FIVE
It wasn’t until around one in the morning that Trent went home. Amanda got in some sleep but was at PWCPD Central Station where the Homicide Unit was housed by seven fifteen. It was in Woodbridge, about a ten-minute drive from Dumfries where she lived.
Central served as one of three stations belonging to the PWCPD. The building itself was mostly a single-story redbrick structure except for one second-story office tower, sided with formed aluminum panels. It was on a country lot surrounded by trees and would have been a serene setting if not for the investigations that went on within the brick walls. Besides Homicide, there were bureaucratic offices, including the one that belonged to the police chief.
Amanda’s first interest this morning was in the holding cells. “I’m here to see Logan Hunter,” she said to the officer at the counter.
He said nothing at first, just stared at her blankly like she had three heads. “Detective Steele, I can’t let you back to see him.”
“Why not?”
“Orders from Sergeant Graves.”
You’ve got to be kidding me!She took a few seconds to calm her temper. The woman had gone over and above this time. “She specifically said not to let me see Hunter? That was her precise order?”
“It was. I’m sorry.”
“You can let me back. She doesn’t need to know.” She proposed defying a direct order, but desperate times and all that…
The officer,Roberts, based on his name tag, angled his head. “Yeah, I’m not letting you back there.”
It was apparent that Graves had put the fear of God—or at least the fear of losing his job—into the officer. “All right. Guess it is what it is.” She turned to leave but was struck by a thought. “Do you know if he called for a lawyer?”
“Yes, ma’am. That one there.” The officer pointed to a name on the list of attorneys posted on the counter.
Peter Wilson.Amanda was familiar with him, and they’d crossed paths as recently as last fall. Peter worked with a defense firm in Woodbridge and had created quite a formidable reputation for himself as an attorney. But he didn’t exactly come cheap. “Do you know when he’s expected to arrive?”
The officer shook his head. “Though, I suspect this morning sometime.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Wish I could help more.”
“Me too.” She left. At least she knew Logan’s interests should be looked after. Still, her insides were quaking with rage. It was one thing for Graves to send her home last night like she’d done something wrong, but now she was keeping Amanda away from Logan. She could understand it if she were a suspect but surely Graves didn’t viewheras a criminal? Again, it probably just came down to Graves trying to protect her ass.
Amanda went to her desk, wishing for a coffee from Hannah’s Diner. It was an independently owned and operated business, and they had the best coffee of anywhere local. She looked at the clock.7:45 AM.
Graves had told her to be at the station for eight. That meant Amanda had fifteen minutes. Not enough time to slip out for coffee and return on time. Being late wasn’t an option; she’d have to do with what they had here. And that meant brewing a pot as the Homicide Unit was currently a ghost town. Even Ryan and Hudson weren’t in yet, which was surprising considering they’d be the ones taking her statement in less than fifteen minutes.
The smell of the roasted beans was just making its way to Amanda’s nose from the coffee machine when Detective Natalie Ryan approached. A fancy purse was slung over her shoulder and her perfume, a floral number, was at its peak potency.Five minutes to eight…
“Good morning, Amanda.”
“Hi.” Curt, but Amanda had her guard up. She couldn’t afford not to. Natalie stopped next to Amanda like she wanted to say something, her mouth opening and shutting, but she went to her cubicle without another word. It couldn’t be easy to think about taking a statement from your fellow officer, but this job brought the undesirable to your face most days. You learned to live with it or changed careers.
The coffee was ready, and Amanda poured herself some in a mug that was hanging around with the wordsWorld’s Greatest Golferstamped on the side. It was the only remnant that remained of Detective Dennis Bishop, aka Cud, a nickname earned by his nonstop gum chewing. He’d left PWCPD a year ago this past January. Long story there.
Amanda went to her cubicle, a six-foot cell if viewed in a negative light. Each workstation had partitions on three sides that were high enough to afford some privacy, but they also made it easy enough to talk over if—and when—necessary. She dropped into her chair and stared at her monitor and tried to calm herself down. She just had to give her statement and leave. Simple. Except for being bombarded by thoughts of Logan in the cells. She couldn’t just leave him to the wolves—orwolf, Sergeant Katherine Graves. But Amanda was probably being paranoid for no reason. Surely, Logan would be cleared of any perceived wrongdoing, the evidence exonerating him. He’d be released, Ryan and Hudson would continue the investigation into the murder, and Amanda would be free to go, pick up Zoe, and salvage what was left of the weekend. She and Trent would pick up another case on Monday.
Detective Fred Hudson walked by her space with a dip of his head, not even a verbal greeting. She and him hadn’t exactly had a chance to bond, but he was normally friendlier than that.All business, she supposed, but that gave her a bad feeling. After all, the only reason he had to be that way was if she was suspected of something. Then maybe he was just playing the role expected of him. Just as she was guarded, he needed to be.
She drank her entire coffee before Fred and Natalie sidled up outside her cubicle and said, “Ready?”
She wasreadyto get this the hell over with and get on with her life.
They were taking her statement in a small conference room. She sat at one end of the table and Natalie and Fred sat on each side of her.
“This will be recorded.” Fred nudged his head to indicate the video camera in the corner and clicked the record button on a remote.
