Oops. I’d forgotten Thelma had propositioned him late summer during a case.
She fluttered her thick mascara-laden eyelashes. “Why, Detective Pierce. How lovely to see your hotness again.”
Pierce forced a smile. In either his late thirties or early forties, the detective had darker blond hair, stunning green eyes, and a swimmer’s physique. He also lacked any semblance of an appreciation for the ridiculous. He surveyed the room. “Everyone move away from the knife.”
Nobody moved.
His nostrils flared, and he walked to take the remaining chair across from us. Then he gingerly drew the bag toward him and out of our reach. “Were your rights read to you?”
“Yes,” I said as he pulled a phone from his back pocket to place on the table to record the interview. “The rights were read and we’re here voluntarily to help you solve this crime.”
Thelma leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “I’m here voluntarily in any way you want.” Georgiana shoved an elbow into her ribs, and Thelma sucked in air, sitting back. “Not nice,” she muttered.
Bernie sighed, looking even more forlorn and sad under the buzzing fluorescent lights. While the entrance to the police station had been decorated for the holidays, the interrogation room, understandably, had not. “This sucks.”
The door opened again and the young officer poked her head in. “Now?” Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail, and although she was new, she had an air about her that promised competence.
“Yeah,” Pierce said, his gaze on me.
The officer smiled. “Ladies, would you please come with me? I’ll get you settled in another room, and Detective Pierce will speak to you in a little while.”
Bernie reached for Georgiana’s hand, looking lost and scared. “They can stay.”
“No, they can’t,” Pierce said. “Go, ladies. We won’t be too long.”
I nodded at the women, and they slowly stood, Georgiana releasing Bernie’s hand. It figured Pierce would want to speak to them alone to make sure all the stories matched, and since I represented all of them, I’d be present. When the door closed behind them, Pierce sat back and looked at Bernie. “Start at the beginning.”
Bernie looked sideways at me.
I nodded. “We’re on the record as being here voluntarily, so just tell the detective what happened.”
Bernie scrubbed both gnarled hands down his face and shuddered, telling Pierce the same series of events that he’d told me.
Pierce watched him without expression, but his eyes held more than a hint of intimidation. “Why did you threaten to kill the deceased last week?”
Ah, crap. Pierce was already hot on Bernie’s case.
Bernie swallowed, his white beard moving against his collar. “It’s like this. There are only a few of us authentic Santas left who do this with purity, and Lawrence was one of those guys, as am I. I heard that he was going to be in that movie they’re filming in town, and he wasn’t going to charge anything. He just wanted the glory. That’s the opposite of what we do, man. The Kringle Club is better than that.”
Pierce lifted one dark blond eyebrow and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket. “The Kringle Club?”
“Yeah.” Bernie sighed. “We formed an LLC about twenty years ago, which made it so we didn’t need to compete for the good jobs around here, Silverville, and Spokane. The businesses contract with the LLC, and all money goes into the account. We work the same amount of hours, so it doesn’t matter where, and then we split the kitty at the end of the season.”
Why hadn’t Bernie told me that? I had to work on my questioning skills.
“Huh.” Pierce opened his notebook and a shiny silver pen rolled out. He caught it and tapped on the paper. “Give me the names for the members of the Kringle Club.”
Bernie scratched his jaw beneath the white beard. “We had ten of us when we first created the group, and now we’re down to five who have survived the last few years. Well, I guess four now.” His gaze turned far away for a moment. “Who knew that getting old would be the goal?” He named five men, including Lawrence. I recognized two of them; Donald McLerrison, who was a farmer outside of town, and Rodney Springfield, who was a doctor that had patched me up more than once. Springfield really did look like Santa. The final man, Jocko Terezzi, was new to me. I’d have to look him up.
“Do any of these men have a reason to kill Lawrence besides the fact that he was going to work for free and not make money for your group?” Pierce asked.
Bernie shook his head. “No.”
I sat back. “As a motive, that’s weak, Pierce. Come on.”
Pierce lifted his green gaze to me. “Agreed.” Then he focused back on Bernie. “How about we discuss the fact that Lawrence has been sleeping with your ex-wife and took his portion of this year’s kitty and bought her an engagement ring?”
A boulder dropped into my stomach, and I partially turned to look at Bernie, whose ears had started to turn red. I’d never understood why clients hid material facts from their own lawyers. He’d obviously wanted to keep that fact from Thelma and Georgiana, but I needed all of the facts to keep his butt out of jail. “Detective Pierce? I’d like a moment with my client.”
