Angus grimaced. “Sorry to keep bugging you, but do you have any leads on the missing doctor?”
“No,” Brigid said. “I have a computer running a search, but I’m up to my Gaelic ears on three other cases, being monitored by the administrator, and I’d prefer Opal Clemonte didn’t fire me on my first week in the new computer headquarters. I will call you if I get a hit on your doctor.” She clicked off again, and somehow it was louder this time.
Nari sipped her coffee. “We have to stop relying on Brigid so much. Her plate is too full right now.”
“Agreed,” Angus said, rubbing the back of his corded neck. “I don’t have another computer expert, though.”
The man didn’t have a team at all, but why bring that up? More importantly, she would not ask what his plans were after this case had concluded. Why breach the tenuous peace they’d found between them?
His phone buzzed and he clicked the Speaker button. “Force.”
“Hey, Angus, it’s Raider,” Raider said. “I’m at work right now, at the DHS, and I’ve gotten called into my boss’s office. The Metro PD is trying to find you and you’re not answering your cell phone. Thought I’d pass on the message.”
Nari chewed on the inside of her lip, a bad habit she’d had in college but had thought she’d conquered. Metro couldn’t find Angus because he’d left his phone at her apartment and was using a burner.
Angus sighed. “Thanks, Raid. I’ll call Tate.” He disengaged the call and then quickly dialed another number.
“Tate Bianchi,” Tate answered absently.
“Hi Tate, it’s Angus,” Angus said calmly. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for me.”
Silence pounded for the briefest of moments. “Angus? Where are you?” the detective asked, papers shuffling in the background.
Angus paused and then looked at the phone. “I’m at a friend’s place, hanging out. What do you need?”
“I need you to come down to the station and talk to me,” Tate said evenly. “Like right now. In fact, because your truck was crashed, I’m happy to send a car to pick you up. How does that sound?”
Nari shuffled her feet. Were they going to arrest him? She wasn’t sure who to call as a lawyer now.
Angus lifted his gaze to her face, no expression in his eyes. “I don’t need a ride. I’ll see you in an hour.” Then he ended the call. “I might need another lawyer.”
* * *
Angus sat once again in the interrogation room of Metro PD, facing Tate and Detective Buckle. He wondered what Buckle’s first name was. Probably something tough like Margaret or Bernadette. Maybe Hayden. Yeah. She looked like a Hayden Buckle. Tough and savvy.
“Angus?” Tate asked. “Did I lose you?”
Angus sighed. “No. I’m just getting bored. We’ve gone over all this before and my timeline and alibis haven’t changed.” The empty seat next to him served as a reminder that he’d gotten Scott shot. The lawyer was still in the Intensive Care Unit and hadn’t awakened after his surgery. “Maybe we should wait until my attorney is up to working again.”
“We don’t have that kind of time,” Buckle said, her eyes sparking. “Speaking of lawyers, it turns out the gun that shot Scott has your fingerprints on it.”
Angus nodded. “No shit. I mean, no kidding. Pardon my language.” He was close to losing it and needed to get a grip. “I grabbed the weapon out of the shooter’s hand and then shot him with it, so no doubt my fingerprints are on it.”
“Only yours,” Tate said helpfully.
Angus lifted a shoulder. “The guy was wearing gloves. I already told you that.” He looked back at Buckle. “Did you check the clip and bullets?”
“Yep. No fingerprints on those at all,” she said.
Angus leaned forward. “There you have it, then. If I was dumb enough to leave my prints on the gun, do you really think I was smart enough to wipe the clip and bullets? No. Somebody else had that gun and I think you know it.”
Buckle leaned forward, mimicking his movement. “I think you’re smart enough to mess with us in that kind of way. Wipe some of the gun and not the rest. Right?”
Sure, he was smart enough. “I didn’t shoot Scott,” he said. Again.
“Is this the guy who did?” Tate flipped over a picture, showing a blond man with green eyes. He wore a bloodstained sweatshirt and was pale in death.
Angus pulled the picture closer. “Yeah. That’s him.” His shoulders stiffened. “I shot him a few times with his gun. Where did you find him?”
