Page 67

At the front desk, a uniformed officer with tired eyes directs me to sign in. “I’m here to see Detective Crowley from the Bloomington Police Department.”

“I.D.” He responded, not looking up at me.

I slid my real I.D. slash driver’s license across the counter, watching as he typed my personal information into a computer.

“Wait here.” He said finally, picking up a phone.

I stood awkwardly at the counter. The fluorescent lights above casts everyone in a dull light. I looked around at a young woman crying softly in a corner chair. There was a man that looked homeless with bloodshot eyes staring blankly at a vending machine.

“Ms. Taylor?”

I turned to see Detective Crowley approaching. He looked a little different from the last time I saw him. He extended his hand, and I shook it.

“Thank you for coming in so fast.” His handshake was firm. “Follow me.”

He led me through a security door, down a long hallway lined with glass office windows.

“In here.” Crowley gestured to a small room.

The interrogation room felt smaller than it probably appeared. A plain metal table was bolted to the floor. Four hard metal chairs without seat cushions.This was a different room than the last time I was here, smaller and colder.

Detective Jamison was already sitting with a manila folder open before him. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed severely to one side, and deep lines that crossed his forehead could use some Botox.

“Ms. Taylor.” He acknowledged me with a curt nod. “Please, sit.”

I lowered myself into the chair opposite them.

Crowley began. “There’s been a development in the Alonzo Lopez case that we felt you should be aware of.”

I swallowed hard. “What kind of development?”

Jamison slid a photograph across the table. It was grainy and clearly from security footage. A woman whose face was partially obscured by large sunglasses despite being indoors. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. Even with the poor quality of the image, I could see the family resemblance to Lonzo. I knew her face. She hated me from the day we met.

“This is Marisol Lopez.” Jamison said, his voice flat. “Alonzo’s sister. Surveillance cameras captured her downtown at the Lakeview Hotel last week.”

My fingers hovered over the image, not quite touching it. “Are you sure it’s her?” I said, being dramatic. That was clearly the bitch that was after me.

Crowley nodded. “Her mother’s credit card was used to book the room. We’ve been monitoring the family’s financial activities since Lonzo went missing.”

“Do you know why she’s here?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

The detectives exchanged a glance. Crowley leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We believe she’s looking for her brother. She may not know he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Give me my Oscar right now. “I thought he was in Mexico or somewhere else.”

“Lonzo hasn’t been spotted anywhere. There is no body, or remains, but we think he’s dead.” Jamison said.

“Cartel probably killed him thinking he was going to give some of their people up in exchange for a lighter sentence.”

“If that happened, why is Marisol here looking for him?”

“She doesn’t know. She probably doesn’t think the Cartel would turn on her family.”

“We wanted to offer you protection,” Crowley said. “Protective custody until we can locate Ms. Lopez and determine her intentions.”

The thought of being locked away, even for my own safety, made my skin crawl. “No.” I said firmly. “I’m not going into protective custody.”

Jamison’s eyebrows rose, adding more lines to his already creased forehead. “Ms. Taylor, I don’t think you understand the potential danger?—”