in a frown.
Jackson was already back at his desk, going through the ledger. Looking up, he asked, “What?”
Terrance cleared the threshold, then eased the door shut behind him. “You have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“A Detective Gomez.”
A matching frown marred Jackson’s features. “What does he want?”
“Wouldn’t tell me. Said he needed to see you.”
Jackson shrugged. “Then, send him in.”
“Want me to hang around?”
“Nah. I’m sure it’s nothing. You just tend to the band business.”
Moments later, the detective strode through the door. Coming around his desk, Jackson met him in the middle of the room and they exchanged handshakes.
Jackson sized Gomez up quickly: young, good-looking and cocky. Though he couldn’t say why, the hairs stood up on his neck. Perhaps it was the way Gomez was eyeing him, like he was fresh meat about to be devoured.
Jackson smiled politely and asked in a cool tone, “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Answer a few questions.” He paused. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’ll let you know after you’ve asked them.”
From the expression on Gomez’s face, the answer didn’t sit well with him, though he said, “Fair enough” in an even tone.
“Care to have a seat?”
Gomez shook his head. “I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
For a moment, silence prevailed in the room as though each man was sizing the other up. Jackson had already done as much and decided Gomez didn’t like him. That in itself didn’t mean anything, except that it made this visit more awkward.
“I understand Roberta Klein is a friend of yours.”
Jackson hadn’t the foggiest idea what this interview was all about, but in his wildest imagination, he wouldn’t have connected it to Roberta. “You’re right,” he said with caution. “Has been for years. Why do you ask?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“What’s this all about, Detective?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Cole, I prefer to ask the questions.”
Jackson was a master at hiding his emotions. If Gomez thought he was going to rile him with his brash tactics, he couldn’t be more wrong. “Fine. Fire away.”
“So, again, when was the last time you saw Ms. Klein?”
“Last evening, though I suspect you already know that.”
“It appears you were the last person to see Ms. Klein alive.”
Shock rocked Jackson. “Are you saying she’s dead?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
A weakness invaded Jackson’s system, making it impossible for him to remain standing. He sat down and stared at the detective. Impossible. Roberta couldn’t be dead. A million questions blazed to mind, but he kept his mouth shut. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. And this was Gomez’s show—he’d made it clear he intended to run it.
“Care to comment, Mr. Cole?”
“When I left her, she was alive and well,” Jackson responded in a dazed voice.
“That so?”
Jackson suddenly wanted to knock the condescending smirk off his face. Instead, he managed to keep his cool even under the unexpected assault. “How did she die?”
“She was found slumped over the table, apparently strangled to death.”
Jackson felt sick to his stomach. At the same time, blind fury charged through him. If he got his hands on the person who had so cruelly snuffed out Roberta’s life, he’d save the justice system a lot of time and money.
“Know anything about that?” Gomez asked.
“Am I under arrest, Detective?”
“Not at this point. You’re one of many we’re questioning, though I have to tell you, you have the inside track.”
“Which means I need a lawyer.”
“It’s your call, of course.” The detective paused. “However, I’d like for you to come voluntarily to the precinct and answer a few questions.”
“When?”
“Now.” Gomez’s gaze pinned Jackson like a trapped rat. “If that’s convenient.”
Jackson knew Gomez didn’t give a damn if it was convenient. Voluntarily or not, he was in a heap of trouble.
“I’ll be there. With my lawyer.”
“Thanks,” Gomez responded. “I’ll expect you.”
With that, he turned and left the room. Jackson’s stomach roiled again as he splayed the palm of his hand on the top of his desk to hold him steady. He couldn’t believe Roberta was dead. And in such a brutal manner. Who would do such a thing? And why?
The Roberta he knew didn’t have any enemies, he thought, only to correct himself mentally. She had at least one, one who hated her enough to kill her. A shiver darted through Jackson, and he was chilled to the bone for more reasons than one.
The fact that he was a prime suspect sent another chill through him. He couldn’t ignore that, pretend Gomez and his suspicions would simply go away. They wouldn’t. He was in deep trouble.
What should he do? That was where things got sticky, especially when an answer jumped readily to mind: he could pay a visit to his ex-fiancée. Only, he wasn’t willing to pursue that option.
Yet did he really have a choice? No. He was desperate and desperate people often did stupid things. But this was not just about him. He couldn’t forget about Roberta. He had to find out who killed her. He owed her that much.
He didn’t remember when he hadn’t known Roberta. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. She had been like a sister to him and he’d spent a lot of time at her home, since he had not had one of his own. But like everyone else, Roberta had had her share of problems. She was a “needy” person whom he’d continued to help. Until he realized there was no helping her.
“What was that all about?” Terrance had entered the room.
“Roberta’s dead,” Jackson said in a dull, lifeless tone.
Terrance’s
