Page 15

FOURTEEN

BOB MILLER

Sitting in an interrogation room in the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office is something I expected, due to the reopening of the Kelly Summers investigation—but not this soon. I assume they’re dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s. I just didn’t think I’d be the first i they dotted. There’ve been a couple updates since the last time I was in this room. The lights are a little brighter. The chairs are new, a bit more uncomfortable. Maybe that was the intention behind replacing them.

I received a call a couple hours ago from a Chief Deputy Olson, asking if I would come in for questioning. I said yes because saying no would make it appear as though I’m hiding something. I’d never advise my clients to accept—but I’m a lawyer, and I know what I’m doing. Hudson has a lot to prove to this community, at least that’s what I gathered from his statement to the media, and I’m sure they want to wrap up this reinvestigation swiftly so they can put it behind them once and for all. We’re on the same page there, and I’ll do what I can to help me—not them.

The door swings open, and Sheriff Hudson and a female deputy walk in. She’s much smaller than him. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, and her mouth forms a hard line like she’s got something to prove. They must have some sort of good cop–bad cop routine going on.

“Thanks for coming in to speak with us, Mr. Miller,” Hudson says, slapping a folder down on the table. “This is my colleague Chief Deputy Olson.” He gestures to the woman wearing the scowl. That’s the one who called me.

“It’s no problem at all, Sheriff Hudson, and it’s nice to meet you, Chief Deputy Olson.” I nod at both of them as they take their seats across from me.

When neither Hudson nor Olson speaks, I add, “And I assume this is about the Kelly Summers case.”

The two of them exchange a look, narrowing their eyes slightly before returning their attention to me. I can tell by their expressions that I’ve already made more than one mistake. I shouldn’t be here... because I know now this isn’t about Kelly Summers.

“No.” Sheriff Hudson furrows his brow. “Why would we call you in for that?”

Shit.

My shirt collar suddenly feels too tight around my neck. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I tense, trying to keep from squirming at the sensation. My heart rate hastens. I can feel it in my wrist, beating against this cold metal table. I need to pivot, and I need to do it fast. Readying myself to go into full lawyer mode, I clear my throat and my mind.

“I caught your statement on the news earlier, Sheriff Hudson,” I calmly say. “With the investigation reopened, I assumed I would be reinterviewed, since I had known the victim. I will note, my alibi was verified, and I was cleared of any involvement in her murder, but I understand you need to get your ducks in a row, as they say, so that’s why I figured I was called in.”

“Nope.” Hudson slightly shakes his head. “Don’t need anything there, but good to know for the future in case we do have some questions.” He flips open the folder, removing the photo on top and sliding it across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”

The photograph is of an attractive woman in her midtwenties with long red hair, high cheekbones, and plump lips. She looks familiar, very familiar. But I can’t place her. My brain is finding her in figments and waves, a blur in the background of memories but nothing solid. And nothing solid means...

“Not that I can recall,” I say, pushing the photo toward them.

“You can’t recall?” Chief Deputy Olson asks.

“No, I can’t.”

She raises a brow at my answer like she’s judging me for it. “From what we’ve heard,” Olson says, “you two are friends. One might even say closer than friends. Why don’t you take another look?” She slides the photograph back to me.

I squint, my eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. Then, I drop my gaze, reexamining it, taking in every detail. A smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her skin bronzed from what I assume is a spray tan. A silver necklace with a letter S pendant that rests against the center of her chest, just below her collarbone. I’ve seen it before. A memory stored somewhere deep inside my brain resurfaces. It’s that necklace... the cold pendant brushing against my cheek. Her long, soft hair cascading all around my face as she rode me fast and hard. I quickly blink it away.

Shit. Another mistake. This is the woman I slept with, and I’ve just told them I don’t recognize her. How do I backtrack? Explain that I was blackout drunk when she and I were... together and that I don’t remember her. Wait. Why are they asking me about her? I try to keep my composure, maintain a neutral expression. But every muscle in my face is twitching. I wonder if they notice it. My eyes swing between them. The female deputy wears a look of disgust like she’s staring at a pile of rotting garbage rather than the prestigious lawyer I am. Something happened to the woman in the photo, and it’s clear they think I had something to do with it.

“So, are you sticking with you don’t recognize this woman?” Hudson lifts his chin. “Or do you have something to tell us?”

It might be time to lawyer up. Even lawyers need lawyers. But I have to know what exactly they’re accusing me of or what they think I’m involved in.

“I recognize her necklace,” I finally land on. It’s the truth. It’s what jogged my memory, and I’m not technically backtracking or changing my story with that answer.

“From where?” Olson asks.

I swallow hard as the memory of that night resurfaces. Her hot, sweaty skin pressed against mine. Her moans and cries as I thrust up into her. The silver pendant swinging above my head, lightly tapping my face. My tongue touching the cold metal as it slipped into my mouth when I was close to coming. I can practically taste its metallic tang right now. I have to disclose the one-night stand I had with this woman because they’re going to find out one way or another. From the sounds of it, they already know and they’re just waiting to see if I’ll tell them the truth.

