Spelling stepped forward, removing handcuffs from his belt.“Harris Lynch, you’re under arrest for receiving stolen property.”
As Spelling secured the cuffs around Lynch’s wrists, Morgan recited the Miranda rights with the practiced cadence of someone who’d done it hundreds of times.
“This is ridiculous,” Lynch protested weakly.“I run a legitimate business.”
“Tell it to the judge,” Morgan replied, then turned to Spelling, then called for transport for the man they were taking into custody.
Lynch stood rigid between Jenna and Jake, his earlier confidence completely evaporated.His eyes darted between the officers, calculating.A cornered man looking for escape.
“Mr.Lynch,” Jenna said, leaning against the counter.“Now might be a good time to reconsider what you know about Marcus Derrick and that radio.”
Lynch swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his buttoned collar.“I want a lawyer.”
Of course he did.Jenna fought back a sigh of frustration.They’d caught him red-handed with stolen goods, but the murder case had just hit another wall.
She glanced around the cluttered shop, at the hundreds of items with uncertain origins and ownership.How many other crimes were hidden among these shelves?How many secrets did Harris Lynch keep behind that calculating gaze?
Lynch’s obvious lies about that radio suggested guilt of some kind.But if he had killed Derrick, wouldn’t he have taken the object that he coveted?Or had he perhaps acted in rage and then realized that he couldn’t risk being caught with that vintage radio in his possession?
Jenna caught Jake’s eye.The same question she was thinking was reflected in his gaze: Had they just arrested Marcus Derrick’s killer?Or was the murderer still on the loose?
CHAPTER EIGHT
As Chief Morgan’s cruiser pulled into a space between two rusted vehicles, Jenna glanced at her watch—just over an hour since they’d left Harris Lynch cooling his heels in a holding cell, waiting for his lawyer.
“That lawyer’s sure taking their sweet time showing up.”Colonel Spelling grumbled.“And Lynch isn’t talking.”
“Meanwhile, maybe we can get something useful from Mickey,” Jenna replied.“If he took that samovar to our suspect, Lynch had to know it was stolen.”
“And if we can connect Lynch to stolen property,” Jake added, “we can hold him on that while we work on getting evidence for the murder charge.”
“You really think Mickey will cooperate?”Spelling asked, his skepticism evident.
“He won’t volunteer anything,” Morgan replied flatly.“Mickey’s been in the game too long.He knows exactly what to say and what not to say.But I’m pretty sure I can turn him around.”
The four officers left the vehicle and approached the building along a cracked concrete walkway.“Third floor, apartment 3C,” Morgan said, stepping carefully over a broken beer bottle.
The interior hallway was dimly lit.Graffiti decorated the walls, and the carpet beneath their feet was stained beyond recognition.They climbed the stairs in silence, each step creaking under their weight.
Jake leaned close to Jenna as they reached the second-floor landing.“Reminds me of places I used to patrol in Kansas City.Never good news when we got called to buildings like this.”
When they reached apartment 3C, Morgan stepped forward and knocked firmly.The sound echoed down the empty hallway.Silence followed.
Morgan knocked again, harder.“Mickey Guest.Pinecrest Police.Open up.”
After a moment, they heard movement inside—the scrape of a chair, footsteps approaching the door.A chain slid, a lock turned, and the door opened just wide enough to reveal Mickey Guest’s face.
“Well, well,” he said.“If it isn’t Chief Morgan again.And you brought your friends.”He stood blocking the doorway, hair disheveled, but his eyes alert and calculating.
“Can we come in, Mickey?”Morgan asked, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t really a question.
Mickey’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile.“You got a warrant, Chief?”
“We’re just here to talk,” Jenna said.“About Harris Lynch.”
“Lynch?”Mickey’s expression remained unchanged.“What about him?”
“We’ve got him in a cell,” Morgan said.“We suspect him of murder.But we need something to hold him on until we get proof.We’d like you to come down to the station, answer some questions.”
