Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (15 page)

“It appears so.” He took a thoughtful sip of coffee.

“Yeah.” She took a bite of toast, chewed on it slowly. “If they’ve charged Hackett some judge is probably hunting up a grand jury right now.”

“If the DA has agreed the evidence is strong enough.”

She broke off a bit of bacon and popped it in her mouth. “The police are ready to close this case. They think they’ve got the killer.”

Parker reached for the pepper. “They may be right.”

“Or wrong.” She sat back cuddling her coffee cup. “It just seems too easy. Too…staged.”

“Hackett is a circus performer.”

She didn’t buy it. “And we still haven’t found Layla. If Sam’s right, she could tell us if Harvey did it or not.”

Thoughtfully, Parker nodded.

He hadn’t even flinched at Sam’s name. That was progress.

She imagined the layout of the back lot. “Everyone in that whole freaking circus had opportunity. They’re all neighbors. It’s like a little commune. A family, Sam keeps telling me.”

Now Parker frowned at the mention of Sam’s name and set down his own cup with a click that was a little too noisy. The progress was short-lived. “According to what we’ve learned so far, only Hackett had motive.”

“Yeah, his hatred and jealousy of Tupper.”

“Everyone else seems to have loved the lead clown.” Parker rose to put on a shirt and pants while she finished.

“So they say.” She leaned forward again, put her coffee cup in its saucer. “Okay, let’s talk about means. What does Hackett do that night? Sashay over to Tupper’s trailer with a bottle of Barefoot Merlot spiked with cyanide? They’d just finished a show. That time of night, there’d be people all over the place. Wasn’t he worried about being seen?”

Parker pulled up the zipper on his jeans. “Perhaps there’s a path between the trailers that’s hidden from view.”

She pointed a finger at him. “We should check that out.”

He nodded, sat down again for another cup of coffee.

“And what the heck does he say to Tupper when he gets there? ‘Hi, ole buddy, ole pal. Look what I brought you?’”

“You’re right. It doesn’t seem likely if they were at odds.”

“Or maybe it went, ‘Look, I know I’ve been an asshole but I’ve had a change of heart. Let’s have a drink and be BFFs.’”

“Hackett burying the hatchet?”

Miranda winced at the bad joke. “Good point. It just doesn’t sound right.”

“If he did something on that order, there would have to be a second glass at the crime scene.”

“Yeah. Underwood didn’t mention anything like that.” Not that the sergeant had been a fountain of information yesterday. “Maybe Hackett—or whoever the killer was—took it with him.”

“Or her.”

“You think Layla did it?” She was surprised to hear that.

He took a final sip and set his cup down. “Layla’s always been a possibility. We know nothing about her to confirm or deny what she did that night.”

He was right. But she was one of too many possible players. Suddenly Miranda put down her fork with a clink.”

Parker sat forward, concern on his face. “What is it?”

“I just had a thought. That trapeze artist said she didn’t know Layla’s circus background. Her resume. What if Layla joined the circus because she was running away from a boyfriend? What if he caught up with her and saw he had a rival? A rival he had to get rid of. He might be the killer.”

Parker considered that a moment, his face growing grim. “It would be easy for an outsider to get on the lot if he knew where to go.”

They had certainly gotten there without any trouble. Somebody could have stalked Layla, maybe followed her back to the lot when she went to town for groceries or something. A chill went down her spine. “She might be dead, too.”

“Or still on the run.”

She hoped the girl was alive and unharmed somewhere. She didn’t want another murder. But just hoping wouldn’t make it so. “We need to find her,” she murmured.

“Yes. The sooner the better.”

She swallowed the last bit of coffee and got to her feet. Let’s go see Underwood and tell her we want to talk to Hackett. If he knows anything about what happened to Layla he may tell us now.”

Parker rose and moved to the closet to finish dressing while Miranda headed to the shower. “If the sergeant will give us permission to see him,” he said.

She turned back and beamed at him. “If you work your manly charms on her like you did yesterday, babe, she’ll give us anything we want.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

And he made her heart leap when the lines around his sexy eyes crinkled into a cocky grin.

