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“Oh, nice!”

Beau put his finger to his lips in a shhh, and opened the door adjacent to the interview room. Archie walked into a narrow, dimly lit space.

“I guess you know why you’re here,” Detective Swenson’s mic’d voice was saying, as Beau closed the door behind them.

It was a typical small-town police station observation room. Functional and spare. Two wooden chairs faced the one-way mirror looking onto the interview room where Archie had been interrogated on Monday. A small table with basic recording equipment, including a monitor displaying the interview live feed, was positioned against the back wall.

Archie quietly took one of the chairs and studied the interview room set up.

Swenson’s back was to the one-way mirror. Jon Monig sat facing them, and given his automatic glances at the mirror, understood he was being observed.

Archie had seen Monig at the reading of the will, but now he really scrutinized him, comparing this man to the weedy youth who’d occasionally turned up with Mila at dinners and parties at John’s. Monig had been precocious, but sort of attractive in a waiflike way. One of those drama club boys. He was straight, but his affected mannerisms meant he was sometimes mistaken for gay, which had offended him mightily. Basically, he and Archie had been oil and water. Archie dealt with it by avoiding and ignoring Monig. Monig handled it by directing little sarcastic barbs at Archie.

Archie couldn’t recall any indicators that Monig had seemed to feel a particular connection to John. In fact, John had received his own share of barbs.

But sometimes those pointed digs were actually a bid for attention. Maybe Archie hadn’t noticed or understood the undercurrents?

Monig sat at a slight angle from the interview room table and Swenson, which could signal he planned on withholding information, indicate a need to self-protect, or just confirm Archie’s belief that those were some of the most uncomfortable chairs in all the world.

“I have no clue why I’m here,” Monig answered. “Everybody in this town knows who killed John Perry.”

“Does everyone in town know why you broke into Dr. Perry’s house to attack Special Agent Crane?”

“Mistake,” Archie murmured.

Beau, standing to the side of the one-way glass, made a neutral Mm sound.

Monig stared at Swenson in disbelief and laughed. “W-What? He’s claiming someone tried to kill him?”

“Where were you between seven and nine p.m. last night?”

“None of your business! I was home. Which is where I was supposed to be.”

Swenson clicked his pen a few times. “Can anyone verify that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have anyone conveniently with me.”

“Did anyone phone you? Text you?”

“No. No. And no, no one dropped by to borrow a cup of sugar. Was Crane injured?”

“Evasion and deflection,” Archie commented.

Beau assented.

Swenson asked, “Did you phone anyone? Text anyone? Step out to borrow a cup of sugar?”

Monig’s expression grew bored. “Nope. I made dinner, read over a script for a play I’m performing in, and went to bed about ten. I’m pretty sure none of that’s illegal.”

“I noticed you had a slight limp when you walked into the station. How did you injure your leg?”

Monig got a smirky little smile. “I slipped on a cat toy when I was going down the steps at my place. That was Sunday morning. You can check with my mother. Dr. Mila Monig. She X-rayed my leg to make sure I hadn’t broken my ankle.”

Archie said thoughtfully, “Sunday morning.”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged looks.