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“Fine, call them what you like: minions, accomplices, acolytes, sycophants…” he said and started to turn away.
Fiona slapped the top of the table. This was absurd. “I don’t have any of those. I have readers and people who buy my books; that’s it. Oh, and a vivid and prolific imagination, which apparently is a trait you share.”
Rafferty looked down at her. She wondered if his other suspects thought about how sexy he was? Probably not. He’d started to turn away and now turned back. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Well, you’d either have to have a great imagination or be delusional to think I’m responsible for this—I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I do have a good imagination, I’m not delusional, and I’ve been a cop long enough to know the simplest explanation is usually the right one.”
“And the simplest explanation is that I’m some kind of deranged killer who hauled a man that looks to be much larger than I am up onto a rock, spread-eagled and staked him out…then removed his eyes, ears, and tongue before slitting his wrists and throat?”
“Interesting that you know all the details with what appeared to be a casual glance.”
“That would be because I can put two and two together.”
“How’s that?” asked Slade.
“A casual glance did show me he’d been staked out in a spread-eagle position, and you stopped me when I read the part about what had been done to him. Tell me, Detective, did he have runes and symbols carved, painted, and/or tattooed over his chest and shoulders?”
“I don’t think that you’d have seen that with a casual glance.”
Fiona tried to remind herself that Christie had advised her not to talk as had every police procedural she’d ever read or seen on television or film, but she couldn’t stand the idea that Rafferty thought her a killer.
“No, but if your killer—and that’s someone other than me—was copying my book, which has been out for a few weeks, then he wouldn’t have omitted that. In the book, it’s a red herring, but I didn’t describe the markings in detail so they may be significant to your killer.”
“Where were you…” Raffety started to ask.
He was interrupted by the door swinging open and the chief of police being pushed aside by Christie as she strode into the room.
“Don’t answer that,” she growled. “What part of her invoking her right to counsel did you not understand, Rafferty?” She turned to Fiona, “The lawyer here in town doesn’t do criminal cases, but he said he’ll call in a few favors and find you one who does and specializes in them.”
“She was voluntarily answering my questions.”
“Was she?” Christie eyed him up and down. “I asked my friends about you, Rafferty, and you have a pretty loose definition of ‘voluntary.’”
Rafferty drew up to his full height and glared down at the former cop. “That was a long time ago.”
“A long time since anyone brought charges, maybe, but who knows what’s been swept under the rug?”
“Regardless of whether or not Ms. Fowler is or isn’t talking to me voluntarily, you have no right to be here.”
“See here, Slade,” started the chief of police, “Ms. Crofton is a friend of Fiona’s, who is a part of this community. Ms. Crofton is a retired homicide detective.”
“Three things to consider, Jimmy: one, she’s retired; two, this isn’t Baltimore or even Maryland; and three, this is my case and given one and two, Ms. Crofton is out of her jurisdiction.”
“Gentlemen, Christie,” interrupted Fiona, who wanted to try and deescalate the situation. “Let’s all take a step back. Detective Rafferty, Christie is a dear friend and is only trying to protect me…”
“Do you need protection, Ms. Fowler?” he snarled.
Fiona held up her hand to stave off Christie’s response. Christie had gone into full mother-hen mode, which she was wont to do where her friends were concerned. “Christie, don’t. Detective Rafferty is just doing his job.”
“Well, he isn’t doing a very good one.”
This time she raised her hand to try and keep Rafferty from saying something unhelpful. “Detective, Christie is just being a good friend. I rather imagine if you were in a situation like this…”
“And what kind of situation do you think this is?” Rafferty asked sarcastically.
Could the man not see she was trying to help? She was beginning to have the distinct feeling that Rafferty and Christie were having a peeing contest to mark their territory.
