

Ethan held up a hand to stop her. “I get the picture. Are you the only one who manages all that?”

“No. I believe the office of the governor and the office of the president of the senate handle most of it, but they’ll be calling me—in fact, I’ll need my phone.”

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere or making or receiving phone calls until I’m finished with you, and right now I’ve got to go see my commanding officer. So while I’m gone, I need you to write out your duties as Senator Sills’s personal assistant, and write an accounting of your and the senator’s time from the moment you got to the hotel.”

Laney’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I’ll ask you again. Am I under arrest?”

“No,” he said, “but I would rather you didn’t leave.”

She looked at him, irritation evident in those eyes again, but she didn’t speak.

“If I think of anything else I’ll have one of the officers let you know,” Ethan said as he opened the door and left the room.

Chapter Three

“What do you need, Delancey?” Dixon asked after Ethan closed the door to the interview room. “I’m late. I’ve got officers on the way to Sills’s home to confiscate all his personal records. We’re still waiting to hear from the court order filed with the bank.”

“Did you check the Chalmet kidnapping case file to see if they already requested his bank records?’

“Yep. We got his checking and savings accounts and CD records. What we’re waiting on is access to the safe-deposit box.”

“Good,” Ethan said.

“So has she mentioned anything about Sills having trouble with anyone or receiving threats from anyone?”

“Not yet, but then, I only started questioning her.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. “But I’ve got to tell you, I’m not happy about the names that have already popped up.”

“What names?”

“You know who she is?”

“Yeah. Elaine—Montgomery.”

Ethan nodded grimly.

“Wait a minute. Montgomery—” Dixon frowned. “Her father wasn’t the lobbyist—?”

“Yep. Elliott Montgomery.”

“So the lobbyist’s daughter is working for a prominent state senator who’s been known to be influenced by the large interests represented by the Port of New Orleans lobbyists and unions,” Dixon said.

“And who just got murdered. Yeah. But that’s not the biggest shocker,” Ethan replied.

“It isn’t? What else have you got?”

“Did you talk to her at the crime scene? Or anywhere?”

“No. I left her to you. I’ve been dealing with the mundane, day-to-day stuff.”

“Yeah, well, it serves you right. You’re married. You
shouldn’t
be talking to pretty young witnesses.”

“What about the big shocker?”

“Right. Get this. According to her, the man who shot Sills was wearing a great big silver belt buckle. She saw it when it reflected the light. Want to guess what she saw on it?”

“No.” Dixon grimaced.

“A crown and circle.”

Dixon stared at him. “Please tell me you’re kidding me.”

“Not even a little bit. She claims a patch of bright silver caught the light. She only caught a glimpse of it but she’s sure she saw a part of a circle and the corner of a crown.”

Dixon pushed his fingers through his hair. “Is she willing to testify to that?”

Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. She’s sure of what she saw, but she only saw part of the buckle. The rest was obscured, apparently by the shirt. A really good defense attorney could probably make her look at worst like a liar and at best, like that graze on her temple is causing hallucinations.”

“What do you think? Think she really saw that belt? Delancey, do you think Buddy Davis shot Senator Sills?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “But I know what I’ve got to do. I’ve sent Farrantino to pick up Buddy Davis and bring him in for questioning. I’m not looking forward to that. Talk about a media circus.”

Dixon smirked. “You sent Farrantino? I’d love to be a fly on the wall when she confronts Davis. Everybody in the state knows his reputation for
paying attention to
pretty women.”

Officer Maria Farrantino was tall and lithe, with long black hair. Even with her hair pulled back and dressed in the androgynous police uniform, she was a knockout. “I figured he might come in just to get to ride in the car with her,” Ethan said. “But do not tell her I said that.”

“Did you warn her to watch out?”

“Didn’t get a chance,” Ethan said.

“Like hell you didn’t. Oh, she’s never going to forgive you. It should be interesting with Davis and his wife together in the car. I don’t think I’ll stick around for the fireworks—Benita Davis’s or Farrantino’s.” Dixon checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going,” Dixon said.

“Yeah, and I’ve got to go tell the commander what he’s already read on the transcribed interviews,” Ethan said on a frustrated sigh. “Let me know if you find anything interesting in Sills’s house, like records of blackmail or proof that he bought or sold votes in the legislature.”

