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"... Wednesday," Sabrina supplied.
"Hmm. That's five days before Labor Day."
"Which is when Carson Brooks was shot." Barton fired away like a canon. "Now that's an interesting coincidence. And what were your words—that your mother was protecting you? I'm sure she was, not to mention protecting her elderly, vulnerable, and socially connected parents, too. The question is, to what extreme would she go to do that?"
Sabrina felt as if she'd been punched in the gut as the detectives' deplorable, utterly insane intimation struck home. They had to be kidding. They couldn't possibly believe...
"Ms. Radcliffe?" It was Detective Whitman addressing her, but this time that calm, even tone did nothing to cool Sabrina's rage. "Are you all right?"
Ice chips glittered in Sabrina's eyes. "No, I'm damned well not all right. If your partner is trying to imply that my mother is a suspect in the shooting of Carson Brooks, then he's lost his mind, I'm sickened, and this meeting is over." She started to get up.
"We're not implying anything," Whitman quickly refuted, stretching out a detaining arm. "Believe me, Ms. Radcliffe, there's a long, long list of potential suspects. Your mother's just another name on the list. We'll have to talk to her, of course, to establish her whereabouts at the time of the attack. If she was on a business trip like you said, I'm assuming she was probably with clients who can confirm her story. Also, if we determine that she had no foreknowledge of Carson Brooks's decision to find you, her motive would become more obscure. So please—don't overreact."
"I'm not the one who's overreacting," Sabrina shot back, with a pointed glare at Detective Barton. "Your partner is. I realize he wants to find the assailant. So do I. But not this way. He needs to take a few training classes at CCTL. They would improve his people skills."
Whitman's lips twitched. "We'll keep that in mind. Won't we, Frank?"
Barton scowled. "Yeah. Right."
"Let me ask you a question now." Sabrina was sticking her nose where it didn't belong, and she knew it. But with the detectives backpedaling to try to appease her, she had the upper hand—for a brief time. "What's the situation between you and Dylan Newport? Why is there so much animosity?"
"Why? Has he said something?" Whitman's comeback was whip-quick, although her expression remained nondescript.
Sabrina had definitely struck a nerve. "He doesn't need to. It's obvious. What I can't figure out is the basis for it. Did you grill him the way you grilled me? Is that what pissed him off so much? Or are you hassling people he thinks are innocent?"
"We grill everyone, Ms. Radcliffe," Barton said tightly. "This is an attempted murder, not a petty theft. As to whether s
omeone's innocent or guilty, time will tell. Time and a thorough investigation. Who knows what Newport's problem is? Some people get riled up when we get close to the truth. Especially if uncovering that truth means wrecking their efforts, their freedom, their future—or all three."
Sabrina blinked in stupefied amazement. "You can't possibly mean you think Dylan shot Carson?"
"I didn't say that"
"You didn't have to." This guy was really starting to get on her nerves. "Let's stop playing games, Detective. You're implying that Dylan's a suspect—not a random name on a very long list, but a prime suspect," Sabrina amended. "Why?"
She was greeted with silence.
"Need I remind you that I'm Carson Brooks's daughter," Sabrina heard herself say. "I'm entitled to know the status of the investigation."
Whitman's brows rose. "You certainly took on your new role in a hurry."
"I improvise quickly."
"That's an understatement. Okay, look, we have nothing concrete to tell you. Let's just say that Mr. Newport was the only other person we can place in the building at the time of the shooting, and that he would benefit big-time if Mr. Brooks weren't around."
"Financially, you mean." Sabrina shook her head in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how much Carson means to him? How far back they go? The life Carson yanked him out of?"
"We do." Whitman leaned forward with interest. "Evidently, so do you. You know a great deal about Mr. Newport considering you two just met."
"We had an hour's plane ride to talk. I'm nosy. I ask a lot of questions. And I'm a very good judge of character. Dylan Newport is tough, arrogant, street-smart and book-smart. You might even be able to add manipulative to that list. The jury's still out on that one. But his feelings for Carson are as real as they come. He'd never harm the man, much less for money. And he'd certainly never be stupid enough to do it in a situation where every drop of circumstantial evidence would point at him."
"I doubt you realize what Carson Brooks is worth. The thought of inheriting that kind of wealth entices even the most noble of people to commit criminal acts. As for the poor choice of timing, I agree. But time wasn't on Mr. Newport's side, not when Carson Brooks had already clued him in to the fact that he was launching a search for you. To be more precise, he didn't just clue him in. He confided in him—and only him—then asked for his help. Talk about waving a red flag. If you turned up, a genuine heir, that could change everything, especially the allocation of assets to an outsider, no matter how dear. The prospect is enough to push a smart, cautious man into taking dumb, reckless risks."
"Nice theory." Sabrina looked from one detective to the other. "Where's the proof?"
"If we had proof, he'd be in custody," Barton replied.
"Right." This time when Sabrina got to her feet, she wasn't going to be stopped. "No wonder he's bent out of shape. Not only do you think he tried to kill a man he loves like a father, he's probably afraid that since you have him all but in handcuffs, you're not exactly busting your tails to find the real shooter."
