With her eyes all lit up, I sigh and sneak behind her. “What did you find?”
She points out a bitcoin code and if I’m reading it right, the little piece of plastic is worth over ten million dollars. Hell, if that don’t sound shady, I don’t know what does. I snap a picture of the screen, pull out the stick, and as I put it back in the safe, she shuts down the computer.
When we’re safely back in our car, she’s breathless and all smiles. “Oh my God. Can you believe it?”
“Nothing we found proves he took a bribe, sugar.”
“I know but it’s more than we had before.”
“I’m just glad we weren’t caught.” I should’ve knocked on wood because as we enter the hotel lobby, the police are waiting.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sutcliff? We have a few questions we’d like to ask you downtown.” The cleanshaven cop is about my age and my height. His tone, while serious, isn’t threatening.
“It’s very late. Can’t it wait until morning?” As much as I enjoy ramblin’, I’ve been missing a lot of sleep lately.
“I’m afraid not.” The policeman doesn’t cuff us or read us our rights, so we’re probably not under arrest. From that, I deduce they don’t know about our little two-step at the judges’ home which makes me wonder what they want to talk to us about and why take us downtown when they can ask us questions in the lobby?
In the police station, I grin as money exchanges hands in the bullpen.
Sam scowls at me. “You are to blame for this. We could be sound asleep by now.”
“I can’t be faulted if my reputation precedes me.” Holding her hand, I kiss the frown off her face.
When our lips part, my gal shouts so loud, everyone within a square mile can hear. “My husband will not be setting any records tonight.”
“C’mon sugar. It’s been months since I’ve tried.” I can’t help but smile as more folks enter the room. I’m guessing they picked us up during the shift change on purpose.
My wife crosses her arms. “Nope, not happening, pal. I need sleep.”
“I’m real sorry, y’all.” Holding out my open palms, I shrug. “She’s the boss.”
The cop who drove us to the station leads us to one of about a dozen interrogation rooms and sits us down. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, kindly.”
“None for me.” My wife glares but suddenly busts out laughing. “You are impossible, you know that? Fine, go ahead. Do it.”
Soon, a suited man in his thirties places an old-fashioned stopwatch on the metal table. “I’m Detective Jacobs. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Normally, I’d call my lawyer before agreeing to speak with the police, but I have my wife sitting right next to me. I trust she’ll make sure I don’t say anything incriminating.
“Let’s do this. How can I help you?”
“Tell me everything you know about CJ Cavell.”
“Why?” Sam butts in and shoots me a wary look.
As I release the deep breath I took so I could talk nonstop, the officer frowns with his mouth tight and grim.
Shrugging, my wife crosses her arms. “Fine. I guess they’ll be no records set tonight.
“But sugar…” I hold her hands to my lips, beseeching her with my eyes.
“Sorry, honey. Too risky.”
The cop scratches the top of his messy blond hair, sighs, and stops the clock. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returns, he drops a manilla folder on the table. “CJ Cavell was found dead in his apartment. We need to know where you went this evening.”
