“In conjunction with somebody smashing the victim’s head against your wooden porch,” Pierce said, no emotion on his hard cop face. “That’s just my opinion from viewing the scene, of course. I don’t have the ME’s results yet.” He leaned back, looking all relaxed now. “Have you seen that particular potato gun before?”
It’s amazing that a fleeting idea of lying to him ran through my head. Human nature, I guess. But I was a lawyer, and I knew better. “I think so. If the gun is the same one Sasha fired at me and I took from her, then I’ve not only seen it but touched it.”
Clark stiffened next to me.
Yeah, that probably wasn’t great news for my lawyer.
“Back up and run me through what happened,” Pierce said. “This time, tell me everything.”
I could feel somebody watching from the other side of the mirror, but it could be anybody in the station. Or it could be a prosecuting attorney. Interesting. My hands started shaking, so I clasped them together in my lap and relayed details of my interactions with Sasha to Pierce, including the bar fight and then the entanglement in the alley along with descriptions of Sasha’s friends. Finally, when I wound down, I could feel the tension from Clark next to me.
Pierce took several notes. “You pointed a nine-millimeter at the deceased?”
“I was in fear for my life since it was five against one, and Sasha did dent my car when she fired the potato gun,” I said calmly. “The second I was back in control and not in fear for my life, I put my gun away.”
Pierce kept making notes. “How did the potato gun get from your car to the porch?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
He looked up, his gaze sharp. “Excuse me?”
My mouth went dry. Oh, this was bad. “I don’t know, Grant. I tossed it in the backseat and pretty much forgot about it.”
Clark made a slight movement that I interpreted meant it was time for me to stop talking. It was hard to think like a lawyer and a suspect at the same time. He cleared his throat. “I can tell you from experience that Anna never locks her car door. At her house, at the office, even shopping around town.”
I swallowed. “That’s true.” I’d grown up in Silverville and then moved to Timber City, and there wasn’t a need to lock my car door. Well, except that a murder weapon had been taken from it.
Clark set his hands on the table. “How bad is this?”
Pierce smiled, and it was his pissed-off smile and not the natural one. He had a great natural smile, but it was rare to see it. “How bad is it? Let’s see. Your client and the victim had a public fight in a bar and then a semi-private one in an alley over a man who has ties to very bad people, even if Aiden is an ATF agent. The victim then died from being beaten with a weapon that was last in your client’s possession—at your client’s home. In case there’s any question about this being the same potato gun, let me assure you that Anna’s prints were found on the weapon. As you know, all lawyers are printed before taking the bar exam, so we already had her prints on file.”
“Shit,” Clark muttered.
I jolted. It was the first time I’d actually heard him swear.
Chapter 8
Morning light illuminated my office as I sipped my latte after a sleepless night. Aiden had remained in Seattle, and our conversation had been brief the night before because apparently, operation planning didn’t stick to normal business hours. That was fine with me, though. I needed time to stew, worry, get mad, and then calm down about Sasha dying on my porch. Aiden had been quiet about the situation, and we’d have to discuss it when he got home.
Clark poked his head in my doorway. “Hey. Just got in. How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, twirling the cardboard cup in my hands. “I feel badly for Sasha and her family, if she has one. Also, if I didn’t know I was innocent, I’d think I was guilty from the evidence.” I was only partially joking.
“Me too,” Clark said, his expression somber.
I sat back. “Come on, Clark. Detective Pierce is excellent at his job, and so is Nick Basanelli.” Nick was our county prosecutor and my former boss. “They’ll find out who killed Sasha and then prosecute that person. Don’t worry. They both know me and know I wouldn’t have killed Sasha.” The woman had been so young, and her death was frightening and incredibly sad. Who’d want her dead?
Clark straightened in the doorway, today wearing gray slacks, a long-sleeved yellow shirt, and a darker gray tie. “Anna. We’re talking about 18 U.S.C. Section 1114 here. Federal jurisdiction.”
I choked on my coffee and then set it aside. He was right. “Sasha was a federal agent.” My head spun. That might put her case under federal jurisdiction and not state. “Do you know the federal prosecutor? Any of them?” Panic tried to take hold of me, and I took several more deep breaths to keep from passing out.
Clark held up a hand. “Calm down. We don’t even know if federal law applies. Let me go study the issue, and we’ll see if we can keep this case at the state level. By ‘we,’ I mean Detective Pierce because you’re actually not involved. Yet. I mean, unless you get charged. Obviously, you’re a person of interest, but you—”
“Enough,” I said, my knees going weak even though I was sitting. “Stop trying to make me feel better. You’re freaking me out.”
He pulled a folded up newspaper from his back pocket and tossed it on my desk. “More bad news.”
Of course. The front page looked innocuous.
