P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Drake flipped through his notes. “It says here that you purchased a home in Port Chatham recently, is that true? And that you needed a down payment for that home that exceeded the amount you could legally withdraw from the trust fund, correct? So you had planned to use any money you received from the divorce settlement to make that down payment.”

“I didn’t expect to receive—”

“If so, an insurance death benefit would’ve come in mighty handy, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t—” Jase began.

“We also have witnesses who claim to have overheard an extremely heated argument between the two of you that night, just prior to Mr. Marsh storming out of the condo and driving away.” Drake leaned across the table, his gaze triumphant. “You had motive and means and opportunity, Mrs. Marsh. I should just arrest your ass right now.”

Darcy opened the door to the conference room and came inside, leaning against the wall. Jordan found her presence enormously reassuring, given that she was moments away from hyperventilating.

“This interview is terminated.” Jase’s tone was arctic.

“Not by a long shot,” Drake snapped. “I still have questions for Mrs. Marsh.”

“Even if your witnesses are as reliable as you claim,” Jase pointed out, “cutting the brake lines on a car is a premeditated act. And my client was inside with the victim at the time the lines would have been cut.”

“She could’ve had an accomplice.”

“And the moon could be made of cheese,” Jase retorted. “People like Mrs. Marsh don’t normally come into contact with killers for hire, as you well know. You can’t have it both ways, Detective. Either they argued and Ryland Marsh left in anger, with my client remaining inside the condo, indicating that she in fact had no opportunity to cut the brake lines, or the murder was planned in advance, which would mean that your questions regarding any argument that took place at the condo would have no basis for the crime committed.”

“Bullshit, Counselor. She could’ve planned the whole thing in advance, then used the meeting to goad Marsh into an argument, in an attempt to ensure that he would drive more recklessly. Between the anger and the cut brake lines, the crash would’ve been a slam dunk.”

“Ryland’s anger was always cold and controlled,” Jordan pointed out. “He never drove recklessly, and if he’d been angry, he would’ve driven even more methodically.”

“Perhaps, but his judgment would’ve been impaired by the booze you insisted he drink, now, wouldn’t it?”

“You’ve got nothing but circumstantial evidence and speculation, Drake.” Jase stood, his fingers tightening on Jordan’s elbow as he pulled her from her chair. “You have no forensic evidence to tie my client to the crime, and you’re basing all your suppositions on eyewitness accounts, which we both know can be flawed. Either arrest my client or let her go.”

Jordan felt the blood drain from her head. Really, really bad way to phrase it .

Drake shrugged. “Fine with me.” He stood and reached behind his back to produce a set of handcuffs. “Given Mrs. Marsh’s propensity to flit about the country, I have no guarantee she will stay put in Port Chatham during the investigation. I believe an arrest is warranted at this time.”

Jordan’s breathing deteriorated to shallow gasps. “Easy,” Jase said under his breath.

Darcy stepped forward. “I’ll place her under surveillance and guarantee that she remains in my jurisdiction for the duration.”

Drake glared at her. “Just whose side are you on, Chief Moran?”

“I’m simply protecting the rights of my citizens, Detective Drake.” He started to explode, and Darcy held up a hand. “Your case is circumstantial, Detective. You know as well as I do that Mr. Cunningham will have Mrs. Marsh out on bail ten minutes after your plane touches down in California, and your D.A. will be gunning for you.”

“At least she’d be back in my jurisdiction.”

“Bring me evidence of her fingerprints on the brake lines, or a fingerprint that can be tied to a person who has been in contact with Mrs. Marsh and received some form of payment from her. Better yet, corroborate your witness’s account of the events that night. Until then, I will guarantee that Mrs. Marsh won’t flee my jurisdiction.”

Drake tossed his handcuffs onto the table, then gathered his notes together, his movements jerky. “If she has a passport, I want her to surrender it to you immediately.”

“Though your demand typically requires a court order, my client would be more than happy to voluntarily hand over her passport to the Port Chatham police, since she has no reason to flee,” Jase inserted smoothly.

Jordan was glad he had confidence in her willingness to stay put—frankly, fleeing was looking damn good to her at the moment.

Drake shoved files into his briefcase, locking it. Straightening, he shot Jordan a look full of loathing. “This isn’t over, Mrs. Marsh. I’ll be back.”

Jordan started breathing again.

* * *

DARCY suggested they go to lunch at a Chinese restaurant a block from the police station. The hostess seated them quickly, and a waitress immediately came over to take their order. Jordan wasn’t even certain she could eat, and the tension among them was only increasing the acid production in her stomach.

“Of all the monumentally stupid things to do,” Darcy began, breaking the silence after the waitress departed, “keeping us in the dark tops the list.”

Jordan shook her head. “I come to town, and I find out you already know I’m part of an ongoing investigation. So I say, casually, ‘Oh, by the way, Ryland decided he didn’t want a divorce after all, and we had a hell of a fight the night he died—’”

“Yeah, you figured we’d think you’d done it—I get that.” Darcy rubbed her face. “But dammit, we can’t help you if we don’t know the facts. Drake blindsided both of us back there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you tell us what really went down that night.” Jase’s tone was mild.

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “Ryland called me Monday night—three nights before the accident. He claimed he wanted to reconcile, that he’d made a huge mistake letting me go.” She shook her head. “I was stunned. He’d spent almost a year directing his lawyer to pull every stunt in the book to keep all of our assets in the divorce, and now he wanted me to take him back? I said no way and hung up on him.”

“What reason did he give for the reconciliation?” Darcy asked.

“That’s just it—he didn’t have one, at least not one that made sense. He called right back, begging me to listen and making a big deal out of how much he missed me, how the other women hadn’t meant anything, how much he loved me.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Right. I didn’t buy that for one minute. But after I calmed down, I thought the kindest thing I could do was to meet with him, hear him out, and try to find a way to let him down gently.”

Darcy gave her a look of disbelief.

“I know, I know. But I was married to him for seven years—I figured I owed him the chance to explain himself. Besides, I’d already committed to the house up here, and I didn’t want the divorce to drag out. Yes, I could’ve handled the down payment out of the small inheritance from my grandmother and some outstanding receivables from my therapy practice, but it would’ve required me to cash out long-term investments on short notice. The settlement from the divorce—a small amount from the sale of the condo—was sufficient and simply more convenient. So I called Ryland and asked him to meet me at the condo Thursday evening after work. My plan was to minimize the conflict between us, not goad him into a heated argument.”