The Gauntlet Assassin (13 page)

“You beat the young Amazon woman?” Harper grinned, then quickly recovered his poker face.

Kirsten’s death had sucked the fun out winning, but Lara sensed he wanted to hear about their match. “The first two phases were close, but in the end, she didn’t have the strength to pull herself out of the pit. Years of pull-ups paid off for me.”

The detective looked at her in a new light and Lara liked it.

“What time did the call end?”

Lara noticed he still said
call
too. People under thirty used
text
,
message
,
com
,
or chat
as verbs. Young children had never heard the word
phone
except in books. “Some time around six. You can check the NetCom.”

“What time did Kirsten come in?”

“I’m guessing, but I’d say 7:45.”

“Did you talk to her?”

Lara had to tell him about the altercation. The cameras had picked it up. “She was pissed off and smelled like she’d been drinking. Kirsten complained that the viewers favored me in the Challenge. I tried to minimize the situation and go to my bedroom.” Lara kept her eyes focused on Harper’s face and her hands in her lap. She knew he was looking for signs of deceit. “Kirsten blocked my path, then grabbed my hair and jerked me back. I defended myself with a single blow to her chest.”

Harper leaned back, his eyes registering surprise. “You fought with the victim an hour before she died?”

Lara’s pulse quickened at his tone. “She was the aggressor. I tried to avoid the confrontation. When I left the room a few minutes later, Kirsten was fine and packing to leave.”

“Do you own a stun gun?”

Oh crap. Here we go.
Of course he’d noticed the burn marks too. “I do. But I haven’t used it.”

“Why bring it to the Gauntlet? They don’t allow weapons in the arena.”

“I always carry it. I’m an ex-cop and a working freelance paramedic. Wouldn’t you carry a weapon if you were me?”

Harper didn’t answer. He looked at her for a long moment, and Lara thought she detected a little sadness.

“I have to take you in for questioning. I don’t want to cuff you, but I will if you make any unexpected moves.”

“I intend to cooperate fully.” Lara breathed from her stomach to stay calm. She’d known it was coming. “This competition is very important to me and I want to stay in it.”

Harper stood. “I can’t guarantee anything. Stay here while I talk to my partner and search the room.” He walked away and used his iCom. She only heard bits of the conversation, but she gleaned that he wanted the other detective to access the camera footage from the room and send it to the department.

While Detective Harper rummaged through Lara’s luggage and clothing, a medical examiner arrived and spent twenty minutes with Kirsten’s body. Lara watched him take her temperature and visually search for trace evidence that might be clinging to her skin or clothes and could be lost when they moved her. A private transport team finally showed up and hauled Kirsten away on a gurney. Lara was curious about what the pathologist would determine had caused Kirsten’s death.

Her own body twitched with the need to move. She’d been sitting for nearly two hours, something she’d hadn’t done since leaving the department.

Lara pushed off the couch and the cop in the hall took a step in her direction. “I’m just stretching,” she called out. “But I need to burn off some energy. Can I do some pushups?”

Detective Harper came out of the bedroom, carrying her Taser in a plastic bag. “Push-ups?”

“I don’t like to sit still. It makes me anxious.”

“Stay near the couch. We’re going downtown soon.”

“Okay.”

Lara dropped to the floor and did fifty pushups, followed by a hundred crunches. She was aware of the officer in the hall watching her, but she didn’t care. Knowing she would be locked in a tiny interrogation room for hours added to her anxiety.

Detective Harper made a trip out to his car with her Taser and a suitcase full of Kirsten’s things. When he came back, he grabbed her by the elbow to walk her out, and Lara’s skin warmed to his touch. The other detective, an overweight man in a blue suit, was in the hallway when they exited.

“What did you find out?” Harper asked.

“None of the occupants nearby saw anyone come or go. The desk clerk saw a midsized blond man in front of the elevators, but says he was a contestant.”

“Get a detailed description anyway,” Harper said.

Lara thought it sounded like Bremmer, or whoever the hell the shooter was, but she held her tongue.

