Cold as Ice, page 8
This was a power play by the detective and she had overplayed her hand.
Torgerson waited.
Darby said nothing.
Elliot smiled. “No comment.”
Torgerson’s expression tightened, then her phone buzzed and she rose to her feet. “Excuse me a moment, I need to take this. Detective Torgerson is stepping out of the interview room at 7:16 PM.” She turned off the recorder.
“You’re doing great, Darby. Keep it up.” Elliot smiled at her.
Before she had time to relax the woman was back with a gleam in her eye. She started the interview recording equipment again.
“Do you own a hunting knife, Ms. O’Roarke?”
Darby was about to shake her head then paused. “I have one at my dad’s cabin out in the bush.” The thought of her father hearing about this tore her up inside. She’d already shaved a decade off his life last summer.
“So, you’re familiar with knives?”
Darby had already told the woman she and her father hunted for their food. The nearest supermarket was a flight away so knowing how to field dress a kill was vitally important. She went with sarcasm instead. “I use them every day to eat my food, Detective.”
“Hunting knives?” Torgerson pressed without the slightest hint of humor.
Elliot leaned forward over the table. “This is Alaska. Everyone who grows up here knows how to use a hunting knife. What’s your point?”
Torgerson thrust a photograph across the table. Darby glanced at it. “Have you ever seen this knife before?”
A large, black-handled hunting knife with a lethal point and razor edge.
Her mouth went dry. “N-no. But I presume it’s the knife used to kill Martin?”
The detective didn’t budge from her stony-faced interrogation. “And you never touched Martin Carstairs’s body?”
“No,” Darby said firmly. “I didn’t touch Martin or the knife.”
The detective leaned forward, and undisguised relish lit up her features. “Then how do you explain us finding your fingerprints all over the murder weapon?”
The blood drained from Darby’s head and she swayed unsteadily in her chair.
“My client has nothing further to say.”
Detective Torgerson’s mouth slid into a sneer. “She doesn’t need to say a damn thing. We have her for this and it will only go better for her if she confesses now. You know it and I know it. The DA might offer her a deal if she fesses up and stops wasting our time.”
“Like I said, Detective,” Elliot’s tone was thick with frost, “my client doesn’t remember everything that took place last night. I want a copy of all the evidence and toxicology reports and the postmortem examination as soon as you have them. And now I’d like to consult with Ms. O’Roarke. Alone, please.”
The detective rolled her eyes.
Darby sat frozen on the chair. Reality crashed around her. She’d done this. She’d killed Martin. “I need to use the bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chapter Eight
Darby’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon.
Eban strode out of the viewing room and headed to the bullpen, intending to go outside and freak the fuck out somewhere people wouldn’t notice. He felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs, as if his entire world had imploded.
Darby’s prints were on the weapon.
He wanted to yell in anguish and frustration.
Officer Robertson stood talking to another man whom Eban recognized as the evidence tech from the afternoon. Allan caught his eye and waved Eban over. Eban hesitated but then forced himself to go talk to the other men.
“Hear the good news? We got a positive on the suspect’s fingerprints on the handle of the murder weapon.”
“I heard.” His voice was rough as sandpaper. The revelation had hit him like a sucker punch. Nausea swelled inside him. He couldn’t tell Quentin or Haley this terrible news. Didn’t know how he’d be able to face Darby, knowing he’d let her down. Couldn’t handle the thought of her going to prison.
He cleared his throat. “Do you have a copy of the report?”
Allan shook his head. “Not yet. Lab tech called to say she’d emailed the preliminary results to the detective. Said she’d fax the entire thing over when she had a moment.”
The fax machine chose that second to start receiving a message and Eban strode over to it and impatiently waited for it to finish spitting out paper before he pulled out the report. He placed it on a nearby desk where he and Allan stared down at the evidence that could take Darby away from him for years. He hadn’t even realized exactly how much she meant to him until he’d lost her, this time possibly forever.
His vision started to gray. He was in danger of passing out. He braced his hands on the desk to hold himself up.
“That’s odd.” Allan frowned thoughtfully at one sheet of paper.
Eban blinked. “What is?”
His communication skills had been obliterated by a grief he couldn’t reveal. He might have lost everything he hadn’t even realized he wanted.
Allan scratched his shaven head and pointed at the image. “I didn’t see the victim, but I did notice how tiny the suspect is.”
Eban frowned at the images. He wasn’t getting it.
“Look at her grip.” Allan demonstrated holding his right hand out thumb pointed up. “If I wrap my hand around a knife the way is indicated here, with the partial thumb print being found near the guard, then I’d be stabbing someone with an upward jab.”
Eban stared at the knife and then remembered the photos of the victim. He held out his cell with an image of the dead man. “Martin Carstairs was killed from above with a downward thrust.” Eban noticed another thing. “Plus, that’s her right handprint on the knife. I happen to know Darby O’Roarke is left-handed.”
Allan’s brows hiked and they exchanged a look.
Relief rose through Eban in a wave that rocked him. Darby hadn’t killed Martin, but someone had. And they’d set up Darby to take the fall.
