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“Oh, I can fix that.” Kit put the plastic sack on the table in front of Evans. “I brought you a sandwich and a bottle of water. Please help yourself.”
Sam sighed. “I bet that was Kit’s lunch.”
“Probably,” Navarro said with a shake of his head.
“Thank you.” Only very slightly mollified, Evans took a bite from the sandwich. “What do you want to know, Detective?” she asked once she’d swallowed.
“Well, for starters, why did you kill Frankie Flynn?”
Evans’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”
“Why did you kill Frankie Flynn?” Kit repeated patiently.
“I…I didn’t.” Evans lurched to her feet. “I’m not sitting here and listening to this for another second.”
“Sit down, Miss Evans,” Kit commanded, her sweet demeanor gone. “Now. Because we know you’ve been stealing from Shady Oaks’s operating fund. We know you’ve been meeting Kent Crawford. We know that he was stealing from Shady Oaks, and we know he’s dead. Connect the dots, ma’am, and you get a picture of you killing both Flynn and Crawford.”
Miss Evans paled, sinking back on the chair. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she whispered.
“But you did steal,” Connor said kindly.
Sam guessed Kit got to be the bad cop this time. It suited her better.
Evans shook her head, but it was unconvincing. “You don’t have evidence. If you did, you’d have already arrested me.”
“Were you having an affair with Crawford?” Kit demanded, ignoring Evans’s very rational point. Adler’s word alone wasn’t good enough. They didn’t have enough to arrest her. Yet.
Sam hoped the search of Evans’s home would yield something immediately useful.
Beside him, Navarro glanced at his phone. “Detective Marshall found a printed copy of that article about Benny Dreyfus’s coins in Evans’s home office, dated last Wednesday.”
“The same day Devon said that Crawford asked about the coins,” Sam murmured.
Navarro nodded. “Exactly. Marshall also woke her computer up and looked at her browser history.”
Goddard sniffed. “She didn’t have it password protected? Amateurs. What had she been checking?”
“How to sell coins,” Navarro said dryly.
“This is almost too easy,” Goddard complained.
“Hush,” Joel admonished. “I can’t hear.”
“—was not having an affair with Kent Crawford,” Evans was insisting shrilly.
Kit tapped her tablet, then turned it so that Evans could see. “This you standing in the lobby of the Excelsior Hotel with Kent Crawford last month?”
Evans’s mouth opened again, then closed. She shook her head mutely.
Kit leaned in. “It’s not you? Do you have an evil twin, Miss Evans? And that wasn’t a serious question. You have no sister. I checked. This is you. You used your own credit card to pay for incidentals. Crawford paid for the room with the credit card attached to his offshore account.”
Sam smiled. “She was busy while we were eating lunch.”
“She was,” Navarro agreed. “But to be fair, I assigned a few of the other detectives to cross-check the dates of those weird emails between Evans and Crawford with Crawford’s offshore bank account. One of them turned up the photo from the hotel.”
That didn’t matter. The photo was now in Kit’s hands and she was very good at interrogating. Sam knew that from personal experience.
“You and Crawford had a standing appointment,” Kit went on. “First Tuesday of every month.”
