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“It’s not done, actually. I need access to the files for the last two cases I worked for the CIA. I think Eden’s death is linked to one of those cases, and I need to look over the files to see if there’s something in them you can use,” he said, playing the card that this would help her as much as him.
She was quiet a moment. “I’ll need to request permission. It might take a few hours.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Footsteps echoed and Lachlan looked toward the door as Mitch entered.
“I’ll see you soon,” Lachlan said, ending the call.
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Lachlan said, passing the cell phone back to Mitch. “Just needed to confirm something. Can I get some items brought over from my home? A hot shower and a change of clothes would be great,” he said, practicing his charming smile.
“I can arrange an officer to pick up a few things. Is there anyone you’d prefer pick them up?” Mitch asked.
Lachlan almost laughed. They’d searched his entire house, and now Mitch thought he might not want an officer going through his bathroom?
“No,” Lachlan said, shaking his head. “Whoever is free will be fine. I really appreciate it,” he said, not wanting to push Mitch. He needed to keep him on his side.
“Done. Make a list of the items you want and where they are, and we’ll pick them up for you,” Mitch said. “I’ll be back in a moment with a pen and paper.”
Again, Lachlan almost smiled at the irony. He only needed a suit, socks, underwear, shoes, shirt, belt, his toothbrush, electric razor, and cologne. Coming from a past in surveillance, recalling such a list was like breathing air—so for the officers to need to write it down was almost hysterical. Almost, because it wasn’t at all funny, but write it he did.
He should be able to get his own things. He shouldn’t be in this cell, locked up like a criminal. He was trained to look at every detail, and now he was locked up and couldn’t look at anything other than white walls, concrete floors, and steel bars.
He paused on that thought.
Maybe framing Lachlan wasn’t the endgame.
Maybe the killer wanted him behind bars so he couldn’t see anything and interrupt his plans.
Lachlan thought of Bethenny and swallowed the ball of cotton in his throat.
She needed to be very careful right now.
This was a small town; chances were the killer was someone she knew, and that made it harder to look at people objectively.
He paced the cell like a caged animal, thoughts tumbling in his mind as he did what he did best: recalled every piece of information they’d gathered in the past week and analyzed it.
What had he missed?
Who or what was in the picture that shouldn’t be?
Who or what wasnotin the picture that should be?
When the doors to the cell opened again, Mitch entered, carrying a cardboard box. “Your items,” he said. “I’ll take you through to the showers. If you try to run—”
“If I try to run now, I’ll look guilty. And I didn’t do this. You can relax; I’m tired of running from my problems. I’m ready to fight,” he said, and he meant every word.
Mitch’s eyes narrowed, assessing him, and then he nodded. “This way,” he said, as he unlocked Lachlan’s cell and opened the door. He tilted his head toward the end of the cells.
Lachlan never once looked back at the double doors that led into the holding cells. He didn’t want to freak Mitch out and make him think he was going to make a run for it. He kept his eyes ahead, focused on where he was going.
They walked into a small bathroom that looked as old as he was. It was private, though, and presumably had running hot water, which was all he needed.
Lachlan noted the bars on the windows. He refrained from checking how the ceiling was constructed, because he wasn’t about to attempt an escape and he didn’t want it to look like he was.
“I’ll wait here,” Mitch said, turning his back to give Lachlan some privacy, which he appreciated. It was an insult that he had been accused of murder, but it wasn’t Mitch’s fault—in fact, he liked the guy for how dutifully he followed protocol. Lachlan didn’t have to worry about Mitch being swayed to plant evidence or anything else. There wasn’t a corrupt cell in Mitch’s body.