Underwood was three times as busy and in five times as bad a mood when they reached her desk at the police station an hour later.

Miranda sat with her leg bobbing up and down as she waited for the petite woman to answer about fifty calls and do several interviews. When she returned from the last one, she eyed her and Parker with a you-two-still-here? leer in her eye.

“Ms. Steele, Mr. Parker, what can I do for you this fine Texas mornin’?” Her tone said what she’d like to do was boot them out of her cube.

“Sergeant Underwood,” Miranda began. “We stopped by to see what progress you’ve made on the Magnuson murder.” She chose the word to emphasize it had been murder, not natural causes or suicide as Underwood first thought.

Underwood’s thin strawberry brow rose. “The Dallas police would like to thank you for helpin’ us find the primary suspect.”

It was an invitation to say goodbye, but Miranda just sat there in the hard metal chair, wagging her crossed leg. Might as well shoot straight from the hip. “What information do you have on Layla?”

Underwood frowned. “Layla?”

“The victim’s fiancée.”

“Oh, yes.” She thumbed through a few folders on her desk that looked like the reports her team had written after interviews yesterday. “Okay. Several of the residents of the circus trailer lot mentioned her. What about her?”

“Did they mention she’s missing?”

She sat back with a wary look. “No.”

“According to our client, she was supposed to be at Magnuson’s trailer just before he arrived.” Better to go with that version, though Sam had made it sound iffy.

“That would be Mr. Keegan? The one who called in the incident?”

“Yes. He told us after he called and spoke to one of your officers that night, he went to Layla’s trailer to tell her what had happened. She was gone.”

“Gone?”

“We went to her trailer the night we arrived and again yesterday afternoon. She didn’t answer the door. The place looked deserted.” No need to mention they’d gone inside.

Underwood blinked at her. “Has anyone filed a missing persons report?”

“Not yet.” Miranda sat back again and let the information sink in. Then she slid a glance at Parker as a cue.

He smiled kindly at Underwood with that irresistible face. “Sergeant, we’re wondering if we might have a word with your suspect. He may know something about what happened to Layla that night.”

She tapped her unpolished fingernails on her desk and narrowed an eye at Parker. Miranda could read her thoughts. Didn’t want to file a missing persons report. Thought they could handle it better on their own.

The truth was Layla could get erroneously listed as a violent criminal if they weren’t careful. If she were a victim that would only complicate things.

The sergeant shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t. Mr. Hackett lawyered up after we charged him.”

“I see.” Parker pretended to study his nails. “Then you can’t question him any further.”

“Not without his attorney present. He hasn’t arrived yet.”

Parker’s grin turned deadly sexy. “But we can. And we may be able coax a little more out of him.” A little more than the big goose egg the cops had apparently gotten.

Underwood rocked back in her chair, considering the idea that the two PIs actually might get some information out of their suspect that could bolster the DA’s circumstantial case. She looked at Parker, then at Miranda, then back at Parker.

The charm was working.

She took long enough to mull over every pro and con in an entire legal library, but finally she gave them a curt nod. “I’ll have someone get him and we’ll see if he’ll talk to you.”

###

Miranda had been sitting beside Parker in the narrow interview room down the hall from Underwood’s cube for what seemed like an hour. Her butt was so numb from the metal chair, she was thinking about chipping in a donation to the policeman’s fund for cushions. And for some A/C. It was stifling in here.

Probably easier to get confessions that way.

The torn padding on the walls was making her feel claustrophobic. That and the stale air reminded her of the days when she’d been the arrestee.

Like the night she and Sam had been hauled in after getting into a bar fight with the sheriff’s son. Hadn’t known he was the sheriff’s son went she’d kicked his balls in. He’d been just some arrogant asshole who thought he was God’s gift to women instead of the pain in the tuchus he actually was.

Parker sat next to her, concentrating on his phone. There was a wry half smile on his handsome face.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Having a text conversation with Joan Becker.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Who?”

He looked up at her and raised a refined brow. “Fanuzzi.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. Damn. She’d forgotten all about that. “She wants to throw us an anniversary party.”

