Clark pinched his lips together and he looked up at Pierce. “Did you give the statements to the FBI?”
“I did,” Pierce drawled.
Clark then looked at Frankenberry. “Do you have the statements?” After Frankenberry nodded, Clark frowned. “Why didn’t you share the statements with the state’s attorney general’s office?”
“I did,” Frankenberry said, reaching for a pitcher of water on the table to pour a glass.
Clark then faked a pretty decent look of surprise with a hint of sarcasm. “Have you not had a chance to read those statements, Assistant US District Attorney?”
Stewart flicked his attention to Clark and just stared for a few moments. Clark stared right back and looked like he could do so all day. Finally Stewart cracked first. “Miss Albertini, did you kill Agent Duponte?”
“Of course not,” I said.
Clark cut me a look. Oh yeah. I wasn’t supposed to talk.
Stewart opened his file to scan what looked like hand-written notes. “Are you in love with ATF SRT Agent Aiden Devlin?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Clark said, sounding bored.
Stewart looked up. “Love and jealousy are often motivations for murder, as you know.”
Clark tilted his head. “I think you know that Agent Duponte was involved in a very dangerous case that got her killed, unfortunately. Anna had nothing to do with it.”
Stewart winced as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. It almost looked genuine. “Agent Duponte has closed several very dangerous cases without injury, and this is all too coincidental for me. In fact, a smart woman would know that killing Agent Duponte now, during a deadly undercover Op, might create such a sticky situation that it would be swept aside. You’re a smart woman, Miss Albertini, right?”
Several smart-ass responses rose in me and I quenched them. There was no need to make Clark’s job more difficult than it already was.
Clark pushed away from the table. “If this is all you have—”
“No.” Stewart read from his notes again. “We have the report about your car, Miss Albertini. There were no unidentifiable prints on it. Neither were Agent Duponte’s prints on your vehicle. How do you explain that?”
“Gloves?” I asked.
“Hmmm.” Stewart looked at Clark and then back at me. “We also have the autopsy report. Agent Duponte was killed by being beaten with the potato bat and then having her head repeatedly smashed against your porch. The attack took time, and the attacker wasn’t strong enough to kill with one blow. Seems like a woman did this.”
That sounded flimsy.
Clark cocked his head. “Any DNA found on the body?”
Stewart shook his head. “Some but no match yet. We would like your client to submit to a DNA test.”
“No,” Clark said. “Get a warrant.”
“Oh, I will,” Stewart said, focusing back on me. “Are you aware that Agent Devlin and Agent Duponte were creating a family?”
I frowned. “With their unit?”
“No. With a baby.” Stewart studied me, compassion in his eyes. Kind of. “I take it nobody told you.”
“Sasha was pregnant?” I asked, my stomach dropping. I’d gotten in a bar fight with a pregnant woman? I felt sick. She’d died on my porch, and so had the baby? Tears tried to clog up my sinuses.
“No,” Stewart said.
“What?” I stared right at him. What kind of game was this jackass playing?
He shook his head. “It’s my understanding that Agent Duponte wanted a child and asked Agent Devlin to be the father. A couple of years ago, they agreed upon the timing. Biological clocks and all of that.”
“Things have changed since they worked together,” I said.
