nodded with certainty. “Yes. Two.”
He made a note to tell the crime-scene techs to look for a stray bullet since they had only one GSW. “And your assistant, Lacy Knight, had an appointment. Where?”
She shook her head; her dark hair swayed slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on her or the other employees.”
“How many employees were here today and when did they leave?” he probed.
Without hesitation, she answered, “Joanie, the receptionist, left at five as always. Donny and George are the daytime security guards. They both left at six.”
The call came in to 911 at five minutes to seven. “There was no night-shift guard?”
“Usually there is.” She frowned, her pert little nose crinkling slightly. “But Mack didn’t show. Lacy said he called in sick. Mr. Sinclair was going to get a temp from the security company we use but I didn’t hear what happened with that.”
“We’ll need the names and numbers for all the employees.”
“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Sinclair,” she stated as her gaze fixated on the men from the coroner’s office as they began to remove the two bodies from the gallery floor.
Paul positioned himself in her line of vision. He wanted to keep her focused. “Is there an exit through the workroom to the outside?”
Giving herself a little shake, she shifted her bright blue gaze to him. “Yes. But it’s locked. If anyone had come in or out, the alarm would have gone off. And the security camera would record it.”
“We’ll need the video feed on the camera from the time of the murders,” Paul said.
“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Sinclair about that.”
“Hey, Wallace,” Andy Howell, Paul’s partner for the past six months, called from the doorway to the workroom. He’d also taken off his overcoat to reveal his navy suit, one most detectives couldn’t afford, but Andy’s wife owned a clothing shop and liked her husband to dress well.
More than six feet tall, Andy had once been a college basketball player until he blew out a knee. He still had a slight limp, but Paul wouldn’t trust his back to anyone else. In the short time they’d been partnered, Paul had come to admire and respect Andy.
“We found the other murder weapon,” Andy stated as he approached.
Paul’s gaze jumped to Megan to see her reaction. She showed no effects of Andy’s announcement. Innocence? Or confidence?
Paul nodded to a uniformed officer standing close by. “Take Ms. McClain to the station.”
Her blue eyes widened with panic, her body stiffened, her arms straight and held tight against her sides, her knees and feet pressed together. “You want me to go to the station.”
“Yes,” he replied, forcing patience into his tone. That’s usually what happened to murder suspects, but he refrained from pointing that out. “We’ll need a formal statement.”
“How?”
He frowned. “How what?”
She seemed to have trouble finding her voice. “How…how are we going to the station?”
“By car. I certainly don’t plan on making you walk ten blocks in a snowstorm.” His trousers were still damp from when he’d walked the short distance from the car to the gallery entrance.
“Car,” she repeated. “Cars are safe.”
His curiosity piqued by her odd behavior, Paul said, “Officer Johnson will escort you to find your coat and then he’ll take you to the station. I’ll see you again there.”
“Can I change? My shoes at least?” she asked, her expression nearing panic.
Paul hid a smile at having pegged her correctly and sought for a soothing tone. “Of course you may.”
She moved stiffly to a panel of wall behind the reception desk. With a little push the panel opened, revealing a closet.
Paul exchanged a curious glance with his partner.
“I’ll tell Sims,” Andy stated and retreated back to the workroom to inform the lead CSI of the secret hole in the wall.
Megan retrieved a pair of tall, black snow boots. Methodically, she unzipped each boot then grabbed an aerosol can from a shelf inside the closet and sprayed the insides of each one. The scent of lemon filled the air.
Then Megan slipped one foot out of a pump, while balancing on the other heeled shoe while she carefully placed her stocking foot into the boot. She repeated the process with the other foot then bent to zip up each boot.
Figuring she was done, Paul started to turn away, but stopped to watch in rapt fascination as she once again reached for something on the shelf inside the closet. This time she pulled out a moist square sheet, which she used to thoroughly wipe each pump down before putting the shoes in the closet where the boots once had been.
Then using the same moistened wipe, she ran the cloth over the door panel where she’d touched the wall before pressing the wood back into place. Using the tips of two fingers, she dropped the cloth into the wastebasket.
With a tenuous smile, she announced to Officer Johnson, “I’m ready.”
That was some routine. The woman became more interesting each passing second. And by the time he was done he’d get to know her a whole lot better.
Paul noted the stiff way she held herself as Johnson helped her don her long woolen coat. Johnson took her elbow to lead her out and she shied away. Like someone once abused? Or did she just not like being touched?
The officer shrugged, dropped his hand and opened the gallery’s front door for her to pass through. At the last moment, before stepping outside, she turned her head and met Paul’s gaze.
There was panic in her eyes. Fear, maybe. But also something else, something vulnerable, that slammed into his gut.
Hating that he’d let his guard slip even a fraction, Paul shook himself and dispensed with any softening toward Ms. McClain.
Obviously, if he saw fear in her eyes it was only because she was guilty.
Fifty-two steps.
That’s how many footsteps Megan counted as she was led to the waiting police vehicle at the curb. She shivered as flakes of snow covered her hair and landed on her face. Her heart thudded in her chest, making breathing difficult. Horror nearly choked her. She fought for control, but any semblance of control had been taken away from her.
By a murderer.
Two men had been killed, and she was the number one suspect.
With a father who had been a cop on the Boston police force and a brother who was a sheriff, she knew the law would shield her. The maxim “innocent until proven guilty” would hold, but it wouldn’t save her from accusations and assumptions.
