“Thought it was strange when Ginny talked to me, but in light of this discussion, it makes me wonder if they aren’t using theircharitable donationsto hide something,” Mitch growled.
The group was silent for a few seconds before the muttered cursing began. “Fuck,” Colt bit out. “Does this mean that Harrison is part of whatever Harry has going on?”
As the implications hit Terry, he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before dropping his chin to his chest and pinning his gaze on the group. “For now, let’s keep working on the drug aspect. I don’t want to spook anyone too soon. We’re bringing Robert and his attorney in this afternoon. If he andHarry are part of the drug dealing, we’re already going to stir up one hornet’s nest.”
They all agreed, and the meeting soon broke up. After Terry walked back to his office, he plopped unceremoniously into his chair. If Harrison Blackwood was involved, their case just became more complicated… and public.
Terry stood behind the one-way mirror, arms crossed, watching Robert Whitman swagger into the interview room like he owned the place. The kid wore a designer polo shirt, and his perfectly styled hair screamed expensive salon. Walking beside him was attorney Richard Hartwell, a silver-haired man in a tailored suit who radiated the kind of confidence that came from never losing a case he couldn't buy his way out of.
"Gentlemen," Hartwell said as he and Robert settled into their chairs across from Jeremy and Pete. "I trust this won't take long. My client has been more than cooperative, and frankly, we're growing tired of these fishing expeditions."
Jeremy kept his expression neutral as he opened his file. "We appreciate Mr. Whitman coming in. We just have a few follow-up questions about the events at the beach house."
Robert leaned back in his chair with practiced nonchalance. "Like I told you before, it was just a party that got out of hand. Younger college kids drinking too much. Nothing more complicated than that."
"Actually, we want to ask about something that happened before the party," Pete said, his tone conversational. "We have a witness who saw you talking to someone in the study of the beach house Friday afternoon.”
Terry watched Robert's face carefully, noting the slight tightening around his eyes despite his casual posture.
"I was either studying, hanging with the other four people in the group, or having some downtime on the beach," Robert said with a shrug.
"This would have been in the afternoon when the other housemates were purportedly on the beach. Someone came to the beach house and had a conversation with you. A man, dark hair, in an expensive suit," Jeremy pressed. "Professional… not college casual. A private conversation in the study."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Robert's voice remained steady, but Terry caught the way his fingers drummed against the table. A tell.
Hartwell leaned forward slightly. "Is there a point to this line of questioning?"
"The point is that we have a witness who has come forward to place your client in a private conversation with this man, in the room where the drugs were found later that evening. In the room that had been locked during the party. Our witness has already identified the person your client was talking to," Pete said, pulling out a photograph and sliding it across the table. "Harry Blackwood."
The change in Robert was immediate. His cocky demeanor cracked, color draining from his face as he stared at the photo. His mouth opened, then closed, like a fish gasping for air. "I..." Robert's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't have to answer that."
Hartwell studied his client's reaction with the sharp eyes of someone who'd spent decades reading people. After a moment, he leaned over and whispered something in Robert's ear. Terry watched the kid's shoulders slump as whatever advice he'd received sank in.
"My client would like to clarify his previous statement," Hartwell said, his tone more measured now.
Robert ran his hand through his hair, destroying his perfect styling. "Okay, yeah. Harry Blackwood came by the house. But it wasn't a big deal."
"How do you know Harry Blackwood?" Jeremy asked.
"We met at a fraternity alumni event a year ago. Sigma Chi chapter reunion in Richmond." Robert's words came faster now, like he was trying to get through an unpleasant task. "He mentioned he was in the construction business, building houses on the Shore. He even mentioned that his dad had some beach rentals. I remembered that when I booked the house.”
"So you're friends?" Pete pressed.
"No, not friends.” Robert shook his head. “Acquaintances. That’s all. We occasionally email… professionally. I’m hoping to get with an architecture firm when I graduate, and I figured his was a good reference. When I told him we were renting a place out here for the weekend, he said he might stop by if he was in the area."
Terry felt his jaw clench. The kid was lying smoothly now, probably used to making shit up when needed.
"What did you two discuss during this visit?" Jeremy asked.
"Nothing important. He asked how we liked the house and if we were having a good time. Small talk." Robert's confidence was returning as he fell into his prepared narrative. "He stayed maybe ten minutes, then left."
"Did Harry Blackwood bring anything with him to the house?" Pete's direct question was cutting.
Robert's eyes darted to his lawyer before returning to the detectives. "Like what?"
"You tell us."
"No. He didn't bring anything. Not to me. Not that I saw. We just talked."
