Detective Robertson’s brows drew together. His mouth parted, lips slack. True confusion? “Who?”
Laurel tried to read his expression. “Dr. Miriam Liu. One of the lead researchers at Oakridge Solutions. She died in Tempest County in a car accident.” Which also took her out of Detective Robertson’s jurisdiction.
“I’ve never heard of her,” he said.
Laurel measured his breath rate. Fast and from the chest. He was definitely stressed. “How did you exchange envelopes with Melissa Palmtree?”
“I pick up extra shifts as a security guard at Oakridge Solutions.” Detective Robertson’s expression crumpled. “Just on my off days. It’s extra cash. I just walk the perimeter, make sure no one’s breaking in. I didn’t even know Melissa worked there until Bitterson told me, and then one day, there she was in the break room waiting for me.”
Laurel’s fingers tightened around her pen. “Was Bitterson harvesting yew trees? We found his body in a strand of them.”
“Youtrees? What the hell is that?” Detective Robertson shoved back to stand. “I’ve told you everything I know. I’m done here.”
Vexler rose smoothly, his expression polite but firm. “Unless you intend to charge my client, I believe this conversation is over.”
“Why would Mark Bitterson have rammed our vehicle with his truck and fired upon Agent Smudgeon and me the first time we left Elk Hollow?” Laurel asked.
The detective’s brow furrowed. “I have no fucking clue, lady. I’m out of here.”
“For now,” Laurel replied. “I suggest you stay in town, Detective Robertson. One more question. Did you have anything to do with the deaths of Tyler Griggs, Dr. Miriam Liu, Melissa Palmtree, or Mark Bitterson?”
Detective Robertson stumbled back. “God, no. Wait a minute. Are you saying—”
Walter palmed the table. “You might want to watch your six, Detective. It appears that people in your orbit are ending up . . . dead.”
Detective Robertson fled the room.
Vexler trailed him with calm grace. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll get Officer Jackson for you. I’m representing her as well.” He shut the door behind him.
Walter let out a low breath. “That lawyer is a definite shark. He’s pretty much working for free just to mess with you.”
“He’s studying me,” Laurel said. “Trying to learn how I think, how I work, and how I’ll respond on the stand during Abigail’s trial. This is the only way he can get close.”
“Now, that’s dedication.”
Laurel had no idea how Abigail inspired it. Unless Vexler was just that dedicated. Laurel would need days with him to accurately diagnose him, but she’d bet he was a narcissist. Many successful people had narcissistic traits.
Walter hitched his belt up. Had he lost more weight? “Do we have enough to arrest Detective Robertson? For anything but being a dumbass courier of something that might not be illegal as well as being a cheating asshole?”
“Not at the moment, but we’ll give a copy of our report to the police chief here. I bet Detective Robertson doesn’t keep his job for long.”
Even with his hotshot attorney.
“So, you and Detective Robertson kept your relationship quiet,” Laurel said. They’d been interviewing Officer Jillian Jackson for almost forty minutes, and the woman was starting to wilt.
“Yes,” Jackson admitted, her gaze flicking toward the door, desperation fraying her composure. “We were careful.”
Walter’s pen scratched against his notepad, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said much, letting Laurel take the lead.
“Careful,” Laurel echoed. “That’s one way to put it. You’re married, Officer Jackson, and so is Detective Robertson.”
Jackson’s mouth tightened, her shoulders hunching defensively. “I’m aware. It was . . . complicated. It’s not like we planned it.”
“And Mark Bitterson planned to use that against you,” Walter said.
She flinched. “I told you, I didn’t know Bitterson. He never contacted me. Whatever happened, it was between him and Josh.”
“But you knew that Detective Robertson was meeting him,” Laurel pressed.
