Whirlwind (21 page)

Jason invited them to sit, offering them the nearest couch.

“Good morning,” I said a little too jovially. I sat on the adjacent couch and set the pad on my lap. Jason joined me, resting his hand on the back of my neck.

“Good morning, Ms. Williams,” the suit said. “I’m Detective Clark, and this is Officer Rodriguez. We’re from the L.A. County Sheriff’s office. We’re investigating an incident that occurred on the premises last night. Your car was found in the lower parking lot this morning, and since you’re not a registered guest, we became concerned for your safety.”

During his speech, the detective discreetly examined us, taking in my appearance from head to toe before giving Jason the onceover. Officer Rodriguez hardly gave me a second look—he busied himself inspecting Jason’s hands.

Swallowing a number of snide comments, I chose a more polite reply. “Thank you, Detective, and as you can see, I’m fine. What happened?”

He ignored my question. “We’re interviewing everyone who was at the reception last night. Beth Miller mentioned you might be in the company of Mr. McAlister. Have you been together all night?” His eyes locked onto Jason’s. It was clear I was no longer the subject of the conversation.

I tried not to blush as I answered. There was obviously more than voyeuristic curiosity in his question. “Yes, I have, Detective. Is that of particular importance?” I asked. My pen hovered over my paper.

Detective
Clark
looked at the notebook in my lap and frowned at the paper screaming PRESS sticking out from under it. “May I?” he asked, motioning for the old pass. He looked at it closely before handing it back. “You’re a reporter?”

“Yes. Can you please tell us what’s going on? What is it about Jason that has you so interested?” I wouldn’t let him worm away again.

Detective
Clark
returned my stare, undaunted, but the other officer shifted in his seat. After a long minute, the detective tilted his head to one side and evaluated me again, pursing his lips. I assume I passed muster, because as he straightened back up, the tiniest hint of a smile crossed his lips before he answered.

“Early this morning, a woman was found dead in the garden near the ballroom. She was present at the reception for your brother, Mr. McAlister,” the detective said evenly.

Jason inhaled sharply.

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed, unable to stop the next thought.
A murder is big news.

“Who was the victim, Detective?” Jason asked.

I bit my lip, guilty for my callous thoughts. What if it was one of my friends? Beth was okay, but what about Linda? Or…Ann?

The detective nodded at Officer Rodriguez, who opened the folder he’d been carrying. “Ms. Vanessa Trammell. Do you either of you know her?” Rodriguez removed a sheet from the file and passed it to me.

The page contained a fax copy of a driver’s license. The grainy enlargement of the photo distorted her features, but there was no mistaking the blond hair and big smile of the wedding liaison.

I looked back at Jason and held up the paper.

His jaw fell slack as he stared. “Oh, no,” he breathed.

“So you
did
know her?” Officer Rodriguez accused.

“No, not really. She worked for the hotel. She is…
was
…the wedding coordinator.” Jason’s voice was hollow, distant. He had to be thinking what I was—that maybe we could have done something to prevent whatever happened to her.

Whatever Ron did to her.

No, don’t jump the gun.
The guy may have been a creep, but that didn’t mean he was a killer.

“Ms. Williams?” the officer asked impatiently.

“No, I didn’t know her either, but she was working at the reception. How did she die?”

The detective hadn’t moved, cautiously gauging our reactions. “She was strangled.”

Ron’s skinny tie would have made an excellent murder weapon, and he definitely had the strength to strangle someone. “I’ll have to wait with you,” he’d said to her, in the same eerie, possessive voice he’d used with me—and now she was dead.
Had she taken my place?

Jason must have sensed my horror, because he brushed his lips against my hair. “You’re safe here,” he whispered.

I nodded, and the detective’s stare intensified.

“Do you have any suspects in custody yet?” I asked.
Please say yes.

“We have suspects, yes,” the detective said, returning his gaze to Jason.

“Mr. McAlister, did you wear a black tuxedo yesterday?” Officer Rodriguez asked, reaching for the photo in my hands.

“What?” I blurted. The question caught me by surprise—they didn’t think Jason was involved, did they?

Jason didn’t catch the implication. “Yes, I did. All the groomsmen, the groom, and both fathers did,” he said.

“Did you wear a bow tie?” Detective
Clark
queried. Shock registered in Jason’s eyes when he realized “suspects” included him.

Ron’s tie must not have been the one found.

Jason’s voice became defensive and tight, and the color drained from his face. “None of us could have—” he started.

The detective held up his hand dismissively. “May we see it, please?”

“Of course.” Jason’s jacket had fallen off the back of the couch, and he walked around to pick it up.

Officer Rodriguez fingered the speaker-
mic
clipped to his shoulder, clicking it three times. I recognized the signal—he was warning someone.

I put my hand over my mouth. There had to be more cops outside, preparing to stop anyone who stepped out of our hotel room. They were afraid Jason might run. The detective’s brow wrinkled. “Is there a problem, Ms. Williams?”

I shook my head once, reluctant to explain how I knew what was going on. “Have you talked to all the other groomsmen already?”

