Sweet Anger(12)
She wrenched her arm free, but his hand flattened wide on the door. His arm was held ramrod straight and had the support of his hard body behind it. She couldn’t open the door against such strength. Furious, she glared up at him.
“Sit down,” he ordered softly. “I have some questions to ask you. You may have an attorney present if you wish.”
Her chin went up. “Certainly not. I have nothing to hide and neither did Thomas.”
“Then you won’t mind answering a few questions,” he said smoothly.
She had backed herself into a corner and the only way to save face was to brazen it out. Forcibly she relaxed her posture but not her hostility. “What do you want to know?”
“Will you sit down? Please.” He was all kindness and good manners again. He placed his palm beneath her elbow, but she jerked it away. She returned to the chair under her own power and rigidly sat down on its edge.
He returned to his chair behind the desk and consulted his files. “Did Mr. Wynne ever travel to San Francisco?”
“I don’t remember,” she said flippantly.
His brows lowered. He peered at her from behind the lenses of his glasses and she knew the first taste of fear. He was serious about this. “Did he?” he repeated.
She swallowed. “Yes. Occasionally.”
“How often?”
“That’s hard to say.”
Again she was subjected to a hard suspicious stare. “Why?”
“How often is often?” she cried. Judging from his impassive expression that he still wasn’t satisfied, she said on a long-suffering sigh, “He traveled to San Francisco with some frequency.”
“Can you name specific dates?”
“Of course not! Thomas had many business interests. I didn’t keep track of them.”
“He traveled extensively?”
She made a hopeless gesture with her hands. “I suppose you could say that. He went out of town twice or three times a month. Do you consider that extensive?”
He didn’t answer her question, but fired another of his own. “To San Francisco, New Orleans, New York, Puerto Rico?”
“Yes, maybe, I guess so. As I said, I didn’t keep track.”
“You never knew where your husband was when he went out of town?”
Her lips narrowed angrily and her eyes flashed at him. “Yes, I knew. He called me every night when he was away.”
She thought McKee muttered something vulgar under his breath, but she couldn’t be sure. He was riffling through the papers in the file. “Do you have any idea what your husband’s annual income was?”
“No.”
His head came up. “No idea?”
“I know we didn’t lack for anything. We lived well. But I had my own bank account.”
“Money that he gave you?”
“Money that I earned,” she snapped. “Are you done, Mr. McKee?”
“With you, yes. I only wanted to know if you were privy to your husband’s dishonesty.”
Hot color surged to her cheeks as she jumped out of her chair. “He was not dishonest.”
Hunter, too, got to his feet and leaned across the desk to speak directly to her. “I have the documentation. I’ll get a conviction on the other two with or without your help. I’d appreciate your help, though. If you could remember dates, names—”
“Go to hell,” she said, whirling away from him and storming toward the door.
He went after her, this time managing to wedge himself between her and the door to block off her escape. She was quaking with fury. How dare he accuse a man like Thomas Wynne of something as despicable as misusing public funds!
“Let me call a court reporter to take your deposition,” he said. “If it’s as you say and you don’t know anything, then that will be that.”
“I don’t want to be any part of your shoddy investigation, Mr. McKee.”
“Like it or not, as Wynne’s widow, you’re already a part of it.”
“A wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband.”
“Your husband isn’t on trial. His co-conspirators are. Tell me what you know and I won’t bother you again.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then testify to that in a deposition. However, you might know more than you’re aware of, some small fact that you consider insignificant. Let me ask you some pertinent questions.”
“Forget it. I’m leaving.” She fumbled near her hip for the doorknob.
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand hard against his chest. “Then I’ll have to subpoena you. You’ll have to testify in court.”
“I’m sure you won’t shirk your duty, Mr. McKee.” Ineffectually she tugged on her imprisoned wrist.