Page 67 of Deathmarch

“Swarovski crystal.” She shook her head, and the twin angels took flight. “Easy day so far. Good news only. Jack Sullivan called this morning, just to check in. He and Ashley are having another baby. A boy.”

“Did they know that?”

“No,” Robin smiled, “but since I sensed it, I told him.”

“How many kids is that now?” Harper paused to think. “Four? Christ, someone needs to talk to that man about the birds and the bees.”

“You go ahead and do that.” Robin laughed. “They’re coming back this summer for a visit. Ashley is having a multi-city art show. New York, Philly, Baltimore, DC.”

“Yeah?” Harper was looking forward to seeing them. Jack was one of the good guys. He’d been a damn fine detective when he’d lived in Broslin. They missed him around the station.

“How long has Dave Grambus been in there?” He nodded toward the interview room.

“Ten minutes?” Robin handed him a voice recorder. “I was in the back to fill the stapler, so I grabbed one of these for you.”

“Thanks. Time to narrow the field.”

“I heard the Bianchi girl was in a hit-and-run last night after her show. I had a feeling about her when I heard the news.” Robin closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, then opened her eyes again. “A darkness is watching her. Is she all right?”

Harper had seen enough of Robin’sfeelingscome true that he never discounted her pronouncements out of hand. “I’m keeping an eye on her. For the moment, she’s fine,” he said as he marched off to crack Grambus. “Nothing major.”

He reached the door of the interview room just as his phone buzzed with a text message from Allie.

-Thanks for last night-

-Heading back to the B and B-

Harper sent a quick response.

-Do NOT go down those stairs-

-Wait until I get home-

A couple of seconds passed before she sent

-You’re not the boss of me-

To which he responded

-I locked you up before. I can lock you up again-

As Harper stepped into the interview room, Grambus shot him a hostile glare. This time, the baseball hat he wore to cover his baldness said TRUCKERS DRIVE IT STRAIGHT HOME.

“This ain’t right. Why am I here? Am I under arrest?”

“Would you like some coffee?” Harper offered. “Like I said over the phone, I just need to ask a few more questions.”

“I don’t need no damn coffee. Get yourself some. Your eyes look like two piss holes in a snowbank. And I know what you’re trying to do here. I have the right to have an attorney present.”

“Would you like to call one?”

Grambus huffed. “Then you’ll think I’m guilty. Hell, I have nothin’ to hide.” He shifted on his seat as if he couldn’t find a comfortable spot and rubbed his hands together. “Damn room’s colder than a well digger’s ass.”

He was rattled. Exactly what Harper wanted him to be.

He set the recorder in the middle of the table, then identified himself and Grambus. Next, he went through the same questions he’d asked at the man’s apartment, to see if the suspect’s answers would change. They didn’t. Grambus insisted that he was home alone on the night in question and hadn’t gone anywhere near the victim.

“Can you tell me a little more about the prepper club?” Harper asked next. “Did everybody contribute equally? Ever had arguments about money?”