her down or leave her hanging there?” Michael demanded, surprised at how easily the anger slipped into his voice.
He sucked damp air. This was not the time to lose his cool. Denner wanted that. Wanted him off balance and vulnerable.
“She deserves more than to be left hanging like that,” he added in a softer voice.
Denner’s gaze shifted to Corinna’s body. “A few more pictures and they’ll take her down.” The detective smiled, but there was nothing warm or sympathetic in the stretch of his thin lips. “Mind telling me where you’ve been all evening?”
“I was at the Waldorf. A benefit dinner for St. Vincent’s. Since I was their main speaker, I have plenty of witnesses to my whereabouts.”
“I’ll just bet you do.”
Michael hated the fact that he had to account for his every move, but he also knew that Denner held firm to his belief that he was the prime suspect in all three—now four—murders.
“I can give you the names of several prominent people who can vouch for my whereabouts all evening,” he said. “You’re welcome to talk to all of them.”
“Oh, you can count on me doing just that. In fact, I plan on checking and rechecking each and every name. And when I’m finished, I’ll dig into where you’ve been every second for the last twenty-four hours.”
“The only time I was out of anyone’s sight was when I excused myself to go to the men’s room.” Michael shrugged. “For all I know someone might have seen me in there, too.”
He didn’t bother adding that he’d stayed in the men’s room for more than a few minutes, trying unsuccessfully to deal with the headache.
His neurologist had told him that the troublesome headaches would last for a while. Mainly because a serious concussion can do that to a person.
But the pain from the headaches wasn’t the only thing bothering Michael. Lately he’d become more concerned about the increasing blank periods, the blackouts.
But he didn’t mention those to Denner. Something told him that admitting he’d lost time would put him in an even more tenuous position with the police detective. Better to try to deal with the blank periods on his own.
“Perhaps you were gone long enough to slip out the back door and finish off Ms. Hamish,” Denner said.
“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? It would make your job easier.”
“There’s nothing easy about pinning you down, Emerson. But I’ll find a way.”
“I didn’t kill Corinna.”
Denner snorted. “You don’t mind if we check that out for ourselves, right?”
Michael shrugged again, trying for a casualness he didn’t feel. “Do whatever you need to do. Nothing I say has had much impact on your obsession that I’m the one who killed these women.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to believe a guy who is intimately connected to all the murder victims but keeps insisting he’s as innocent as pure driven snow.”
Off to the side, the crime scene photographer moved to a position directly across from Michael, snapping off pictures in rapid succession. The flash of the camera renewed the pounding in Michael’s head. He glanced away, a part of him unable to comprehend the brutality of Corinna’s death.
He reached up and rubbed his temple, trying desperately to clear his head. He needed his wits about him right now. This was not the time for headaches or the ugly sensation of fogginess that seemed to cloud his brain. The mist swirled around them, wet and clinging.
Although he’d been able to provide an iron-clad alibi for each of the murders, he knew it frustrated the hell out of Denner and the other members of the special task force assigned to the case. They wanted him to confess. Wanted the case closed with him behind bars for life or a needle in his arm.
“When was the last time you talked with Ms. Hamish?”
“Two weeks ago. We had lunch at Kristoff’s.”
“And that’s when you gave her your typical kiss-off?”
“If you’re asking if we discussed the direction our relationship was going, then yes.”
“Not getting enough, huh, Emerson?”
Michael’s hands tightened into fists at the crudeness of the remark. But he didn’t bite. He’d gotten used to the detective’s technique, familiar with Denner’s tendency to try to push his buttons. No way did he plan on giving Denner the kind of ammunition he was fishing for.
“Corinna wanted more out of our relationship,” he said. “She was a classy woman who always put things on the table. She was honest about her desire to see things between us go to the next level. I told her that as much as I liked her—enjoyed her company—I didn’t see our relationship going any further.”
“So you took her out and finished her off because she wasn’t willing to accept your brush-off, right?”
“Actually we parted quite amicably. Corinna is—” he swallowed hard “—was a beautiful woman. She didn’t want for male companionship. She knew how to move on. I have no illusions that she saw me as the only fish in the ocean.”
Denner laughed, the sound harsh. Grating. He nodded in Corinna’s direction. “You call a sharpened ski pole shoved through her chest amicable?”
Michael fingers tightened into fists, but again he kept his voice reasonable. “Of course not. But that doesn’t prove I killed Corinna.”
“Funny how every woman you’ve ever had a relationship with seems to be turning up dead. You don’t find that unusual? Significant in some way?”
“As hard as this is for you to grasp, Denner, I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t kill Corinna or any of the other women.”
At least he was pretty sure he hadn’t. God, please let me be innocent.
“Where have I heard that pitiful claim before?” Denner snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, four weeks ago, following the unfortunate demise of Ms. Karen Pearson—another of your former companions.”
“You’ve already checked and rechecked my alibi for that night. You know there was no way I could have killed her.”
“Not how I see things. I just haven’t found out how you managed to slip out of your meeting without being missed.” Denner smiled again, a barracuda eyeing his prey. “But rest assured, I haven’t given up.”
“No big surprise there.”
Denner pulled out his notebook. “Give me the names of those prominent people who can vouch for your whereabouts this evening.”
Michael rattled off a list of names and watched as Denner carefully recorded them. If he had any friends left after the completion of this investigation, it would be a miracle. Neighbors and friends were beginning to look at him with an unmistakable glint of uneasiness in their
