Jethro craned his neck to peer through the rain splattering the windshield. “It’s the blue one between the brick house with green shutters and the white one with the purple flowerpots. I’m thinking your suspect has either a decent job or family money; the small amount of info my friend was able to send didn’t specify which. With our luck, the bloke will be a lawyer who just had to call in a partner to get him sprung. Aren’t these places all around a million dollars each?”
“Probably.” Angus found a spot at the curb and quickly parked. He looked into the back seat. “You want to come in or just stay in the truck?”
Roscoe sprawled across the entire seat, his nose on his paws and his eyes closed. He didn’t move.
Angus rolled his eyes. “Stop pouting. One burger was enough and probably isn’t even good for you. I’ll give you dog food when we get home.” Roscoe didn’t twitch. What a drama queen. “Fine. Stay here.” He opened his door and jumped out, letting the rain have its way with him. Once Jethro had exited the vehicle, Angus locked it up tight. Last thing he needed was his dog going to look for another burger. Or for a bar.
“What’s your plan?” Jethro asked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as rain plastered his hair to his head.
Angus jogged around the truck to the sidewalk. “I feel like the direct approach will be best. Let’s just ring the bell.”
“Interesting.” Jethro strode along the sidewalk next to the connected townhomes, ducking his head against the rain. “Should we talk about your team being fired?”
“No.” The cold of autumn had started killing the pots of plants and flowers in front of several of the town houses, giving the pretty neighborhood the sense of change. Of winter coming. Angus scouted the quiet neighborhood before walking up the steps to the dark-blue door and knocking.
A shuffling could be heard inside, and then the door opened. “Yes?” Caucasian male, brown hair, blue eyes, about six-feet tall and 225 pounds with decent muscle mass. He wore expensive black sweats and a green tank top.
Angus read him in a minute. “Are you Levi Mackelson?”
Levi started to shut the door. “I have a lawyer, asshole. Call him, not me. You can’t be here.”
Angus plunked his boot in the door. “I’m Angus Force and I’m the foremost expert in the world on the guy I think killed your ex-girlfriend. Do you have a minute to talk?”
Levi paused. “I can’t talk to you without my lawyer.”
“I’m not a cop.” When Levi just stared at him, Angus shrugged. “Any longer. I was, but now I’m not. Just don’t say anything that could incriminate you and it won’t matter anyway. You’re smart enough to do that.” Yeah, manipulation. He was good at it and didn’t give a shit.
Levi straightened. “You know who killed her?”
“I think I might, but I need to talk to you.” Angus put on his most disarming smile. “The sooner I catch him, the sooner the cops will stop trying to build a case against you. You do know that the boyfriend or ex, especially if there are a couple of domestic violence calls in the past, is the guy they’re going after, right? You’re smart enough to get out of it in the end, but let’s be honest. Do you have time for this crap?” Yep. More ego stroke.
Levi turned toward Jethro. “Who are you?”
“Professor of philosophy,” Jet said easily, his British accent all charm. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Levi’s gaze narrowed. “You’re a cop.”
“Ha,” Jet said. “Not even close, mate. I was in M16, but that was a long time ago, and now I teach philosophy, with emphases on ethics, moral theory, decision, game, and rational choice theories.”
A slow and not entirely nice smile tilted Levi’s mouth. “Running from some bad shit, are you? Good luck with that.” He opened the door and gestured them inside. “Come on in.”
This guy wasn’t a moron. Angus walked across the polished wooden floor of the threshold, which was a short hallway leading to a narrow staircase leading to the second floor. A silver bike rested against the right wall beneath a mirror, and to the left was an opening to what looked like a living room. He moved that way, with Jethro right behind him.
A gas fire flickered in a hammered steel fireplace, and he moved past it to sit in one of two chairs facing a blue sofa. The dining area, kitchen, and a small backyard showed through another doorway by the fireplace, the rooms laid out in a narrow, shotgun formation.
It was classy and expensive.
Jet sat next to him, while Levi took the sofa. Pastel watercolors decorated the walls. The coffee table and end tables were antiques.
“Who decorated your place?” Angus asked, clicking facts through his brain.
“My mom,” Levi said easily. “My parents own the town house. I just rent from them.” He pushed a stack of outdoor magazines to the side of the table. “What do you know about Lori’s murder?”
Guy went right for the issue, showing he wasn’t going to avoid it. Or maybe he just thought he was that much smarter than everyone else. Angus sat back in the surprisingly comfortable chair. “Not nearly as much as we want. It’d help me figure out what to ask if we started generally. How long did you two date?”
Levi lifted his chin and looked to the right. “I think about eight months? She moved in after three and we lived together for five.”
So far, indicators of truth. Angus nodded. “Why’d she move out? Any chance she was seeing somebody else?” Could lead to a suspect.
