What's Done in Darkness (24 page)

Hearing the door open, I looked up. And there was Katrina. Sergeant Ramirez beckoned to me. “Miss Blackwin. Please come with me.”

Katrina, arms folded over her chest and a look of exasperation on her face, passed me without saying a word.

I followed the sergeant into his office once more. Honestly, if this wasn't the last round of questioning I was going to tell Katrina that we should leave after this.

I exhaled audibly as I sat in the same chair I'd assumed before. I was tired of this now, ready for it to be over.

“Tell me about this man you were talking to,” the sergeant said without preamble. “The one who fought with Christian.”

My eyes widened in alarm. “Excuse me?”

“According to your friend, he spoke to you first.”

I stared at the sergeant, barely breathing. Why would Katrina throw me under the bus like that? Was she trying to make it seem like I knew the guy or had nefarious dealings with him?

“Miss Blackwin?”

“Yes, I did speak to him, very briefly.”

“Do you know this man?”

“No. Of course not. He was just some guy who approached me in a bar.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I'm sure about that.”

“Your friend seems to think that perhaps you knew him from before.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “What?” Was that what Katrina had said? Or was Ramirez lying? I had seen enough cop shows to know that police didn't always tell the truth. In their quest to get people to confess to crimes, they elaborated and downright lied.

That had to be what they were doing. She wouldn't say that. I knew she wouldn't.

“I don't know him,” I stressed. “I'd never seen him before last night.”

“What did you talk about? You and this mysterious stranger?”

I hesitated. “I—I…” My voice trailed off. “He asked me to dance, I think. I don't really remember. I declined and he went over to Katrina.” I refrained from telling the full story, because I remembered the look Katrina had given me and wondered if she was right: The more we talked, the more we might implicate ourselves.

The sergeant eased back in his chair. “Interesting. Because Miss Hughes tells me that he offered you drugs.”

My heart stopped in my chest. Literally, I felt as though I might drop dead. What the heck was Katrina doing?

The sergeant leaned forward and folded his hands on top of the desk. “See, this is exactly the kind of information I need to know. And when people aren't honest with me, I have to wonder what they are trying to hide.”

Panic spread through my blood, leaving me cold. What could I say now? Now that I looked like I had been lying to cover up my own guilt. “Okay, you want the truth? I spent maybe three seconds with him. He asked if I wanted some stuff. I didn't know what he was referring to, but whatever it was, I told him I wasn't interested.”

My pulse was pounding. What was Katrina's game? Did she figure it'd be either her or me and she was trying to protect herself?

“He knew I wasn't interested,” I went on, “so he didn't bother wasting his time with me. He moved through the crowd, and the next thing I knew, he was flirting with Katrina. They ended up dancing. He had his hands all over her body. Christian saw them and got angry. He went over to confront them. That's when a fight broke out. Christian and this guy exchanged blows.” I told it all. No point protecting Katrina now, not after she'd betrayed me!

Sergeant Ramirez continued to stare at me, and I could hardly breathe. “I'm telling you the truth,” I said. I made the sign of a cross over my chest. “I swear, that's everything I know.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Miss Blackwin.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I wasn't trying to deliberately mislead you. I just don't think Christian's killing is about drugs. If this guy did kill him, I think it's about ego and jealousy.”

“Jealousy is a strong motive,” the sergeant agreed. “People kill for love every day. What about your friend? Do you think Miss Hughes could have killed her boyfriend?”

My eyes bulged. “What?”

“You said she was dancing with another man. Flirting. I have to assume she didn't love Christian.”

“Katrina was with me all night. Christian was angry after their fight. He left … and that was the last we saw him.” I blew out a frazzled breath. “That is honestly everything we know. Why don't you go to the bar, see if there are surveillance cameras so you can get pictures of everyone? There's a killer out there.”

“Tell me again what happened after the fight. You said you met someone else. A man named Brian.”

We had been through this twice already. I was getting tired of it. “Yes, but he came into the bar after Christian left. He's not responsible.”

“How do you know?”

“I—I—because I just do,” I said, knowing that what I'd said wasn't anything close to concrete proof. But I certainly couldn't say that I was certain of Brian's innocence because he was a good kisser.

“May I see your phone, Miss Blackwin?”

“My phone?”

“You met some men, had some fun. You didn't exchange numbers?”

I pulled my phone from my purse. “As a matter of fact, we didn't. I don't know about the guy Katrina was flirting with, but Brian and Keith hung out with us for a bit, then went in the cab with us back to our hotel.”

“And pictures?”

“I took no pictures of anyone. Using your phone in a foreign country can cost a fortune. I didn't even turn it on.”

I was about to pass it to him, then thought better of it. What if he took my phone, never gave it back? “With all due respect, am I under arrest or something?”

“No. I am simply trying to find answers. And the more I ask questions, the more things you may remember. For example, your friend remembered that she had taken pictures of Brian and Keith.”

“Yes,” I said after a moment. “She did.” Though why she thought that was of any consequence was beyond me. Though I did remember what she'd said back at the hotel, that she didn't trust Brian. I'd been too pissed with her to ask her why not.

“Perhaps you took pictures of other people in the bar?” the sergeant suggested.

“I took no pictures, I can assure you. I didn't even have my phone with me.”

“You're sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

The sergeant produced a piece of paper. “Thanks to your friend, I have pictures of Brian and Keith. But write down everything you remember about the other men you came into contact with. And anyone else you may think of. Height, weight, eye color, skin color. And yes, I have an officer checking with the bar to see if there are surveillance cameras.”

“Everyone? Is there another way?” I asked. “Maybe you have a book of pictures with criminals you can show me?”

