All Things Considered Read online

  Under stress, what will she tell Jericho? Ryn shivered as if she’d touched something slimy in the dark. In some corner of her brain, though, she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. It was only logical that Jericho would want to question each of them separately, right?

  Astrid stood and followed him to the door. He opened it, barked a name, and a young auburn-haired policewoman hurried in. Towering a foot over The Jughead, Astrid nodded as he said something, keeping his voice low, warning her, Ryn guessed, not to talk to anyone about the murder or the conversation in this room. The policewoman took Astrid’s elbow. She stepped into the hall without glancing at Ryn.

  Jericho’s big feet turned out penguin-style. Ryn had the sensation he wasn’t really moving toward her chair as his shoes went in opposite directions from his short torso.

  “Miss Hansen’s takin’ this pretty hard.” His yellow eyes glittered. “She must have been real fond of your … significant other.”

  “She loves rock music.” Ryn’s chest tightened. “She adored Stone.”

  During the last year, had he preferred adoration to their incessant arguments?

  “I s’pose he was used to that kind of thing? Beautiful, young, adoring fans?” Jericho sat down in the spot vacated by Astrid.

  Does it still hold her body heat? Ryn repressed her question and replied to Jericho’s insinuation. “Stone had plenty of male fans, too. Astrid’s husband likes The Stoned Gang almost as much as his wife does.”

  Believe it or not, Jericho, I loved him, too.

  How long ago was that? When Stone believed she loved him?

  As if she’d announced the earth was flat, Jericho shrugged. He crossed his legs, his fingers pulling at the crease in his dark gray pants. For the first time, Ryn noticed he wore an expensive, well-tailored, navy wool blazer. Ornate burgundy initials bordered the cuffs of his starched white shirt. Mirror-bright black loafers gleamed on his penguin feet. How old was he? Had he worked for the LAPD in 1994 during the OJ case?

  About old enough.

  “Does Mr. Hansen work for you like his wife?”

  “He’s our chef. Niels Hansen.” Ryn waited until Jericho finished jotting the name in his black book. She added, “He took Astrid’s family name. That’s quite common for men in Denmark.”

  Jericho snorted. “Yeah. I’ve heard the Danes are pretty enlightened people. Especially when it comes to sex. Free love. That sort of thing.”

  Ryn felt a spurt of anger. Why the hell had she even volunteered the information about Niels? What was she thinking? “Stone and Astrid didn’t have a sexual relationship, Lieutenant. Her father’s a bishop in the Danish Lutheran Church, and Astrid loves her husband very much.”

  Ice dripped on the declaration, but Ryn didn’t give a damn. No use telling The Jughead now that she’d also loved Stone very much—even if he wasn’t her husband.

  Jericho pursed his lips and anchored his gold pen between his first and middle finger. Rocking the pen back and forth, he watched it like a kid watching a magician. As if mesmerized by his dexterity, he said, ”You must have loved Mr. Wall very much … to stay with him … after he battered you.”

  Ryn’s heart missed a beat and she couldn’t catch her breath. God, what a nightmare. She willed herself to breathe, unclenching her fists.

  “Once,” she croaked, wishing she could batter Jericho. Smash his face. Knock out his teeth. “And I called the police.”

  She clamped her mouth shut so The Jughead couldn’t hear her teeth chattering or the words rattling in her head. Black and red pinwheels of pain shot through her cheek as if someone had shattered it with an ice pick.

  Jericho nodded, flipped open his notebook, ran his finger down the page, stopped, and met Ryn’s glare head on. “Didn’t you say, publicly, that if Stone Wall ever hit you again, you’d kill him?”

  Chapter 3

  “Don’t answer that question, Ryn.” Danny Leopold charged into the room like a bull—or more accurately—like a bull terrier. His black eyes snapped. Napoleonic in his pale yellow cashmere sweater and matching chinos, his short and wiry presence filled the room. He plowed into The Jughead before he managed to stop.

  But not before he stepped on both of Jericho’s penguin feet.

  The lieutenant snarled, cutting short Ryn’s ridiculous desire to laugh. The two short men glared at each other. Neither backed down. A uniformed cop stuck closer to Danny than his aftershave.

  “’Less you want your butt tossed in jail, you’d better slow down, Mister Leopold. You’re interfering with a police investigation.” Jericho jutted his chin in Ryn’s direction.

  “And unless you want the department slapped with violating my client’s constitutional right to representation, you’d better slow down, Lieutenant Jericho.”

  Ryn heard their words, but some part of her mind had slowed to complete shutdown during their exchange. Her hands felt as if she’d stored them in the deep freeze for a week.

  The young uniformed policeman grabbed Danny’s elbow. “Want me to cuff him, Lieutenant?”

  Danny cocked one bushy eyebrow at the eager young cop and grinned at Jericho.

  Ryn’s heart missed a beat and then pounded in her ears. Would they handcuff her next? The memory flooded back of Stone’s blood-stained chest.

