that was the opening he needed. "To start, you said Mr. Jenkins pushed you down the stairs. He has provided an alibi for that evening. Providing false statements to the police is illegal, Ms. White."
He watched her mind spin. The expressions that ran over her face were almost comical. "I didn't press charges, so you got nothing."
"But why would you lie to us?" Kallie performed the hurt cop act pretty damn well.
Cynthia shrugged. "It’s none of your business what happened to me."
"Well, that's wrong, but it's also okay, because we know what happened." Brock leaned back in his chair and watched the woman. She narrowed her eyes and her gaze flipped from Kallie to him and then back again. "What is he talking about?"
Brock leaned forward, continuing to stare at her.
"Did you talk to Dawson? Is that what this is about? You had to, right, because he has an alibi? Well that's bullshit. The man lies. All the time he lies."
"And that flu he had? That was a lie?" Kallie asked quietly.
"He got into a fight." Cynthia leaned back into the chair.
"How do you know that? You said you didn't see him, that he called in."
"He told me."
"He said he didn't call you. He couldn't because you took his phone."
"I didn't take nobody's shit." Cynthia stared back at Kallie.
"Then when we search your apartment, we won't find anything?"
"Why you searching my apartment?" The woman leaned forward, but she wasn't scared. No, Brock could tell there was nothing in the apartment, but they'd still search.
"Or the office?" Kallie followed up and that's when Brock caught the first look of terror flash through the woman's eyes.
"You need a warrant, and I ain’t done nothing."
"We don't, actually. You see, your uncle has been very cooperative." Brock signaled Bettis to get the uncle to approve a search of the office, as in now.
"Whatever. That's like community property in there. Lots of people have keys."
"Yeah, but not Dawson."
"So?" Cynthia glanced at the door to the interview room.
"You can relax, Cynthia, I don't think whoever you called is going to show up. They are leaving you dangling here, all by yourself. You see, we know your uncle owns part of that warehouse. We know you went to the warehouse and sent Dawson away after you got him to call Samuel to the warehouse. We've spoken to everyone who was there that night and all fingers are pointing to you."
"That's bullshit." Cynthia's eyes darted to the door again.
"No, it isn't. You killed Samuel Treyson. You slit his throat."
"No! No, I didn't! I didn't kill no one! I got proof. I got video. Treyson begged, but that bastard killed him. I was supposed to be gone, but I waited. I wanted to see what he did. I can give you the video. I wanted money. That bastard told me he'd give me money. Then after, he laughed at me. He told me if I said a word to anyone, he'd kill me. Slowly. He has enough money; he can do it." Cynthia shook her head. "I didn't do nothing. Hell yeah, I'll tell you who did it."
The door to the interview room opened and Brock swung his attention from Cynthia to the man standing in the doorway. Well, shit just got interesting. The lawyer from Miriam Treyson's house looked out of place in his designer suit.
"Mr. Masters, are you lost?" Brock asked as he casually stood.
"No. I'm right where I need to be. I represent Ms. White. I'm going to ask you to cease all questions at this time until I have time to talk to my client."
"We have advised her of her rights. She hasn't requested counsel."
"It is in her best interest to stop talking, now." Mr. Masters leveled a stare at the woman that would have singed the surface of the sun.
Brock swung his attention to Cynthia White. All the color had drained from her face. Her eyes were wide, and she was scared. Very scared. She shook her head from side to side. He wasn't sure if she knew she was doing it.
"It doesn't seem like she wants to talk to you."
"I've been retained to oversee her rights. You will cease questioning at this time." Masters slipped his hand in his jacket pocket in an awkward movement that set him on edge. Kallie stood and moved to his left, obviously alerted by the mannerisms, too.
Brock's eyes glanced over Masters' shoulder. Dawson had stopped in the hallway, a uniformed police officer held his arm, keeping him