Dixon laughed. “Right. You’ll be the first to know.”

* * *

L
ANEY
M
ONTGOMERY
DIVIDED
her attention between the door through which Detective Ethan Delancey had just disappeared and the mirror on the wall in front of her. She wondered how many people were standing on the other side of that mirror, watching her. Then she wondered just how paranoid she was to think that. Still, she figured there was one person in there at least—the handsome, arrogant detective.

She wondered if the “note” Good Cop had given him was real, or just an excuse to let him get out of the room for a few minutes.

She had a childish urge to stick her tongue out—maybe even stick her thumbs in her ears and waggle her fingers. But Detective Delancey apparently already thought she was hilarious. She hadn’t missed him suppressing a smile every so often as he listened to her answers to his questions. There was no need to make him think she was also immature.

She wondered why he, a Delancey, had become a police detective. Like everyone else in Louisiana, she’d heard of Con Delancey, the infamous politician who was beloved by his constituents. The word was that although the Delancey patriarch had provided generous trust funds for each of his grandchildren, they all worked—several as police officers, either in New Orleans or in Chef Voleur on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, Con Delancey’s hometown. She’d also heard that the Delancey men were charming as well as handsome. She was forced to agree with the handsome part, but she was still waiting to see the charming side of Detective Ethan Delancey.

She glanced at the two-way mirror again. Almost as powerful as the urge to stick her tongue out was the urge to turn her back on the mirror, or better yet, just get up and walk out of the room and the police station, leaving Ethan Delancey to like it or lump it.

But she didn’t have the nerve to do either. His tone when he’d told her he’d
rather
she didn’t leave had sounded like an order. If that were the only consideration, she might risk it. After all, he’d admitted she wasn’t under arrest. But to her dismay and chagrin, she realized she didn’t want to let him down. For some reason, she didn’t want to see disappointment in his blue eyes. She liked it better when they sparkled with humor or danced with what she would like to think was interest.
Interest?
She didn’t mean interest. She meant amusement. She wanted to make him laugh. He seemed much too serious. His face didn’t have the natural creases that laughter pressed into the skin around eyes, cheeks and mouth. His mouth was wide and straight, and he had a strong jaw and his eyes were killer sexy. She’d love to see them crinkled in laughter. The most she’d managed to coax out of him was a slightly crooked smile so small it might be better labeled a smirk.

She rubbed the back of her neck and closed her aching eyes. She felt grimy and exhausted. She hadn’t slept a wink and it was—she peeked at her watch—after two in the afternoon. Almost twelve hours since she’d surprised the murderer in Senator Sills’s suite.

She considered banging on the mirror and asking for a quiet place to lie down and take a nap. Or maybe she could sleep in here. She scanned the walls for a light switch, but didn’t see even one. Did that mean the lights were controlled from outside the room? She’d watched the television versions of police tormenting suspects to obtain information, even confessions. Were some of those stories true?

She was beginning to see why suspects confessed, even if they were innocent, at least on TV shows. She was about ready to declare that she had shot the senator because he made one too many changes to his speech, if it meant they’d let her go home and take a shower. She was exhausted, and her head was pounding. She wanted privacy.
Craved
it. She wanted to be at home, in bed with the covers pulled over her head. And she wanted to stay there until this nightmare was over.

But she’d never been able to just stick her head in the sand—not even as a little girl. She’d been born with the talent—or curse—of an almost uncanny intuition. Her mother had died when she was eleven, but she’d known, years before, that her mother was sick. She’d also figured out that her mother’s illness was not the kind that was talked about in public. Then, later, she’d realized that her dad’s late nights and mysterious meetings with people like Senator Sills were also best kept as secrets. Even though she didn’t know exactly what went on, she always knew that there was something wrong about them.

Her first thought after she’d recovered from the shock of seeing the senator dead was that her life, from that moment on, would never be the same. Her brain had gone into fast-forward, detailing the consequences of any action on her part a week, a month, a year in the future, like a desert highway that stretched on to the horizon and beyond.

She would be tied up with inquiries, hearings, trials for who knew how long. Her career was toast, and privacy was something she might never have again. She was smack in the middle of the biggest murder case to hit New Orleans since Con Delancey’s personal assistant had killed him twenty-five years ago.

