Stanton’s face reddened. She switched tactics, less bravado was called for. She was sensitive to his frustration, didn’t want to anger him. Besides, this was about his childhood friend who had been murdered. And this wasn’t his department; Riverside Homicide Detectives and the Indio PD had to take over, and that must irk him.
“Let’s see what Detective Quimby has to say,” Dena said, and smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, a little chat, perhaps.
Stanton narrowed his eyes.
Detective Quimby entered the room, his face serious. “Ah, Ms. Roman, I’m glad you came in. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Dena’s heart rate kicked up another notch. “Oh, you mean because I was shot at?”
He frowned, looked at her with cool gray eyes that matched his hair color. “I’d like to hear your reasons for being on the restricted hotel grounds.”
Fair enough.
Stanton smirked.
Dena ignored him and followed Quimby to a small room. She sat opposite him and toyed with her handbag while he shuffled his papers and opened a notebook.
She took a swift look around. There was nothing personal about the room. A large dark gray metal desk, two chairs, pale gray walls and windows that faced the long narrow corridor. If Quimby had chosen a gray suit instead of the navy blue one, he’d have blended right in.
She’d tell him only what he asked. Only what he needed to know. He picked up a pen and held her gaze.
“Dena. May I call you Dena?”
She nodded.
“You do understand it’s a criminal offence to violate a crime scene?”
Dena nodded again and swallowed hard.
“I can overlook this incident if you tell me the truth. Why you were there. What you mean to Zeke Cabrera, and to Three C’s—”
“I can do that,” Dena said, and her voice came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Okay, see, the first victim, Carli Jarvis, she was my sister.”
Quimby scribbled something on his pad without even looking at it. In fact his eyes never left hers for a single moment. Did the guy even blink? Dena shifted in her chair.
Five minutes later she’d spilled her guts, even told Quimby about someone taking a couple of shots at her car. She smoothed both hands over her hair, and blinked away what she was sure was a dazed look. He was good. Damn good. She’d practically given him the account number of her IRA.
“Thank you, Ms. Roman, I think I have what I need.” Quimby closed his notebook. “I’ll have an officer take a look at your car. We’ll make a separate report on that.”
“Has Zeke’s statement been taken?” Dena asked.
“I’ll check. You can wait out front.”
Quimby left the room and Dena grabbed her purse and scurried back to the waiting area. What if her and Zeke’s statements didn’t match? She sat down on one of the hard chairs, grabbed a magazine and fanned herself. Even though the magazine was about bicycling and all of the gear that went along with the sport, she flipped through it. She’d read anything to avoid the interest of Stanton and the two officers.
Had she made things worse for Zeke? She’d told the truth. There was no way she’d lie or be evasive when a police officer questioned her. This morning was different. Stanton was out of line, so it hadn’t mattered then. Had it? She thought long and hard on that one. Quimby hadn’t been fazed when he found out Carli was her sister and she wondered why.
A moment later she slapped her forehead. Thank goodness she’d been effusively honest. She’d bet they’d identified her through her car license plate. It had been parked in Zeke’s driveway. How about that? They knew all about her.
Ten minutes later, Zeke’s mouth was set in a stern line as he strode down the hall and into the front office of the Indio PD. Dena fell in step beside him as they walked outside, careful not to touch him for fear he’d push her away. Had Quimby told him who she was?
“I’ll handle the reporters,” she said, and indicated the few who lounged around outside the glass doors.
If this had been L.A. there’d have been dozens lined up and trucks and camera crews everywhere. She got Zeke through the half-dozen reporters and photographers who lazily called out questions. When he muttered a quick aside that was far from complimentary, she shot him a warning glance.
“Mr. Cabrera will not give any interviews,” she said, and gripped his elbow. “Please respect that he