  You can get through this. She inhaled. Life with Stone had taught her how to cope. All she had to do was stay calm.

  Jericho narrowed his eyes at Danny but bellowed at the uniform, “Shut that damn door. And make damned sure no one comes in here unless I tell you to let ’em in.”

  “Yessir.” Head down like a kicked dog trying to make himself invisible, the policeman backed into the hall. He shut the door so carefully that Ryn didn’t hear the latch click.

  Danny jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Okay, Jericho, we can stand here all day pissing at each other. Or you can tell me why you’re harassing Miss Davis.”

  Jericho crossed his arms over his chest. “Or you can tell me what the hell you’re doing here—at the scene of a murder that not even the media knows about yet.”

  Danny shifted his gaze to Ryn. His eyes bulged a little. “How did it happen?”

  Ryn licked her lips. Danny’s dark, swarthy skin had a definite greenish tinge around his mouth. Despite a muscle ticking in his jaw, he threw off an assured air of confidence. Ryn opened her mouth as answers sluiced through her brain.

  “Don’t you mean who?” Jericho snapped, moving half a step to keep Ryn out of Danny’s line of sight.

  No gold chains or pinkie rings, Danny was a class act. He didn’t do anything melodramatic. Smirk. Laugh. Light a cigar. Exhale through his mouth. He took his hands out of his pockets and let them hang casually at his sides. Ready to continue his golf game with Clint or Tiger maybe.

  “I had an appointment with Mr. Wall.” He tapped his gold Rolex, twisting his wrist so Jericho could see the face of the watch. “I think even an idiot could deduce you wouldn’t be in this room interviewing Miss Davis if Mr. Wall were alive and well.”

  Ryn wasn’t sure she followed the logic, but she understood why Stone had paid this particular lawyer so much to handle his legal matters.

  Oh, God, Stone. Tears stung Ryn’s eyelids. For a second, her vision blurred, distorting Jericho’s and Danny’s faces. At the same time, a clear image of Stone flashed. In bed. His head at that funny angle. The blood all over his chest.

  For the second time that morning, she felt the floor tilt. Her stomach went queasy as salt filled her mouth. As if from a distant planet, she heard one of the men yell, “Watch out!”

  The sun, warm and blinding, poured through the bay window opposite the sofa. The golden shaft shimmered in California perfection. Reminded that Stone’s body lay cold and lifeless, Ryn squinted and turned her head away from the glare. Her cheek bumped the back of the sofa, and she mewed like a newborn kitten. The sound triggered a snapshot of Maj.

  She grabbed Danny’s hand. “Maj! Where is she? She hates strang
ers in the house.”

  “She’s probably hiding,” Danny said.

  “Who’s Maj?” Jericho leaned down, getting right in Ryn’s face, jostling Danny. “If she was in the house last night, we need to talk to her.”

  “That’s an interview I’d love to hear,” Danny said, looking smug. “Unless you’re adept at cat language.”

  Jericho flushed and directed his glare at Ryn. “I’m adept at more than you’ll ever guess.”

  Ryn shivered. Like making up your mind who killed Stone.

  Danny should apologize. Why antagonize the lead detective over something so stupid? Why was she thinking about Maj? She should be thinking about Beau. Stone’s oldest and best friend. Lead drummer in The Stoned Gang.

  Jericho’s yellow marble eyes held hers. What did he see? Her at the Central California Correctional Center for Women? Dressed in an inmate’s uniform? She lifted her chin and refused to blink. If she could stare down Stone, she could stare down Jericho.

  “Want me to shut the curtains?” Danny bent his legs to push himself off the sofa.

  “No. Thanks.” She wanted to see the sky, feel the sun, and hear the birds. They, along with the pain in her cheek and Jericho’s silent challenge, meant she was alive.

  Her eyes twitched, but she didn’t blink. Twenty-four hours ago, with the sun shining and the birds singing, Stone had been very much alive.

  Jericho narrowed and then widened his eyes. Her mind blanked, and she zeroed in on the mole in the left corner of his mouth.

  What had made her and Stone take so much for granted? What had made the two of them think they had years of sunny days filled with bird songs ahead of them? She stared at Jericho as if he had all the answers.

  Danny cleared his throat, and Jericho lost his concentration. He blinked, and his lips disappeared in a long, thin line. He walked behind Danny and stopped, blocking most of the sun, keeping the late-morning rays from reaching her. Behind his boxy head, a halo of sunshine reflected reddish glints in his dark hair.

  “I have a few more questions, Miz Davis.”

  His voice could freeze lava.

  “Fine.” Danny shrugged. He recognized a lie when he heard one.

  Willing brain and body to work together, Ryn sat up and swung her feet onto the floor. The pain in her cheek flared, subsiding after the first exquisite moment to a dull ache.

  “Let’s get this finished, Lieutenant. I need to make a call to someone close to Stone. I don’t want him finding out from the media.” An accusatory note rode her statement, but she didn’t care. Right now, Beau was more important than Jericho’s feelings.

