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Not that I begrudge a woman paying for enhancements. I merely make mental notes to add to our board, and keep an eye on Fletch’s expression, since he’d typically be watching this kind of woman pretty damn closely, and turning up the charm for her.
Strangely, her cinched waist and round backside draw nothing more than a passing glance from my partner.
Annaliese stops at a pair of open, frosted glass French doors. “Mr. Renkin? Detectives Fletcher and Malone.”
“Of course.”
Our guide steps aside to allow us entry, then follows us into the room.
Alan Renkin is thirty-four; a fact obtained from the profile we ran before leaving the station. But he looks more youthful than even his age would suggest, thanks to glowing skin and, if I’m not mistaken, a little bit of concealer to smooth out minor blemishes.
He stands at just under six feet tall and wears a sharp suit that fits his body like a glove. It’s custom-made and would have cost thousands of dollars, which says he’s a man of expensive taste and self-indulgence.
But he flashes a warm smile and circles his desk with his hand extended. “Detectives.” He takes Fletch’s hand first, shakes it, then turns to me. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? It’s not often I have police in my office.”
He doesn’t know about Roger.
Or if he does, he’s a damn good actor.
“Mr. Renkin.” I release his hand and set mine on my hips. “We’re here to talk to you about your business partner, Roger Wilson.”
“Oh yeah?” He matches my pose and drops his shoulders back, relaxed but… still large. Imposing. Important. “He paid those parking fines, didn’t he? I know he’s somewhat of a serial offender, but coming here in person is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“This isn’t about parking fines. Mr. Wilson was found murdered yesterday.” Fletch pulls out a visitor chair while Alan pales.
The man’s hands go to his desk, gripping for balance as he circles the expansive wooden structure and drops into his chair with a thud.
“Detective Malone and I are from homicide, Mr. Renkin. We were hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“M-murdered? Homicide?” His eyes, wide and terrified, shoot from Fletch to me as I pull up another chair. “No, he…” He scrubs his hands over his face and groans. “This is a joke, right?”
“Not a joke, unfortunately.” Fletch crosses an ankle over his opposite knee and steeples his fingers. “Mrs. Wilson has already identified the body, Mr. Renkin. She—”
“A-Alan,” he stammers. “Please, call me Alan. Wait, Lori identified…? She…” He stops and shakes his head. “Forgive me. This is all a bit overwhelming for a quiet Sunday afternoon.”
“Of course.” I settle into my chair and watch the man who may be a killer. Or an accomplice. Or, if innocent, a man who is simply grieving. “Whyareyou at work on a Sunday, Alan? This isn’t a brief stopover to tie up a few loose ends. You’re suited up and you have your assistant watching the door.”
“I work seven days a week,” he mumbles around the thumbnail he nibbles on. “We’re busy, Detectives. And it’s easier to accept that we work seven days a week for now, rather than begrudge our responsibility to the business and stomp our way in after Sunday brunch. Roger’s not dead.” His voice turns sharper. Surer. “It’s impossible.”
“Why impossible?” Fletch questions.
“Because he’s in Florida.” Alan’s eyes redden and water. “He’s in Florida for a week, visiting his aunt. He said he’d be out of phone range.” His eyes flicker to mine. “Are you sure he’s just not out of phone range and you’re overreacting?”
“His wife has already been down to see the body,” I remind him. “In fact, she said he was supposed to be in Florida this week, too. But she said he was at some kind of work conference. Is there anything you could tell us about that?”
“Work?” His fingers turn fidgety and restless. “I don’t… What kind?”
“We were hoping you would know,” Fletch replies. “Lori said it was a conference. But you’re saying he was there to visit his aunt?”
“Yeah. Bethany.” He exhales. “She’s, like, seventy and has bad hips. So he hops on over every few weeks to help her out and make sure she’s okay.”
“And stays for a week at a time?” I take out my notebook and write down each inconsistency.Either Lori is lying, or Alan is.Or Roger was. “You didn’t mind that he was away from the office so often?”
“No, he—” He glances over my head when Annaliese fidgets from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, um… Annaliese? Please see yourself out. Set the phones to go directly to voicemail and call no one yourself. We’ll have to…” He breathes a heavy sigh. “We’ll have to figure out what to say to our clients. And investors. And—”
“Don’t go yet.” I glance over my shoulder to catch Annaliese before she leaves. “You worked with Roger too, so we’d like to ask you some questions.”
Her eyes bypass mine and immediately go to her boss’. So I straighten in my seat, facing forward again, and watch his reaction.