Who the hell would do that? Who would try to terrorize this woman knowing what she’d already suffered? Someone vindictive and cruel. Someone as cold as ice.
There had to be evidence or a witness who could identify the real culprit. “Did you talk to the neighbors?”
“Not yet.”
Detective Torgerson came into the bullpen and took high-fives from the other patrol officers who’d obviously heard the news about the prints being found on the murder weapon. The department thought this sealed their case.
Allan stared glumly at the others.
“Are you going to tell her, or am I?” Eban asked quietly.
“You?” Allan said hopefully.
Eban grinned at the other guy. “It was your work, your attention to detail.”
“I’d rather grapple with an injured grizzly bear than tell Torgerson and the boss we have the wrong person.”
Eban understood, but he wanted to step back from anything to do with evidence. Perception was everything when it came to the law. He wouldn’t risk tainting it, especially evidence that should free Darby. “It’ll look good on your record when you apply for your detective’s shield.”
Allan let out a huff. “They only need so many detectives in Fairbanks and we already have three.”
“You don’t have to stay in Fairbanks forever, do you? You could apply to join the FBI.” Eban wasn’t sucking up to the guy. Officer Robertson was a good cop. Observant and motivated. Eban had been a State Trooper when he’d applied to the Bureau. “I’ll put in a good word for you with the recruitment office if that’s what you want.”
Allan’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that?”
“Definitely.” Eban nodded. The Bureau needed more good agents like this man who examined the evidence rather than looked for clues to support his case. “But first you have to endure the wrath of your colleagues when you burn down their case.”
Allan whispered a curse then straightened to his impressive height. “We need to figure out who murdered that young man.”
“Yeah, we do,” Eban agreed. “And why they set up an innocent woman to take the fall.”
He watched Allan walk over to his colleagues and saw him pointing out the inconsistencies with the print. The people there all practiced holding imaginary knives and stabbing imaginary victims, and their expressions all started to mirror Robertson’s. Eban watched Torgerson remain unconvinced as she argued with her boss, but the man looked shaken. It was purely a matter of time until Darby was released. He knew it. She knew it.
Eban glanced at his watch and headed outside to his rental. The release paperwork was going to take time. The detective was going to fight tooth and nail to keep Darby incarcerated.
Soon he’d call Quentin, who would talk to Haley, who would call the shark from Anchorage, who at this moment was striding across the parking lot to his shiny black Lexus with a somber expression on his face.
Eban planned to keep a low profile so he could help figure this out. Who had framed Darby for murder? And why? First, he needed an hour or two so he could make necessary preparations. He needed to know Darby was safe—and where safer than in the local jail? She’d be released later tonight. That attorney better make damn sure of it.
Eban drove across town. He couldn’t think about the fact she’d been unconscious at a killer’s mercy and was lucky to be alive. Not yet anyway. Not until he had her safely in his care. The killer wouldn’t know the cops were going to release her and Eban planned to make it as difficult as possible for that person to figure out where she was staying afterwards.
Which meant packing up all the things Darby might need for the foreseeable future.
He parked and climbed out into the Arctic breeze, strode across the parking lot of Darby’s apartment building. He pressed the buzzer for the building manager and tucked his bare hands into his sleeves. Frostbite was a definite danger, especially now the sun had gone down.
“Hello?”
“This is the FBI. I’d like to look at Ms. O’Roarke’s apartment if you don’t mind opening up.”
“I thought you guys were all finished?” said a disgruntled female voice. The buzzer sounded and the lock released. “She’s on the top floor. Four B. Door should be unlocked.”
Eban refrained from demanding why the woman hadn’t locked up after the cops had gone through. “Thanks.”
He took the stairs and let himself into Darby’s small two-bedroom pad. It was neat and tidy, although it was obvious where the police had been searching as they’d left drawers open and scattered her belongings.
He’d seen this place via video call many times, but he’d never been here. And he’d wanted to come, wanted to visit, wanted to start something he knew he shouldn’t. She was too vulnerable, too young, he was in a position of power that put the balance of the relationship too much in his hands. He’d helped save her and there was a danger she would see him more as a hero and less as the flawed human he really was.
The idea of having a relationship with this woman at once terrified him and made him burn. Ever since she’d propositioned him, he’d been unable to stop thinking about her and unable to think about any other woman that way.
It hit him again that for months he’d been torturing himself, making himself stay away because he’d thought that was best for Darby. And he’d been miserable. He’d been a fucking nightmare to work with even though he loved his co-workers. He’d deliberately started a fight with Charlotte’s new boyfriend because he’d thought the guy wasn’t good enough for her. In reality he’d been jealous and resentful that she was getting the happy ending she deserved whereas he was wallowing in a blackhole of loneliness, and he didn’t know how he could hold onto both his ethics and the thing he wanted most in the world.
Darby.
There was a photograph of her and Haley and Quentin stuck to the fridge. Taken at Christmas by the look of it, at the borealis observatory where they’d camped overnight in little pods. It had looked like a lot of fun. She’d asked him to come too, but he’d had to work.
He closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath.
Regrets tore through him. All the time he’d wasted.
He slipped the photograph free of the magnets that held it in place.
The problem remained that their lives were still generally incompatible. Nothing had changed. He wanted to settle down and start a family. She was pursuing her life’s dream, a Ph.D. in volcanology.
And no matter how desperately he wished things were different, she had gone through repeated trauma.
Having almost lost her, he now knew what he wanted, but he needed to be clear headed and practical about the whole thing. Urging her into a relationship at this point was unfair and she might push him away. He couldn’t risk that. Not with a killer on the prowl. The most important thing right now was making sure she was safe. She’d already suffered enough.
He snapped out of his thoughts, the same sort of concerns that had been circling in his brain and making him a morose son of a bitch for months now. Instead, he pulled a suitcase from her wardrobe and started filling it with clothing, footwear, toiletries, and anything that looked like it was something important. He picked up a planner he was surprised the cops hadn’t confiscated.
A photograph fell out. It was a picture of him. A screenshot of him laughing during one of their many calls.
The fact she’d kept this even though he’d repeatedly told her they could only ever be friends tore him up. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he knew he had.
He swore to himself. He was wasting time again.
He grabbed an ereader. An iPad. Camera. Chargers. A few textbooks and papers on her desk. He found her passport in a drawer, her birth certificate, other official documents. Along with the photo of Quentin and Haley, he grabbed a framed picture of her and her dad smiling at her graduation and slid them all into another bag.
Eban checked the small bathroom for meds and more basics and tossed everything into a washbag.
A noise in another room had him freezing.
“Armed FBI agent through here in the bedroom,” he shouted. Getting shot by a cop taken by surprise was not on his to-do list. He headed toward the living room but heard the front door slam.
He put his hand on his Glock as he checked the peephole and then opened the door and looked quickly in both directions.
“Hey, you there. FBI. Stop!”
A young woman froze in the act of running away. Eban strode down the corridor toward her and she spun around, clutching her arms in a cross against her chest. She was dressed for the outdoors. Snow boots. Down jacket. Woolen hat. Mitts tucked under her arm.
“Name?”
“Lenny.” She swallowed. “Leonora Serkoak.”
“You have any ID, Lenny?” He didn’t recall Darby ever mentioning a Lenny.
“Sure. Sure.” She reached into her pocket and he watched her carefully, hoping she wasn’t about to pull a knife or gun on him.
“What are you doing here?”
She pulled out her wallet and flashed her driver’s license. “I came to grab one of Darby’s books.” Her mouth opened and closed as if to say more but she refrained.
“You have Darby’s permission to take her books?”
“Er, no, not exactly, but I know she wouldn’t mind. We lend each other things all the time and it’s not like…” She swallowed noisily again.
Eban made his expression and stance less intimidating. “Not like?” He knew what she was going to say but made himself move beyond the anger into a place where he could get answers.
“Not like she’ll need it in prison.”
Prison? Darby hadn’t even spent the night in jail yet and this woman had her locked up in prison.
“You’re friends?” he softened his tone.
“Yes, well, kind of. We both work in the Volcanology section at the Geophysical Institute. I only started this September and we have different supervisors, but we hang out with the same group of people.”
“You have a key?” He noticed she clutched one in her one hand.
She shook her head. “Davis and Stef—two other students from the Institute—live in this building and have a key to her place that they said I could borrow. Darby has a key to their place too.”
Good to know. “You want to come look for that book now?”
She licked her lips. Shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll come back another time.”
“Actually, you won’t be able to without Darby’s explicit approval. I’m going to need that key.” He made sure his creds were visible when he made the request. “So, it’s now or never.” He was more interested in observing this woman’s behavior than letting her take anything.
She shook her head again and reluctantly handed over the key. “Davis and Stef are going to kill me.” She blanched at her words then backed away before turning and half jogging down the hallway to the stairs.
Eban went back to Darby’s apartment and added Lenny, Davis and Stef to his list of suspects. Inside, he gathered up the bags of Darby’s belongings. Did he have everything she might need? He had no idea, but they could buy anything he’d missed.
He made sure to lock the deadbolt so the apartment was secure when he left. He didn’t want anyone else wandering into her space and who knew when Darby would be back?
He checked the time. There was one more thing he wanted to do before he went back to the police department and picked up Darby. But he didn’t have a lot of time.
* * *
Darby sat in a jail cell that had a cot and a stainless-steel toilet with no seat. The room smelled like a public restroom. A camera was mounted on the wall. No matter how desperately she needed to pee the idea of strangers watching her use the facilities felt like yet another humiliation. An underscoring of a life spiraling out of control before crashing to rock bottom.
She rested her forehead in the palms of her hands and stared at the rubberized gray floor. At least she was alone.
How was this her existence now? She’d gone from beginning to find her place in the world again, to being arrested on suspicion of murder, read her rights, fingerprints taken and booked. Ironic that she thought she’d already lived through the worst nightmare imaginable. Apparently, there were layers to hell. She’d been naive to believe otherwise.