“So I understand,” he murmured, pecking at the display and smiling smugly. No doubt they were discussing her antisocial foibles.

“What are you telling her?”

“That if you’re agreeable, I can make sure our calendars are clear for the date she’s suggested.”

“Uh…when was that again?”

“The Saturday before. Sunday is our actual anniversary. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Agreeable. I told her to keep it small.”

Miranda shifted in her seat. She’d never been into parties, never had friends to celebrate anything with. Never had had much to celebrate. This life with Parker was so different from the way she used to exist. But he went for that type of thing. All the to-do, all the fancy social niceties. He was raised with it. A party, like their wedding, would be mostly for him. As well as for Fanuzzi and the others in their little circle.

She leaned in close to him and poked him on the arm. “Can we spend Sunday alone together?” she whispered.

Parker’s handsome face broke into a smile of naughty delight. “Just what I was hoping you’d say. I have several things planned I think you’ll like.”

She raised her hands, unable to think of a way out of the party the day before. “Then it’s okay by me. As long as we have Sunday.”

“Oh, we will have Sunday. Glad you agree.” He turned back to his phone. “And Joan will be saving us seats at the Atlanta Open next Saturday.”

Wendy’s big day. They had to get home by then.

She nodded and glanced at the two-way mirror wondering if the officers had had to wrestle Harvey into a straight jacket to get him here.

She studied Parker a long moment. Her boss, her mentor, her lover. He was everything to her. The best detective on the planet. And that wasn’t just her opinion.

She leaned forward again, catching the mix of his cologne and his natural, clean scent. “You take this one.”

He seemed surprised. “Are you sure?”

She grinned at him, glad they weren’t at each other’s throat any more. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this case, the faster we can get out of here and go home. Might as well use our best resources to do it.”

He took her hand in his. “Your own interrogations skills are nothing to underestimate.”

Her heart fluttered at the complement.

“Let’s take him together.”

“Okay.”

The word was just out of her mouth when they heard shuffling in the hallway and the door opened up.

A weary-looking officer led Harvey Hackett into the room.

In his orange jumpsuit and booties, his wrists linked behind his back, Harvey actually looked a little better than he had outside his trailer yesterday.

He’d had a shave and probably a shower as well.

But his long bushy black brows drew together in a scowl as soon as he saw who was waiting for him. “Good God,” he groaned. “Not you two again.”

“In the flesh,” Miranda said.

The lines of his shriveled leather face looked deeper under the harsh lights. “Like I said yesterday. I got nothin’ to say to you.” He nodded to the cop. “Take me back to my cell.”

Parker rose with the dignity of a king. “Mr. Hackett, I believe we can both be of mutual assistance to each one.”

A corner of Hackett’s mouth lifted into his cheek revealing his smoke-stained choppers. Oops, guess they’d run out of toothpaste in the prison.

“Assistance?” he sneered. “You think I was born yesterday?”

“We only desire a few moments of your time to go over a few details. Then we’ll be on our way.” Man, he was smooth.

Hackett pulled his lips to one side of his mouth and eyed the large cop who stood, big arms folded, barring the door.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hackett,” he commanded.

Hackett rolled his eyes. “Guess I don’t have a choice.” And he let the uniform usher him over to the end of the table.

The cop pulled out the chair with a noisy creak and set the old clown down in it.

He eyed the two investigators with disgust. “Okay, I’m here. What do you want?”

Friendly sort.

Parker sat down and settled back with a casual ease only he could pull off and smiled at the man. He waited three uncomfortable beats before he spoke in his rich southern accent. “How are you doing, Harvey? Is everything going well for you in here?”

Hackett showed his dingy teeth again. “What the hell kind of question is that? It’s a jail.”

“I understand. You’ve had a rough time lately, haven’t you? In fact, you’d had it rough for most of your life.”

Hackett sat back, a threat in his eye. “How do you know about that?”

“We private investigators have our sources.” Implying that the cops might know what Parker knew as well, but that he and Miranda weren’t bound by the same laws.