“Almost,” he said, then directed his attention behind me.

“Well, here’s
my
tie,” Jason said and stuck his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket. He felt around, frowned, then swiftly went through his other pockets. His face faded to a snowy white when his hand came up empty time and again.

“I took it off during the reception and put it in this pocket.” Jason pointed at the empty jacket, his eyes wide. “It’s…it’s…gone. I…I don’t know what happened to it,” he stammered.

“Have a seat, Mr. McAlister,” the detective commanded.

Jason slumped back down next to me. My hand found his knee and squeezed it, trying to reassure him.

I looked directly into the detective’s eyes. “Jason hasn’t left my presence for at least the last fourteen hours—the hotel security system should be able to prove that,” I said, matching the detective’s tone. “He has nothing to do with this.”

Detective
Clark
’s guarded expression didn’t change. “I’m not accusing anyone, Ms. Williams. I’m just trying to sort out the facts. When was the last time either of you saw Ms. Trammell?”

I shot him a disbelieving glare, but maintained my professional demeanor. Jason’s color had started to return, but he didn’t look like he could speak.

“
We
saw her at about ten thirty last night when we left the reception together and walked to this hotel room,” I answered. “She was in the parking lot with a man named Ron. He’s the one you need to question.”

“What were they doing?” Officer Rodriguez asked.

“He said his car wouldn’t start. I heard Ms. Trammell offer to call him a tow truck.”

Jason nodded in agreement. At the mention of Ron’s name, he put his arm around me.

I wondered if the whole story about Ron’s car was just a setup. Would he have used the same ploy on me?

“You didn’t see anything else?” the officer asked.

“No.”

Jason shook his head, mirroring my denial.

Detective
Clark
had been taking notes while the officer questioned us. “How do you know his name is Ron?” he asked.

I took a breath, and Jason’s grip on me tightened. “Earlier in the evening, Ron approached me and asked if I would join him outside. When I said no, he wouldn’t leave, and my friends confronted him. Ron grabbed my hand and probably would have broken it, if not for Jason.” I turned my right hand over, lightly touching the faint marks on the back.

“Can you describe him?”

As Jason detailed the plain man with greasy hair and mud brown eyes, things began to fall into place: Jason had twisted Ron’s arm, humiliating him; somehow Ron had gotten Jason’s tie to implicate him as revenge. But when could he have taken the tie? Without that crucial detail, convincing the cops would be difficult, if not impossible.

I doodled the word FRAMED on my notepad.

“You think this Ron took Mr. McAlister’s tie to cast suspicion on him?” the detective asked, reading my notes.

“Maybe. Ron may have seen us in the garden, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed.

“What happened in the garden?” the detective asked.

“We talked, and I kissed Melissa,” Jason said, without inflection.

You kissed me, all right
. I picked at the edge of my notepad, trying not to indulge in the memory. Jason rested his cheek against my hair.

“Have you two known each other long?” the detective asked. His keen eye hadn’t missed a single detail of our interaction.

“We met online about nine months ago,” Jason answered.

I didn’t look at him. What he said was true, though misleading.

“I see,” was the reply.

The two men spoke quietly together, and Detective Clark took the file and flipped through it. As he did, photos of the crime scene and the ballroom flashed by.

“May I see those?” I asked.

Officer Rodriguez didn’t try to hide his condescending snort. “Ms. Williams, these photos are very graphic. You really don’t want to see them,” he said.

My gaze turned to the uniformed officer, and I sat a little taller. “Officer, I’ve been privy to police photos since I was ten years old. There’s nothing in those I haven’t seen before,” I said sharply.

The two men looked curiously at me, and I sighed.

“My father was a police officer,” I said, bracing myself for the next question.

Officer Rodriguez opened his mouth, but the detective held up his hand. He seemed to nod to himself, confirming a supposition he’d made, perhaps. His voice was soft and placating. “You’re Brad Williams’ daughter?”

“Yes,” I replied, not totally surprised he knew. Over a thousand cops had attended Dad’s funeral. The detective must have been there too—that would explain his extra concern about my welfare. Both Officer Rodriguez and Jason looked at me, but my eyes didn’t budge from Detective Clark.

“Captain Brad Williams was a highway patrol officer in
Northern California
. He died protecting a woman and her child from an abusive husband five years ago,” he said, saving me from having to explain.

Had it really been five years? My heart lurched, remembering that terrible day.

“We’re sorry, Mrs. Williams,” the officer had said. Mom had whispered “Brad” before she’d fainted, collapsing in my arms.

The detective’s professional façade fell, and he smiled, revealing a kind, caring man behind the shield. I guessed he was a father, probably a good one.

“I doubt you remember, but I stood behind you at the funeral,” Detective Clark said. “Your dad and I met several times at various conventions and seminars and became friends. We managed to play golf together at a couple of them, and shared many stories about our families. You’re a couple of years older than my daughter. We’d hoped to get the two of you together one day,” he added, smiling again. “Your father was a good man and a true hero.”