Chapter 15

The interrogation room at the D.C. headquarters was twice the size of the closet Lara had used to question suspects back in Eugene, but it was still windowless and claustrophobic. Detective Harper sat across the beat-up metal table. He’d taken off his jacket and underneath wore a black snug-fitting sweater. His wide-spaced eyes and prominent cheekbones made him look Native American, but his hazel eyes and strong jaw made her think his heritage was Dutch or German as well. She was glad for the excuse to stare at him.

For the first half hour, she’d been left alone in the room and she’d sat on the floor and meditated. When Harper came back, he spent twenty minutes taking her back over the events that afternoon and evening, trying to catch her in an inconsistency. Lara had been on the other side of the table enough times to know that less was better. She repeated her earlier statements, but not verbatim, because that would sound rehearsed, and said little else.

Now it was nearly midnight and he abruptly switched it up. “What kind of martial arts training do you have?”

“Aikido, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a lot of kickboxing.”

“Have you ever seriously hurt anyone?”

For a split second, she hated him for asking. She also admired him for being good at his job. “As a private citizen? Or are you asking about my law-enforcement career?”

“As a citizen.”

“I was sexually assaulted once as a college student. I fought back and he ended up with a groin injury.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s all I’m prepared to tell you.”

“What about as a police officer, Lara? Did you hurt anyone?”

“I got into a few skirmishes with suspects.”

“What else?”

“None of it is relevant.” Her answer sounded evasive because it was.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Lara?”

“I assume you contacted the Eugene Police Department and asked for my service record. So you know everything.”

He leaned forward, his voice an intense whisper. “Here’s what I know. You have a history of violence, and you punched the victim an hour before she died. You own a Taser, and Kirsten had a stun-gun wound on her chest. You were the last person to see her alive, and the person to report her body. You’re probably going down for this unless you give me someone else.”

Lara’s pulse escalated as she heard the case against her. If she were in Harper’s position, she wouldn’t spend much time looking for anyone else. “I didn’t kill Kirsten, no matter how it looks. You have to at least dig around in her past and look at ex-boyfriends. I have no motive.”

“You’re a hothead and I think it was probably an accident. Tell me how it happened, Lara, so I can get the DA to offer a deal for aggravated manslaughter.”

She wished he would stop saying her name in that caressing tone. The bastard was wrong, but he was good at what he did. “Earlier, before I went out for a run, she assaulted me and I defended myself, then I walked away.” Lara paused to steady her voice. “You have the wrong idea about me. I’m not a violent person.”

“It’s unfortunate for you that the camera shut off at 7:59, right after you knocked Kirsten to the ground. We don’t have any proof that you walked away instead of assaulting her further.”

Lara decided to argue like a detective in a taskforce meeting. “But the minor altercation took place near the NetCom desk, and Kirsten’s body was near the entrance to the room, almost blocking it. Someone stunned her from the doorway.”

His eyes registered the truth of what she was saying, but he pressed on. “You simply dragged her there to confuse the scene. I’m surprised you didn’t hide the Taser.”

“I had no reason to.”

Abruptly he stood and asked, “Can I get you some water? Or a sandwich?”

“Water would be great. Thanks.”

He left, locking the door behind him. Lara knew another officer was watching her on a monitor in a nearby room. How long would they keep her? Should she ask to call a lawyer? She didn’t know any defense attorneys, but she could ask Jackson to find someone in D.C. The thought of telling him about her situation made her ill. She would try to handle this on her own.

Lara paced the room, growing more anxious about her fate. Would she end up convicted of murder instead of winning the Gauntlet? Now that criminal justice budgets were minimal, judges cut the prosecution a lot more slack. Evidence rules had been overturned and reasonable doubt was defined more narrowly. Unless she could prove she was somewhere else or that someone else had done it, she could get convicted.

Lara dropped to the floor and did another thirty pushups, biceps aching for the last twenty. Rolling over, she started a rhythm of stomach crunches, not bothering to count. Desperately, she tried to construct a way to tell Detective Harper about the blond man she’d seen in the back of the auditorium during orientation—but without mentioning she’d first seen the guy after he shot the employment commissioner in his home in Eugene.

