“Good morning, Ian.”
“What are you doing here?” he sputtered, rising from his chair.
Annie directed him back down with a pointed finger. “I’m here about Jamie.”
Ian fell back into his seat. For five full seconds, his mouth hung ajar, then he seemed to recover his senses and snapped it shut.
Slowly, a change came over his features. The mask she was accustomed to seeing on his face fell into place, superior and full of contempt. He rose from his chair and came around the desk.
Moving past her, he shut the door and slid the lock into place with a click that made her stomach clench, then returned to his seat.
“Privacy. Them kids walk right in without knocking sometimes.”
A warning bell sounded in the back of her mind, the same siren that blared whenever she found herself at a disadvantage on the job, downhill from some predator she was tracking, or in too isolated a spot while confronting a belligerent poacher or fisherman.
Always have a way out. A plan of escape. It was a necessity for a woman in this line of work, and the golden rule of all those her father had taught her about the woods. But, the morning was warm, and plenty of people were splashing in the pool already, all within earshot through the window that was cracked open. Surely Ian wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything in here.
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Drink, Annie?” he interrupted, gesturing at a minifridge behind the desk. Annie quickly shook her head, but Ian opened it anyway and withdrew a can of Sprite for himself, popping the top loudly.
Annie cleared her throat and started again. “Ian, we need to talk about Jamie.”
“So you said.” Ian lifted the fizzing can to his lips and took a long, noisy sip.
Annie couldn’t keep the scowl from her face as she stared at him across the desk. There was more than one way to skin a cat, but with Ian, the direct approach was best. Present the evidence and let the obvious conclusion hang in the air.
“I’ve recently learned that the man Jamie broke up with just before she was killed had tattoos, and given that you’ve spent the last several weeks in close proximity to her here at the pool, well…”
Annie sat back, sweeping a hand in front of her to indicate the obvious.
Ian gave a breathy laugh that concluded in a burp.
“Isn’t that convenient.” He traced a dirty fingernail around the rim of the can. “Lo and behold, Ian Ward has tattoos.” He shook his head ather, chuckling as though they were old friends. “Oh, Annie… you must be in serious trouble if I’m the best suspect you’ve got.”
Annie didn’t bat an eyelash. His condescension was infuriating, but it would only derail her if she let it.
“You are,” she said without inflection. “The fact of it is that you interacted with Jamie almost every day in the weeks leading up to her death—and, yes, you have tattoos. I’d be stupid not to suspect you.”
Ian tilted his head back, appraising her down his nose. “Does Jake think I did it, too?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Ian’s gaze slid briefly to the window beside the door, then back to Annie.
“Fair enough.” He nodded once. “Yes. Clearly, I have tattoos. Three of them to be exact, but guess what, Annie Oakley? So do a lot of other guys.”
“Not that many.”
“Twenty-seven percent of the male population, according to last year’s census.”
The frown on Annie’s face deepened, and Ian lifted the Sprite can in a sort of salute.
“I like statistics.”
Annie gazed at him for a bewildered moment, then, for the first time since walking in, she took a good look around the room.
The small bookshelf beside the window was lined with novels that were tattered in a well-read sort of way.Moby Dick, War and Peace, andLolitasat side by side on the shelf. Beneath them on the floor was an untidy stack of magazines that ran the gamut from motorcycle accessories to high-end equestrian. The potted plants on the windowsill seemed watered and healthy, and on the desk itself, beside an ashtray overflowing with orange and white butts, was a calendar with several dates penciled in, in neat, narrow cursive.
