“Do you defend my honor?”
“Well I will, starting tonight.”
“You still want to go through with it?” I ask.
“Do you?”
I bridge the gap between us and kiss him. “More than anything.”
And we prove our sentiments on the table.
Later, he leaves while I gussy myself up for the cameras. When I get into the office, Cam and Kowalski sit behind their desks reading files and Harry’s door is closed when I saunter in. The press statement is on the top of my desk, and after a quick glance I push it aside. This is a happy zone and insipid writing is not allowed.
“Jesus Christ, are you actually smiling?” Cam asks.
I guess I am. I stop. “I got a good night’s sleep.”
“Naw, that’s an ‘I got laid’ smile,” Cam says. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“His name is Mr. Rabbit and I met him at my local sex shop, okay?”
Cam grimaces. “Girl, I know you’re my partner and all, but sometimes you over share.”
“You asked.”
“I will never do it again.” He leans back in his chair. “You ready to face the cameras again?”
“Never,” I say. “But I will. Anything come up last night?”
“The dead guard’s wife is on her way in. The accountants found something interesting an hour ago.”
“He had a secret bank account?”
“In Switzerland of all places. The transfers originated from an account in the Caymans, so we can’t get the name of the person who holds that account.”
“Naturally,” I say. “I told you.”
“Fat lot of good it does us. The man’s dead. He can’t tell us jack.”
“True, but I was still right. Makes me feel better.”
A middle-aged woman with short hair, glasses, and suburban chic clothes is escorted in by Mirabelle. She’s nervous, glancing around the room like a skittish mouse. I guess I’d be the same if I was dragged out of bed and more or less strong-armed by the police to come in. She’s gonna need a friend. Kowalski gets up and joins his partner.
“Who’s handling the interview?” I ask.
“Kowalski and Mirabelle,” Cam says. “They got here before we did.”
Damn that irresistible Harry. Almost makes the orgasm not worth it. Almost. I stand up. “I need coffee,” I say, standing up.
“They’re not going to let you in there,” Cam calls as I walk away.
“Yes, they will,” I shout back.
“You have a press conference!”
I ignore him. The press can wait while I do my job. Mirabelle and Kowalski are in the control room with Chip, our computer tech, while Mrs. Moore is on the monitor from Interview One. She bites her nails, on the verge of tears. Mirabelle examines the file with his partner looking over his shoulder.
The control room has four computer monitors, each hooked up to the video feed from the interview room. Like this one, all the interview rooms are the size of a prison cell and beige without windows. There’s nothing in them but two to four chairs, and a tabletop with a steel hook toward the edge in case we need to restrain someone. They’re depressing and cold for a reason. If you want out, just tell us what we want to know. I’ve gotten used to the rooms, but I don’t like spending any more time in them than I have to. Great motivator for the people on both sides of the table.
“Morning, gentlemen.”
“Fallon,” Kowalski says. “Is that the famous jacket?”
I’ve gone all black today with the silver buttons providing the only color. I run my hand over it. “Yep. But don’t worry, I’m sure yours is on its way.”
“What do you want, Fallon?” Mirabelle asks.
“We’ve worked together for years now. Thought I’d be transparent by now.”
“You are. We’re doing this interview,” Kowalski says.
“It’d be better if I did,” I say.
“Because you’re a woman?” Mirabelle asks.
“I am the face of this investigation. I chased after the villain who killed her man. I am personally trying to find her husband’s murderer.” I pause. “That and we both have boobs. It helps.”
“No,” Kowalski says.
“She’ll open up to me. Mirabelle, you just dragged her from her breakfast and fatherless children. We can do good cop/bad cop best. You scare her, I tend to the widow. You both know I’m right.”
Kowalski sighs. “She is. Fine.”
“Okay, Mirabelle go in there and just start pounding on her. I’ll come in a minute later and save her. Sound good?”
“Sounds fine,” Mirabelle says before leaving.