But I didn’t ask for my phone call. Didn’t mention my lawyer. Lucas was a thousand miles away. All my phone call would do was get him on the next plane home, and I’d be free before he got here.

If I was transferred to the sheriff’s department, I’d call. Otherwise, I’d deal with it ... and deal with the lectures when Lucas found out.

Bruyn asked for my side of the story. I gave it and when I was done, he just sat there.

“That’s it,” I said. “I found Michael. You found me. End of story.”

“You really expect me to believe that, Ms. Levine?”

“Considering it’s the truth, yes. And considering there’s nothing even remotely far-fetched about it, yes. You can call the restaurant where we had dinner. We overstayed our welcome, so they’re bound to remember us, and remember that we were obviously on a date and having a good time.”

“What does that have to do with anything? If you think that means you wouldn’t kill—”

“No, I think it means my story is perfectly plausible. We were getting along and trying to work together. He was following a lead I gave him on Cody. He found something. He texted me. I’m sure you’ve confirmed the message on my phone.”

“We will. One of my officers saw you arguing with Detective Kennedy in the street this afternoon.”

“We disagreed about a risk I was taking. We parted amicably, with plans for dinner. You can ask Kayla Thompson. She was there.”

“My officer caught you sneaking around Renny’s Garage, just hours before we found you with Detective Kennedy’s body.”

“No, he didn’t catch me sneaking around. He caught me repairing my bike. You can check with the garage and with the bike shop in Vancouver, where I picked up the tire this evening. With Michael.”

“You didn’t like him horning in on your job.”

“No, I believe he was the one complaining. And he got over it. Otherwise why would we be out on a dinner date?”

“It was a setup.”

“For what? Is that the motivation you’re seriously going with? I killed him because he was interfering with a job?”

“I have no idea what your motivation is. I don’t care.”

It was at that point that I shut up, because I realized he was just fishing for answers, hoping to get a confession he could hand over to the sheriff’s department.

When I stopped talking, he was stuck. So he backed up and took another run down the same path, making me repeat my story. When I was done, he hit the wall again. So he had me tell my story again. Killing time until he heard from the doctor or the sheriff’s department? Or praying I’d slip up and give him something?

Chief Bruyn wasn’t an idiot. Just incompetent, at least when it came to issuing more than a speeding ticket. The town expected him to be tough, yet he wasn’t a tough guy by nature. So he overcompensated. Find a private investigator crouched over a dead body? March her down to the station, interrogate her, and, hopefully, toss her in jail.

When he was about to make me go through my story a fourth time, I said, “Have you notified the Dallas Police Department?”

“Why would I—?” He stopped. A look of stark “oh, shit” terror, quickly hidden behind a scowl. “Detective Kennedy was off duty. I’ll notify them in due course.”

“A cop is never off duty.” As he glowered, I dropped my gaze, just a fraction, and forced myself to add, “Or that’s what I’ve heard.”

The meek approach worked. He stepped out and told his officer to call the Dallas PD. Then he lowered his voice and told the officer to say Detective Kennedy had died of a fall, and they hadn’t yet determined whether it was an accident or a homicide. Funny, he hadn’t mentioned the accidental possibility to me. Is that why I wasn’t with the sheriff’s department? They thought it was an accident?

The officer came back and said the Dallas PD wanted to be kept informed. They also wanted to know if Bruyn had notified Detective Kennedy’s next of kin.

“That would be his mother,” I said, when that familiar look of blind panic hit Bruyn’s face. “Not Claire’s mother. She was his half sister on his dad’s side.”

My composure cracked a bit then, thinking of Claire, dead, and now Michael, too. Their poor parents. Michael coming to solve his sister’s murder, then murdered himself and—

I took a deep breath. “Now, if you’re done with me, I’ll go back to my motel to rest.”

“Like hell you will.”

I fought to keep my voice steady. “You don’t have enough to hold me. Your officer can drive me back and can park outside my door, and you have my word that I won’t leave.”

Bruyn crossed his arms. “You’re not going anywhere. You killed a police detective.”

“No, she didn’t,” said a voice from the door.

Jesse strode in, the younger officer at his heels, protesting that he’d tried to stop him. Jesse planted himself in front of Bruyn.

“The doctor’s initial report found that Detective Kennedy seems to have died of a broken neck incurred in a fall. He was searching the warehouse, went to that second story, and fell backward off the edge.”

“Fell?” Bruyn said. “Or was pushed?”

“Fell. There’s only one way up. There’s also only one set of prints, which I pointed out to the sheriff’s department.”

“I saw two sets—”

“On the first few steps. Savannah’s prints, as I’m sure she’ll confirm. She went up three steps, turned, and came back down.” He glanced at me.

I nodded. “I heard a noise below. Turned out it was just a cat.”

“The sheriff’s department is holding the scene for their lab techs, but I’m sure when they arrive, they’ll confirm only one set of prints upstairs. Michael Kennedy’s. A tragic accident. But clearly an accident.”

The phone rang.

“That would be the sheriff’s department telling you to release Savannah,” Jesse said.

I heard enough to know that they confirmed Jesse’s story—one way up to the second floor and only one set of footprints. I still didn’t believe Michael had fallen. Couldn’t believe it. But I sure as hell wasn’t saying so.

When Bruyn got off the phone, he said, “You’re free to go. Just don’t leave town. We’ll be checking that second story, and if we find your prints up there ...”