“I had a one-night stand with this woman a few weeks back. Other than that, I don’t know her. It only happened once, and I was drunk. I barely remember it, and I don’t remember her. But... I do remember that necklace.” My voice is emotionless as though I’m stating a series of facts. I keep direct eye contact with Hudson to convey I’m telling the truth. He’s the one in charge, so he’s the one I need to get through to. The other one already despises me anyway.

Olson leans forward in her chair. “Her name is Stacy Howard,” she says with a hard tone.

I briefly look at her and then to Hudson. There’s no point in responding. It doesn’t matter what her name is. The only thing that matters to me is why I’m here, sitting in this interrogation room.

“When was the last time you had contact with her?” Hudson asks.

“Three weeks ago.”

He cocks his head. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“Interesting,” Olson says. “Because we’ve heard otherwise.” She pulls a piece of paper from the folder and places it in front of me. It’s a screenshot of a text conversation.

STACY HOWARD

Hey, D! Going to meet up with that guy I told you about, so I won’t be here when you get home from work. Could be a late night or an early morning

DEENA WALSH

The lawyer?

STACY HOWARD

That’s the one... for now

DEENA WALSH

Remind me of his name, just in case he’s a psychopath

STACY HOWARD

Bob Miller

DEENA WALSH

Bob? What is he sixty?

STACY HOWARD

No, midforties tops

“This is a text conversation between Stacy and her roommate, Deena, from Monday night.” Olson taps her finger on one of the messages. “Do you recognize that name, Bob?”

The name she’s pointing to is my own.

“That’s bullshit,” I scoff, pushing the paper back toward the deputy. “I haven’t had any communication with this Stacy woman in weeks.”

“Not according to these texts.”

“What’s this all about?” I ask, growing beyond frustrated.

Hudson leans forward in his chair. “Stacy’s roommate, Deena, filed a missing person’s report. No one’s seen or heard from Stacy in three days. So, can you tell us your whereabouts on Monday night?” He cocks his head.

Fuck! I exhale through my nose and think back a few days. My hand tingles, and I glance down at the bandage wrapped around it. I’m surprised they haven’t asked about the injury. Why the hell would this chick tell her roommate we were meeting up? That’s not true. I don’t even know her.

“I picked up my daughter from her friend’s house after work.”

“What time was that?” he interjects.

“Around seven.”

He nods.

“I had dinner with her and my wife at our home on Lake Manassas.”

“Time?” Hudson interjects again.

“Like seven thirty. Then, I drove back to DC, and I went to bed.”

“Why’d you drive to DC? Why not stay at your house with your wife and child?” Olson squints, clearly judging me.

“I have a place in the city, since I work there. Makes the commute easier when I have early meetings or I’m due in court,” I explain.

“Can anyone verify that you drove back to DC?”

“Yeah, my wife and my daughter.”

“I mean after you left. Can anyone other than yourself verify that you drove to your house in DC and stayed there all night?” she clarifies.

I press my lips firmly together and shake my head. “No, I was alone.”

“Speaking of your wife, does Sarah know about your affair?” Hudson asks.

I slide my tongue over the front of my teeth and then bite it to keep myself from laughing like a crazy person. Sarah. That evil, conniving, vengeful... This has her written all over it. My eyes flick to Hudson and then Olson and back again. How can they not see it? Her first husband, Adam, had an affair and his mistress was found murdered in cold blood. My one-night stand (because I wouldn’t constitute her as a mistress) is now missing. She’s screwing with me, has to be.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, Sarah is aware of the mistake I made.” I tilt my head, hoping they’ll see the writing on the wall.

“Sarah must be pretty pissed,” Hudson says.

There we go. I think he’s getting it. He’s putting the pieces of this fucked-up puzzle together and realizing there’s no such thing as coincidences when it comes to Sarah.

“She filed for divorce.”

“Good for her,” Olson says with a slight smirk.

I need to put an end to this. They’re connecting dots that shouldn’t be connected. I’ve given them enough of my time, probably too much of it, because if Sarah is behind this, then I may not have much of it left. She might just be trying to scare me so I’ll stop fighting the divorce, or she might have a much more sinister plan in place. I never know with her.

“Am I free to leave?” I ask.

Hudson leans back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re free to go.”

I stand, immediately heading for the door. It feels like I’ve got a clock hanging over my head, except it’s not keeping time, it’s counting down.

“Hey, Bob,” Hudson calls out just as my hand grips the handle.

I pause, glancing back at him.

“Don’t leave town.”

I give the sheriff an amused look and shake my head. “You must know you have no legal authority to enforce that.”

He smirks. “I’m well aware. But I also know that you know exactly what that means.”

Blood starts to pool in my face, so I leave before my temper gets the best of me.

And yeah, I know what that fucking means. It means I’m their number one suspect.