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CHAPTER 26
The detectives were waiting in an interview room.
Kara had imagined she would be confined in a small, cell-like cubicle with a two-way mirror, hidden cameras rolling, unseen eyes following her every move, searching for any nuance that might be at odds with what she told the authorities. She’d thought the lighting would be harsh, the ordeal nerve-wracking. She’d heard about the whole good cop/bad cop routine and had expected to be grilled, the detectives intimidating, almost bullying her into saying the wrong thing.
As it turned out, she’d watched too many movies from the 1940s and 1950s.
She was ushered into a cement block room painted a pale gray. A table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room, a line of small windows tucked near the ceiling of one wall, the opposite covered with a double row of framed headshots of police officers in full uniform.
Two officers were waiting for her.
Her stomach tightened. She tried to shake off her anxiety. She wasn’t used to being around people, and she’d avoided any contact with the police for years. Yet here she was.
Introductions were quickly made, hands shaken, and she was offered a seat opposite Detectives Cole Thomas and Aramis Johnson. A bottle of water next to an empty paper cup and carafe of coffee had been placed before her.
Thomas, a tall man in an open-collar shirt, navy sport coat and slacks, was more relaxed than his partner. He was clean shaven, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly clipped, his physique slim. His gold eyes were deep-set and intense. Hunter’s eyes. The kind that could track a small creature in a dark forest.
Johnson, his partner, was a striking woman, probably around five-seven or -eight, and exuded the confidence of a woman who was born beautiful but had to fight for every bit of respect she’d earned. Her smile was as tight as the band holding her curly hair in a sleek bun, her cheekbones prominent, her eyes so dark as to be almost black.
Kara was offered coffee and water, a soda if she wanted it, was told the conversation would be recorded, and the interview began.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Thomas said.
“I know. I was staying with a friend.” She didn’t elaborate and was already hoping to get out of here quick. The place was too institutional, the walls too high, and the cops made her anxiety inch upward.
Johnson asked, “What friend?”
“Does it matter? My house was besieged, reporters everywhere! I just needed time to pull myself together.”
“You could have called,” Johnson pointed out.
“I didn’t have my phone. It was in my Jeep. You know that. You must have it. And my purse.” Were they playing games with her?
“We do,” Thomas said. “You can pick up your belongings as soon as we’re done. You’ll have to sign for everything.”
“I will.”
“Doesn’t your friend have a phone?” Johnson asked. “Couldn’t you have used hers? Or his?”
“I could have,” she agreed, and felt the muscles in her back tightening. She fought to appear calm. “As I said, I just needed some time.”
Johnson seemed about to pursue the subject, but Thomas said, “Why don’t you tell us what happened? Why were you at Merritt Margrove’s place in the mountains?”
“I was looking for him,” she explained. “I’d been shocked to hear that my brother Jonas had been released from prison and I wanted answers, so I tried calling him. When that didn’t work, I started looking for him. He wasn’t at his office, but Celeste—she’s his wife—she said he was up at his mobile home up in the mountains.”
Kara, still inwardly fighting her case of nerves, explained about finding the place, letting herself in and discovering the attorney, already dead, lying in a pool of blood. “I freaked,” she admitted. “I mean, really freaked. Seeing him like that.” She shivered.
“So what did you do?” Thomas asked.
“I took off.” She explained about needing to get away, about driving west toward the city and calling 9-1-1. “And then . . .” she said, taking in a deep breath, “and then Jonas, he pops up from the back seat, just like in those stupid movies. I nearly had a heart attack.”
She told them about how she’d almost hit a deer and then the accident with the semi sliding toward them on the narrow road. “All I remember was the truck’s grill and trying to turn away from the collision, but that’s it. I don’t remember hitting, I don’t remember the accident at all or the ride to the hospital. When I woke up, I was in the bed, I had stitches in my head and I kind of ached all over, especially my shoulder. The nurses told me that Jonas was there and the driver of the truck was in a hospital in Portland.”
“Did you and Jonas talk?” Johnson asked. “On the drive?”
“You mean when he scared the holy crap out of me? Yeah, we talked. Of course we did. He freaked me out.” She explained about the conversation. How tense she was, how Jonas, too, had been upset. He’d sworn he’d been dropped off at the place by a girl named Mia and that he hadn’t killed Margrove, that when he’d arrived the attorney was already dead. He’d stowed away in her Jeep because he was freaked and didn’t have a ride from Merritt’s place. He’d wanted Kara to drive him to Hal’s Get and Go, a truck stop not far from The Dalles.
“Did he tell you why he was at the cabin?”