The sergeant laughed as though I had said the funniest thing in the world. “Do you know how long that would take? Please, write everything you know. Everything you remember about these people you came into contact with. Leave nothing out.”

*   *   *

After I wrote descriptions of all of the men we'd come into contact with, Katrina and I were told that we were free to go. Once we reunited in the reception area, I learned that Katrina had had to do the same taxing exercise. It had been an exhausting and grueling few hours at the police station. The sergeant told us that an officer would give us a ride back to the hotel. Although I didn't know if I wanted to spend time with any more cops in this country, Katrina and I gratefully accepted.

Neither of us spoke during the ride back. Not only were we silent; Katrina barely looked my way. I wondered if she was mad at me.

Once in the hotel, I said to Katrina, “I forgot all about those pictures we took with Brian and Keith.”

“So did I. But that sergeant kept grilling me, wanting to see my phone, if I'd taken pictures … and I was shocked to see them. You know I was drunk, and stoned. I barely remember anything that happened last night.”

She hadn't been
that
out of her mind, because she'd known what she'd been doing when she made sure Brian didn't come into the hotel with me. But I focused on what mattered. “What about the other guy? The one who was fighting with Christian? Did you get pictures of him?”

“No.”

I followed Katrina to the bank of elevators. “You don't think Brian and Keith had anything to do with this?”

“I have no clue what to think.”

“Why were you so suspicious of Brian last night?”

“Just a feeling,” she said. “That he was a liar. I wanted to protect you.”

If she'd wanted to protect me, why had she told the sergeant that
I
had been talking to that guy in the bar first? Had she simply relayed the facts as she knew them, or had she been trying to cast suspicion onto me?

“Hey,” I began softly. “That detective kind of implied that you thought I was being too chummy with the guy who had the fight with Christian.” I exhaled a sort of snort, letting her know I thought the idea was ridiculous. “But obviously you don't feel that way.”

I waited for her to tell me that she didn't. Instead, she walked toward the elevator and jabbed at the UP button.

I moved to stand beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn. “Kat?”

“You never liked Christian,” she said.

I gaped at her. She looked up toward the floor numbers, clearly trying to avoid me.

It took me several seconds to process her implication. “So—what? You think because I didn't like Christian that I arranged to have him
killed
?”

“I don't know what to think.”

My eyes bulged. I almost couldn't suck in a breath. “You were the one ramming your tongue down that guy's throat. I barely said two words to him.”

The elevator dinged, and two young, smiling couples exited. Then Katrina rushed on and I followed quickly behind her.

“Please tell me you don't think that I … what … met some random guy in a bar in Mexico and arranged to have him kill Christian?” I ended my words with a questioning tone, one that said a more ridiculous idea had never been thought of in the history of mankind.

Katrina didn't speak.

“Katrina?” My voice held a desperate note. “Why on earth would you—”

“The detective kept asking me questions, analyzing every little thing that happened. Twisting my every action. Second-guessing everything.” She exhaled sharply. “Of course I don't think that you had anything do to with this.”

“I thought we'd have each other's backs, Kat. For you to say that to the detective could easily make me look guilty. But when he suggested that maybe you didn't love Christian, I told him that he was wrong.”

“So he thinks
I
killed him?” Katrina asked, a panicked expression coming onto her face.

“He's grasping at straws. Like you said, he has to analyze everything. But I made sure to tell him that you were with me the entire night. That you couldn't have killed Christian.”

The elevator dinged and stopped on our floor, and we exited. Katrina walked on ahead of me down the hall.

“Kat,” I said when she got to her door. “Please tell me you told the sergeant that I was with you, too. That you didn't give him a reason to think I may have had something to do with Christian's death.”

“It's been a long, awful day and I'm tired,” she said. “I just want to go to bed.”

“You realize you're not making me feel better.”

“We're both home-free, Jade. That's what matters.”

“Home-free?” I frowned.

“You know what I mean. We're not stuck in a Mexican jail. Isn't that the point here?”

“I thought the point was to find Christian's killer.”

“Are you gonna twist my words, too? Of course that's the point.” She groaned, frustrated. “Look, Jade. I need to get some sleep.”

“Sure,” I said, not wanting to push her.

But as she opened her door and slipped into the room without looking back at me, I was left feeling confused and uneasy.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I couldn't sleep. Instead, I checked out flight options and how much it would cost me to leave Mexico early.

The vacation had turned into a nightmare. The officer hadn't said anything about us having to stay in the country, but with Katrina casting suspicion on me—as unlikely as it may have seemed—I wasn't sure that I wanted to stick around. If I was back on U.S. soil, I would feel that much safer.

Talking to Katrina hadn't alleviated my anxiety. Instead, I had been left feeling worse. Because I didn't know if she actually believed I may have had something to do with what happened to Christian and if she had convinced the detective of the same.

I also wasn't impressed with her two-faced behavior. She'd told me to keep my mouth shut, then had blabbed about the guy offering me drugs in a way that made me look like a liar.

Maybe I was being too hard on her. Her boyfriend had just been brutally murdered, and I knew she couldn't be thinking entirely straight. Still, I would only feel safe once I got back home.

I wondered who would deal with Christian's body. He must have a family. Did Katrina know how to contact them? Someone would have to make arrangements for him to be returned to England, to be buried.

Not your problem,
a voice in my head said.
Right now, like Katrina, you need to worry about yourself.

*   *   *

The question as to who would take care of the arrangements for Christian's body was answered the next day when I heard raised voices through the hotel wall.

Quickly throwing on some clothes, I exited my room and went to Katrina's door. When I put my ear against it, the voices became louder, but I could only make out snippets.