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“Enemies? As in someone who would attack me, kill my husband, and then go about terrorizing me?” she said, shaking her head. “No.”
“What about family members?”
“What?” she threw back at him, then rolled her eyes. “No. My family adored Jay. Every last one of them.”
“What about his?”
“Oh—God, they thought he was the best.” But she paused, her eyes clouding over a bit.
“There’s someone?”
“No, not really.” She thought for a moment. “Okay, there’s one cousin who hated him for some reason. I never knew why. His name is Greg.”
“Greg McKnight?”
“Yeah. I think he lives in Alabama. Mobile, maybe, somewhere around there. But Jay hadn’t heard from him in years and whatever happened between them was all a long time ago. Maybe high school. I think Jay ratted him out and he got thrown out of school, maybe ended up in juvenile detention. Jay was always a pretty straight shooter. Greg? Not so much.”
“You ever meet him?”
“Only a couple of times. The last was at a family wedding about three years ago.”
“What about Jay? He keep up with him?”
“No. Not even Christmas cards or anything like that. I think the wedding was the last time Jay had seen him, too.”
“And—?”
“And what happened at the wedding?” she asked, and shook her head. “Nothing. They didn’t speak, at least not that I know of.”
Montoya decided to check out Greg McKnight. The department already had a list of all of the family members and people close to Jay, as well as to Kristi, the information collected right after the homicide, but Montoya would double-check. A long shot, but you never knew how deep hatred ran, how old emotional scars might reopen and ooze.
“What about people who might have a grudge against you?”
She took a sip of water and thought. “Well, there are those people I’ve written about or interviewed. Murderers who could take offense, but most of them are either dead or locked up. Dad and I have talked about this and Jay and I fought about it, but it’s what I do.” She met his gaze. “Basically I work alone. Here. In my pajamas or sweats a lot of the time. I don’t have any work enemies.”
She seemed perplexed and he made a note to double-check on the subjects of her books, some of which had become best sellers. “No rival? No person who feels a grudge against you, maybe for your marriage, or your fame?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Nothing personal?”
“No—I told you that.” She frowned, her eyebrows slamming together thoughtfully. “Look, I’ve stepped on a few toes in my life. I knew there were girls in high school who hated me and some in college, I suppose, and for a while everyone in Jay’s family had a thing against me, but that was years ago, because I broke up with him for a while before we got back together, but no one who would kill him or try to murder me. None of them went psycho that I know of. They’ve all moved on. So this—it—it just doesn’t make sense.”
“The same with your professional life?”
“I told you. I work alone. And as for rivals I guess there’s always that. Jealousy or something.” She sighed and scratched the back of her neck. “The only person I can think of who might be remotely jealous of me professionally could be Drake Dennison, I suppose.” But she was shaking her head.
“He’s a writer?”
“Yeah, another true-crime author. I’ve never met him, but about the time that I was getting some fame, after the Rosary Killer book, and I’d come up with another idea or two, the publisher dropped Dennison.” Montoya’s interest sharpened and she must’ve recognized it, because she added quickly, “He wasn’t alone. Publishing was going through a hard time generally speaking, the market shrinking, and a lot of authors suddenly couldn’t get a contract.”
“But you could,” he said.
“Right. I’d been a victim, my dad’s a homicide detective, so it could be perceived that I have an advantage, an edge, I guess. But I heard through a writer’s chat group I’m on that he might be publishing again, that he has a contract with a new publisher.”
“Is Dennison religious?”
“I wouldn’t know. But—I think one or two of his books had some kind of religious overtones.” She bit her lip. “Not sure about that, though. But—wait. He did want to write a book about the Chosen One,” she said. “He was pissed that he didn’t get the contract, that the publisher wanted me to write it as I was involved, you know.”