What were the consequences of betraying Thaddeus Morton? Getting booted from the Gauntlet? Minda might have done that already. Lara could also lose her freelance paramedic license in Oregon if the state board became aware she’d failed to report a gunshot wound. But how would the board find out? On the other hand, what good was a license to work if she was in prison?

Abs aching, Lara jumped up and began to pace. She had just decided to tell Harper everything when another thought hit her. What if they didn’t believe her? Finding the real killer would be a lot more work for them. And questioning the commissioner could cause the department some political fallout, especially if it disrupted the Gauntlet. Millions of viewers paid for the privilege of voting, and Washington D.C. received a small percentage for hosting the contest. Nobody wanted to mess with all that money. Harper might simply laugh off her story and book her into jail. He didn’t seem like that kind of cop, but the pressure of the job could twist the brain.

Twenty minutes later, Harper brought her some water, a blanket, and a turkey sandwich she couldn’t eat. “I have to go check out a few things. My supervisor wants to keep you for further questioning. He’ll be in to see you first thing in the morning.”

“You can’t leave me in here overnight.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anywhere else to put you and we can’t let you go. You’re a viable suspect in a homicide investigation as well as a flight risk.” He stepped toward her. “Please don’t do anything to make this worse for yourself.”

“I need to make a call and use the restroom.” The desk officer had taken her bag and her iCom for holding when they arrived.

“I’ll take you to the restroom, but you’re not entitled to a call until we charge you.”

Lara knew how the system worked. “You have the flexibility to let me make a call. I need to do what I can to keep from getting booted from the Gauntlet.”

“My boss says no calls.” Harper took another step toward her and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lara. You’re the last person on earth I ever wanted to arrest.”

They left her in the tiny interrogation room all night with the lights on and no air conditioning. Lara dozed on the floor for a while, then moved back to the chair and tried to sleep with her head on the metal table. The bright lights and suffocating heat made it nearly impossible. By morning, her body ached, she reeked of sweat, and her bladder was about to burst.

The door unlocked and she jumped to her feet. A wave of lightheadedness caught her off guard. She’d gone too long between protein drinks, and she had no surplus body fat to live on.

A man in his late fifties stepped into the room. His dark blue jacket was unbuttoned, leaving his potbelly free from constraint. She saw he was wearing a weapon and hoped he didn’t cuff her.

“Sit.”

The command made her jaw tighten, but Lara complied. She needed to do whatever it took to get out of there.

“I’m Sergeant Warzog and I’m an unhappy man.” He stared out of small pudgy eyes as he slumped into the chair on the other side of the table. His facial skin sagged into thick curves around his mouth, making him look like a bulldog. “Know why I’m unhappy? The Gauntlet happens once a year, shining a bright light on this city and bringing a tidy sum of money into our budget. And you”—he pointed for emphasis—“fucked that up with your petty violent temper. Now a woman is dead, and I want you to tell me how it happened.”

Lara struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. “I have no idea how it happened. She was fine when I went out for a run and dead when I got back.”

“Bullshit!” He slammed his fist against the table and Lara flinched. “We have video of you knocking Kirsten to the ground. You were jealous and angry because she called you
old
.”

“No.” Lara shook her head. “I won the Challenge against her, so I had nothing to be jealous of. If you watched the footage, you know she started it. She was drunk and bitter, and all I wanted was to get away from her. That’s why I went out.”

“No one saw you go anywhere.”

“Have you checked all the security footage in the hotel?”

“Clearing you is not our job. You’re the only suspect we have and we intend to charge you with murder.”

Her chest tightened in a painful squeeze, and she shouted, “Meanwhile the actual killer is getting away.”

“The fact that you used to be law enforcement doesn’t impress me.” Warzog came around to her side of the table and squeezed her shoulder. Lara wanted to hit him. She locked her jaw and forced herself to breathe deeply.

“This should be an easy case,” Warzog said. He leaned in with his face so close she could smell the bacon grease in his pores. “If you make us work for this conviction, I’ll make sure you regret it.”