Then a more immediate concern hit her. The killer had seen her. Did he realize she couldn’t identify him? Did he care? The idea that the person who had killed Senator Sills in cold blood was out there, maybe waiting for a chance to kill her was terrifying. For an adrenaline-soaked second, her limbs tightened in an almost uncontrollable urge to run.

But where? She was in the police station, probably the safest place in the area, at least for now.

Once she’d calmed down and settled into the hard-backed chair again, she thought about the senator and reflected on how selfish she was being. Quelling the urge to touch the bandage above her temple, she reminded herself harshly that she was alive. The senator was dead. Her dad was dead. But each of them in their way had left her a legacy—a heavy, burdensome legacy that she would have to unload before she could ever be free of the past.

Exerting an almost superhuman effort to keep her face expressionless in case there were people on the other side of the mirror watching her, Laney pulled the legal pad the detective had left on the desk toward her and began to write down her duties as personal assistant to Senator Darby Sills.

By the time she finished documenting everything the senator had done since he’d arrived at the hotel the afternoon before, Detective Delancey was back.

As he closed the door, she asked, “How much longer are you going to keep me here?”

“Why? Have you got some place you need to be?” Ethan snapped, frowning.

She lifted her chin at his tone. “Actually I do. I’m going to be receiving a lot of phone calls—condolences, questions, comments. I’d like to have my phone so I can check my messages periodically, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded toward the legal pad. “Did you finish giving me a written accounting of your duties and Senator Sills’s and your movements yesterday?”

“Yes. It’s all here. Can I get my phone and purse so I can go?”

Ethan turned toward the mirror. “Have Ms. Montgomery’s belongings brought down here,” he said.

While they waited, he leaned back in his chair and watched her. Those blue eyes on her made her extremely uncomfortable. But she did her best not to show it. She pulled the legal pad to her and read over what she’d written—or pretended to.

Even without looking at him, Laney felt Ethan Delancey’s presence. She’d noticed last night in the penthouse suite that the feel of the whole room changed the moment he walked in. From the first instant she’d laid eyes on him, she noticed an energy about him that seemed almost palpable. She remembered glancing around to assess others’ reactions to him, but most of the other people in the room were going about their tasks as if nothing was different. Was it just her?

And now, as tired as she was, as sick of this room and the police and the questions as she was, she still felt that same energy. But there was something else, too. Something calming or soothing. All her tension and exhaustion didn’t fade away, but it occurred to her that she’d felt very alone and uneasy while he’d been gone. Now that he was back, she felt safe.

She glanced up to catch him watching her. Her heart rate shot up and she quickly dropped her gaze back to the pad. On second thought—maybe that feeling of safety was just wishful thinking—or a hallucination.

He said something she didn’t catch. She looked up. “What?”

His mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile. “I asked if you’re ready to go. Were you falling asleep?”

“No,” she snapped, then blinked as she realized he had her purse and her phone. Her gaze went to the door, which was closed, then back to him. Had she dozed off for a few seconds? Long enough for someone to bring her things in without her even noticing?

“Hey,” she blurted as she realized he was playing with her phone. “What are you doing? That’s my phone.”

At that instant, another phone rang. “Don’t worry. I’m just using it to call my phone. There,” he said as the phone stopped ringing. “Now you’ve got my phone number. And I’ve got yours.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Why?” she asked.

“Just in case,” he said. “If you think of anything else that might be pertinent to the case, or if you need anything, you can just call me.” He pushed her phone across the table to her.

With a shrug, she slid it into her purse. “Okay, thanks.” She stood and sidled past him toward the door.

“Laney,” he said, his voice close to her ear.

A shiver slid through her as she turned her head.

“Stick close to home. Don’t go out alone, especially at night. The killer knows who you are.”

The shiver became a frisson of fear gripping her spine. “But he knows that I have no idea who he is, right? I mean, I couldn’t see anything except that mask.”

“And the belt buckle,” Ethan reminded her. “And Laney, we’re holding on to that clue. Don’t tell anyone about it. Not the press, not anyone in the government. Not
anyone.
”

“You think someone in the legislature might be involved?”

“I don’t know. Right now, I’m proceeding as if everybody’s involved until I can eliminate them.”