Page 10 of Devil's Iris
Better. Much better.
“Tell me about your relationship with the victim. Where did you meet him? How did your friendship develop? Then you can tell me in excruciating detail everything that happened the night he died.Nothingis irrelevant. What you think might not be important could be the very key I need to save your sorry ass. Do you understand?”
Another frantic nod. “Yes, sir. Hank and I met freshman year in college. He was a cute guy, and I could tell he was into me too, even though he was still in the closet like I was. We could just tell, you know? And we clicked instantly.”
Ahh, so they were lovers. Does the prosecution suspect this? Both parties went to great lengths to keep their sexuality hidden, so that must be the last thing on their radar. Still, I’ll need to check and make sure they’re not sniffing around that angle.
I wave at him to keep going.
“We were together for two years, and no one ever suspected. But then last summer, he started dating this girl. I was dating a girl too, but he was really serious about this particular one. He wouldn’t tell me anything about her, which was weird—we always shared details about our fake relationships. He was pulling away from me and falling for her. Icould tell. We had a lot of arguments, and last week, he said he wanted to break up. He wanted to break up withme, not her. Said he wanted to come clean to her about everything. Betray me and expose my identity? I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So you killed him?”
He jerks his head up and shifts in his seat, glancing around my office like the walls might be listening. “Should you ask me that?”
“You need to trust me for me to help you. This office is as private and secure as it gets. Nothing you say leaves this room.”
“Okay, well, I didn’t mean to… hurt him. We had the worst argument of our lives. He said I was being selfish, which was crazy because I’ve never been selfish with him. And one thing led to another, and it just…happened.”
Right. It just happened. Along with erasing the security footage of him going into Hank’s apartment that evening and conveniently establishing an alibi at a bar. He might not have consciously wanted to kill his lover, but he was proactive enough to think about protecting his freedom. His head certainly wasn’t crowded with grief.
I study him for a moment, then get up from the desk. “That will be all for today. Go straight home and don’t leave your apartment unless it’s for the court appearance.”
“What? But I have a fraternity party this weekend that Ihaveto go to and?—”
“Mr. Turner,” I cut in sharply, “do you understand the gravity of your crime? Someone isdeadand every piece of evidence points directly at you.” Because you killed him, you little fucker. “The detectives who arrested you, the prosecutors—they’re going all in. They want you locked up for life. Now, I’ll do my job and get you an acquittal, butyoualso need to do your part. That means looking like you’re mourning the sudden loss of your friend. Looking devastated that anyone could evenimagineyou had anything to do with his death. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he grumbles.
“If the prosecutor so much as catches a whiff of you going out to party and have fun, it’s going to make my job extremely difficult,” I stress each word. “And when my job gets difficult, your life gets impossible.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll stay inside until it’s all over. Ugh.”
Spoiled little brat. “Good. You may go.”
He gets to his feet without another word and leaves my office. I sink into my chair with a sigh, and now that I’m alone, the little troublemaker I've been trying to ignore pops right back into my head.
Coppery–gold hair. Storm-gray eyes. Smart mouth.
She hasn’t called me yet. Playing hard to get? Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t get her name that night. She’s been clogging up my thoughts ever since, and I’m not ashamed to admit I rubbed one out last night hoping it would purge her from my system. No such luck.
Perhaps I should go back to the station and try to pry her name out of those fucking cops.
There’s a short knock and my office door cracks open. Mason, one of the best paralegals on my team, walks in. “You asked me to come in once the client leaves.”
“Yes.” Great timing too. “I need you to get me everything the prosecution has submitted regarding the Eric Turner case, as well as information on the judge presiding over the case.”
Mason salutes. “On it.”
As he turns to leave, my phone rings. Sandro. I groan as I answer, already knowing what he wants to say.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten Senator DeMarco’s campaign dinner this evening,” he says in lieu of a hello.
Sandro isn’t quite my secretary or personal assistant. He’s more like my right-hand man. He oversees everything about mybusinesses—both the legal and illegal sides—and keeps track of schedules so they don’t overlap.
“How could I?” My tone is dry. “It’s all you’ve talked about for the past week.”
“Because his secretary keeps sending mefriendlyreminders every damn day. Apparently, the senator wants to introduce you to someone important. I’m betting it’s his daughter. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about wanting you as his son-in-law.”
