“Mena, don’t answer that question,” Octavia interjected.
Detective Francois smirked. “Julian Montgomery got a multi-million-dollar payday from saving an African heiress’s life, but he couldn’t use his normal contacts to exact revenge. That would be too obvious. So, you reached out to your unemployed former assistant and offered her a chance to make some quick money, didn’t you?”
“No, that’s not true,” Mena shook her head.
“Despite the fact that some of the most horrific moments of your life happened at the Genesis Gallery, you quickly agreed to work there again. I’m supposed to believe that had nothing to do with the new owner. Beaujean Ali is a money launderer and financial crimes expert trained by the PC-5. What better person to work for than a man that could help lay the groundwork for Julian’s plan to exact his vigilante revenge on Priscilla Dumay, isn’t that right?”
Octavia interrupted. “Do not answer that! Detective Francois, you’re tossing a lot of accusations at my client. Is it your plan to arrest Mena Nix for any crimes this evening?”
“Tavie, I have phone records that show Mena called Uma Fischer within a few hours before she went to the bank to withdraw money for the bribes. The next call from Mena to Uma came a couple of days later, which happened to coincide with the day Uma showed up on Farouk Essa’s porch to pay him,” Detective Francois said.
“That doesn’t answer the question, Des,” Octavia said.
“Your client is free to go ... for now. I shouldn’t need to say this, but I will. Don’t leave the island.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t do any of those crazy things you’re accusing me of and neither did Julian,” Mena said standing. “I want you to find Uma because when you do, she’ll tell you exactly what I’ve told you. I’m not sure what’s going on with her and Priscilla and these bribes, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“Your evidence is weak, Des. Conjecture, assumptions and hearsay. It proves nothing,” Octavia said, gathering her purse and briefcase from the floor. “You’re wasting time investigating the wrong people. Put your efforts where they belong and figure out who was really behind these bribes and the attack on Priscilla Dumay.”
The door to the interrogation room opened with a loud thud.
“Des, there’s been an attack outside Tiverton,” Kendrick said, rushing inside. “Three masked unidentified perps hijacked a water ambulance docked at the prison. The Chief wants you out there with the PIIB since the inmate abducted in the attack was--”
Kendrick paused. Mena stared into the detective’s eyes. Heart racing, she could barely breathe as he frowned at her.
“Mena? What are you doing here?” Kendrick asked, then glanced over at Octavia.
Mena tried to remain calm, forcing the panic away. “You said an inmate was abducted. Which inmate?”
Kendrick shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Mena. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“Who was it?” Mena screamed.
Kendrick pinched the bridge of his nose and said the one name Mena prayed he wouldn’t.
“Julian.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Julian grunted in pain, his hand clenching the thin mattress of the cot as two prison guards rushed him past the crowd of gawking inmates. Both of his wrists were handcuffed to the rails of the stretcher, preventing him from checking the stab wound himself.
“What the hell happened out there?” The head of prison security ran a hand over the bald spot of his head, eyes darting across the yard as he approached them.
The gurney slowed to a stop in front of the head of security. He lifted Julian’s shirt and cursed under his breath. “Nasty gash.”
Straining to lift his head, Julian glanced at his wound through blurred vision. Blood coursed down his side, dripping onto the grass.
“Webber got Montgomery with a shiv, but Montgomery attacked him first,” the guard said, breathing heavily as he gave the cot a shove to get it moving again. A second guard jogged along the side of Julian with one hand gripping the side railing and the other resting against his assault rifle.
“Damn it! Again? How the hell is he getting this past you guys?” the head of security asked.
The jogging guard shrugged, then trudged ahead.
The doors to the prison opened. The gurney shot over the lip of the entrance, bumping over the uneven terrain. A sharp pang shot through his abdomen. Julian let out a low growl. The guards didn’t bother to check on him as they maneuvered the cot down the hallway.
“Where’s Webber now?” the head of security asked.
“Headed to solitary,” the guard behind Julian responded as he steered the gurney down another long hallway that led to the infirmary. Moments later, the cot rolled to a stop inside the cramped room that served as the clinic for the inmates.
