“No.”
“For the case,” he tacks on unconvincingly.
“Still no.”
He laughs, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard.
Fortunately, I’m spared from further discussion by our arrival at Dana’s baccarat table.
She smiles brightly as we approach, motioning to all the open seats. Looks like she’s got a dead table, which works out nicely for us. “Hi, there. Must be my lucky day. Not one but two handsome high rollers. Have a seat. Minimum is only five dollars this morning. Do you need chips?”
After glancing at her name tag, I show her my badge. “We’re not here to play, Ms. Ross. I’m Special Agent Hayes, and this is Special Agent Andrews. We’re with the FBI and have a few questions for you.”
Her entire body stiffens like she took a cattle prod to the asshole.
Andrews, ever the tension-diffuser, uses a gentle tone. “You aren’t in any trouble.” He takes a seat, smiling warmly at her. “This is about the incident at your house. We just spoke with your mother, and she told us where to find you. It’s customary to interview family members when something like this happens.”
“Oh. I see.” Some of the color returns to her cheeks. “You startled me for a second. It was like being on a cop show.” She throws her voice to impersonate me. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Although she’s cute, she does nothing for me.
Andrews joins her in laughter. “Sorry about that. My partner isn’t known for his tact.”
Dick.
My brows arch, forehead crimping as I cast a glare at him from under the bus.
Giggling nervously, Dana scans the room. “Floor,” she hollers over her shoulder.
A tall man with a clipboard appears behind her a few seconds later. Looks like one of the floor monitors.
She whispers something to him that we can’t hear. He nods and meanders off without addressing us. After reaching under the table, she retrieves a sign and places it on the green felt playing surface, effectively deterring patrons. Not that I see any hovering.
Once she returns her attention to us, I begin the questioning. “Do you have any idea who would want to harm your family?”
“No.”
“Have you received any threats? Unexplained phone calls? Texts? Emails? Any suspicious or unusual communication? Either before or after the incident?”
With a slight shrug, she shakes her head. “Sorry. No.”
“Are you aware of any altercations your mother may have had with anyone? Feud with a neighbor, perhaps? Anything like that?”
“No. Everyone loves her.”
“Do you or your mother owe someone any large sums of money? Is there anything you or your mother might have taken from someone, even by mistake?”
A hearty head shake is her only reply.
I attempt a different angle. “Any reason to believe your daughter’s father might have a grudge? Or an ax to grind?”
“No. He doesn’t care about Ava. Never once tried to be a father.”
“And how does he feel about you?”
“I have no idea.”
“No recent contact with him?”
