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“Don’t freeze me out!” She shouts loud enough to draw attention. Then she jogs to keep up. “Don’t act like my name is Miranda London and I’m demanding gossip to splash all over the news. This is you.” She slows her pace when our shoulders brush. “And me. And Archer. You’re my friends, and I care about you. Why the hell are you going ice queen on me?”
“Because what I choose to do in private is none of your business.”
“Oh please!” She throws her hand up in frustration. “Tell that to the bathroom attached to your office that I’ve watched you and Archer exit from… at the same time. Don’t act like I’m nobody!”
“You are not entitled to this information!”
“Fine.” She yanks me to a stop and pulls me around to face her. “Sure, it’s none of my business. Forget I asked. But don’t you dare look into my eyes and pretend I’m not your friend, too. Don’t act like I’m just your employee and nothing more. And don’t treat me the way Tim treats me, all because it makes you feel superior to keep me dangling.”
Releasing me, she grits her teeth for a moment before stepping around me and continuing on.
“I have work to do, Doctor Mayet. I apologize for stepping over the line and triggering something you’re insecure about.” Peeking back at me, she smiles, but it’s not in the least bit friendly. It’s feral and mean, the kind of smile one might see on a leopard before it tears a woman’s throat out. “When you decide to be a friend again, you know where to find me. But in the meantime, I have paperwork to file and a cause of death to determine for a woman who was brutally killed and dumped.”
ARCHER
“Mr. Creed.” I present my badge and wait as the man on the other side of the threshold scans it. “My name is Detective Archer Malone. This is my partner, Detective Charlie Fletcher. We were hoping we could come in and talk to you for a moment.”
“Is it about Melly?” His eyes glisten with unshed tears and his fingers link and unlink, wringing and nervous as he takes a step back to make room for us. “I saw her face on the news, Detectives. I saw—” He pauses and swallows. “What happened?”
“Can we take a seat?”
Anton Creed is broad-chested, but this feature is not in proportion with the rest of his lanky body. Trim hips, thin legs, skinny arms. He wears a little stubble on his chin—not as though to be stylish, but to prove he hasn’t done much in the grooming department over the last couple of days.
He wears sweatpants that cinch in at his ankles, and an oversized shirt that swims on his body.
When he realizes we’re not talking until he takes us into the house to sit, he nods and heads toward the living room. “Can I offer you drinks?” He snags things as he moves. A tossed hoodie. Shoes. A pair of jeans. Magazines of the skin variety, and beneath those, pizza boxes. “I’m sorry the place isn’t clean. I haven’t… I didn’t…” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“It’s okay.” Finding a place to sit where my ass won’t be marked by the cum tissues of a sad and lonely man, I lower and wait while Fletch and Anton do the same. “You and Melissa Boyd were once married, right?”
“Please tell me what’s happened.” He sits on the edge of his coffee table. “Please, just say whatever you need to say. Give it to me straight.”
“Melissa Boyd was found dead last night in City Park.” Fletch says it this time, cold and hard enough to make the guy startle. “We’re the detectives trying to piece together what happened to her. And the fact you’re her ex-husband means your name popped up in our investigation.”
“She’s dead?” Heavy tears roll onto his cheeks and down to the edge of his jaw. “Wait, you… she’s dead?”
“Yes, Mr. Creed.” Speaking up, I bring his gaze back my way. “First off, we need to establish where you were last night between the hours of seven and eleven.”
“Where I—” His face drains white. “You think I hurt her?”
“We try not to assume things, Mr. Creed.” Fletch softens his voice. “What we do is ask questions and figure out where everyone was at the time this happened.”
“You think I killed my wife?”
“Ex-wife,” I cut in. “And this is standard in every single investigation. We need you to answer the question, Mr. Creed. Help us figure this out.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” His lips quiver as his eyes dart between mine and Fletch’s. “Is that what—”
“You’re entitled to a lawyer,” I answer honestly. “But you’re not under arrest. You’re not even a suspect at this point. Like we’ve already said, we’re trying to place every player on our board. If you answer the question with a solid alibi, then we can remove you from the board completely and continue chasing down leads.”
“I— I was here.” His voice crackles with pain. “I stayed in all night.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” He looks to Fletch. “Yes, I was alone.”
Strike one.
“I ate pizza and watched TV,” he continues. “I went to bed about midnight, and I slept till about an hour ago. I turned the TV on again, and th-there she was.” He brings his eyes back to me. “I didn’t hurt my wife, Detective.”
