“Yeah, I heard. An author. So?”
Nolan frowned. “You’ve never read his crime thrillers?The Killer Behind the StairsorOne Step to Death?” He tilted his head, and Harper sighed and pointed to Delacourt.
“Sit and don’t go anywhere.” He followed Nolan to the hallway. “What?”
“Are you seriously thinking that guy stabbed an old lady? He writes murders; he doesn’t commit them.”
“I’m not talking out of my ass. There’s a reason I was here to begin with.” As he relayed what he was told earlier, Nolan cut his glance to where Delacourt waited.
“It’s got to be a mistake. I can’t believe it. The guy has twoNew York Timesbestsellers.”
“So? That doesn’t mean he can’t kill someone. Let’s talk to him again, and you can judge.”
They reentered the kitchen and approached Delacourt, who sat scrolling through his phone. Nolan nudged his arm. “Hold up.”
“What?”
“His hands. Look.”
Harper squinted at the hand holding the phone. The knuckles were bruised and swollen.
“Maybe you weren’t wrong after all.”
Chapter Three
This was a nightmare. How could he be on his way to a police station? Colson knew they were only following procedure, but he’d thought after explaining who he was, they’d understand and realize it was all a mistake and let him go. That bastard detective hadn’t even wanted to listen to his explanation. Once they’d returned from their huddle, neither of them had been willing to take his statement at the scene. They’d told him to either come in voluntarily to talk to them, or they’d arrest him right there and ask questions later.
It was one thing to write a crime drama, but a hell of a difference to live through it, Colson was learning. This wasn’t exciting or fun. At all.
At the station, they walked him through a maze of desks and past offices, where people wearing handcuffs were being processed—a far cry from the last time he’d been inside a precinct. Back then, he’d been treated like a guest and mini celebrity, as many of the law enforcement people he’d met had read his books. He’d always treated the police well in his writing, but maybe after this experience, he’d have to change his view.
“Have a seat, Mr. Delacourt.” Detective Martinez indicated a chair. “Can I bring you some coffee or water?”
“He’s already had coffee this morning.” Detective Rose smirked, and Colson glared.
Bastard. How could he have ever thought this man was attractive? He’d like to punch him in that perfect face.
“I’m fine, thanks. Has anyone checked to see how Millie is doing?”
Rose glowered. “She’s still unconscious. They’re prepping her for surgery.”
He rubbed his face. “I can’t believe anyone would do something like that to her.”
“Why don’t we start by you telling us about your conversation in the coffee shop?”
Colson rolled his eyes. “I was planning my next book and talking about it with my friend Hogan. I knew people were listening in—this group of women kept staring and making comments.”
“Your next book?” Martinez questioned. “You haven’t had a release in almost three years.”
“And?” he challenged. “Burnout is real. But I had an idea, and I wanted to share it with my best friend.”
“That’s sweet,” Rose sniped. “What’s this best friend’s full name?”
“Hogan Carmichael. He works at Pomerantz and Co., a CPA firm in the city.”
“We’ll check him out.” Unsmiling, Rose met his eyes. “Go on.”
“Uh, well, part of how I write is I immerse myself in my stories by becoming the character I’m writing about.”