  “We’re trying to keep a lid on this.” Jericho glanced at Danny.

  “The lid’s already off, Jericho.” Danny stood, shot his fist toward the ceiling, and spread his fingers in a wide arc. “The lid blew sky high as soon as you and your guys showed up.”

  “Well, the damn vultures aren’t out there ’cuz we leaked any news.”

  Ryn felt like throwing the ice pack at both of them. They reminded her of two trolls vying for the title, “The Town’s Toughest Troll.” Anger roared in her head.

  Thoughts of Beau helped her get a grip on her fury. Beau had to hear about Stone from her—not from TV . “Your question for me, Lieutenant?”

  “Who benefits from Mr. Wall’s death?”

  Ryn read his cynicism in the cold clipped tone and smiled. “Unless he changed his will within the last few days, I’m his sole beneficiary.” She anticipated Jericho’s next question and added, “His estate’s worth between two hundred and two-hundred fifty million dollars.”

  “I owe you, Darlin’ Ryn.”

  Her throat squeezed shut, but she lifted her chin a fraction to send her own message.

  Jericho pursed his lips in a long, silent whistle.

  “After taxes, of course.” Cold. Logical. What she wanted was to scream she didn’t kill Stone. Danny’s face, black now, the vein in his right temple visibly pounding, made her shut up.

  Jericho threw Danny a hard look. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help us out here, Counselor? Tell us the general contents of Mr. Wall’s will?”

  “No comment.”

  Jericho smiled, revealing a row of large, square teeth.

  The better to eat you. Ryn swiped at the icy sweat sliding down her neck. Across the room, a fly—trapped in the bay window—threw his buzzing body against the glass. He hurled himself without stopping against the invisible barrier that kept him a prisoner.

  As if a camera was recording all his movements, Jericho closed his notebook, tucked it inside his jacket pocket, and patted his breast three times. “People kill every day for a lot less money than Mr. Wall left you, Miz Davis.”

  Ryn bristled. God, he’s pompous.

  He lowered his head and fussed with his silk handkerchief. When he spoke, his tone was casual, the kind of bland, monotone people used discussing the weather. “Frankly,” his lip curled, “anything over a million bucks is a helluva motive any day in my book.”

  “Agreed.” Ryn dropped her voice, taunting him to listen up. “Would a lie detector—”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Danny interjected, pushing in front of Jericho. “You’re not charged with any crime.”

  “Plus,” The Jughead pointed out with a barely disguised sneer, “I can’t overlook that you had opportunity. You admit you were in the house when the murder occurred.”

  Ryn’s heart jumped into her throat, and she felt like a mouse with a cat on its tail.

  “Goddammit!” Danny exploded. “She lives here.”

  On a roll, Jericho ignored the interruption. “There wasn’t a silencer used on the gun.”

  She couldn’t stop shivering—short, fast shudders. She refused to look away from his glittery eyes.

  “No silencer makes it tough for a hard-boiled homicide cop like me to believe you wouldn’t hear the shot from anywhere in the house.” He paused and shook his head. “Even without taking the tyk doors into account.”

  Did he think it was easy to believe she’d slept through the shots?

  “C’mon, Jericho. Stop the BS.” Danny took two steps away from the sofa. “Did she have powder burns on her hands?”

  Jericho pursed his mouth, tapped a penguin foot, studied her.

  She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “I said I’d take a lie detector test.” Her voice went up too high—a sign of guilt? She dug her nails into the goosebumps and returned Jericho’s stare. “What more do you want?”

  A confession?

  Using his elbow in a quick, downward movement, Danny pushed in front of Jericho. His nostrils flared. He tapped his mouth with his forefinger.

  Teeth clenched, Ryn nodded and bit the inside of her mouth till she tasted blood. The realization flipped her stomach upside down. She wrapped an arm around her waist and blinked against the image of Stone in their bed.

  Danny, apparently satisfied he’d muzzled her, faced Jericho. “I’d like a few minutes with my client.”

  Jericho’s thin bottom lip curled. “Why?” He didn’t give Danny a chance to respond. “So you can tell her there are no Brownie points when she volunteers to take a lie detector test? You gonna tell her they’re too unreliable, Counselor? Especially with highly emotional … types.” His yellow pupils flashed like shiny marbles between his slitted eyelids. He shrugged and moved toward the door. “Be my guest. I’ll check with the lab guys.”

  The door clicked shut and Danny declared, “Bastard’s right. Guilty people beat lie detector tests all the time, and innocent ones fail all the time. At this stage, passing wouldn’t eliminate you as a suspect.”

  “But—” Ryn wanted to protest. Scream. She hadn’t killed Stone. She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t heard the shot.

  To reassure herself the study walls weren’t, in reality, closing in, she gazed around the room. Danny’s mouth opened and closed—like a fish against the side of an aquarium.

  Danny patted her wrist. “Remember
, you don’t have to prove you’re innocent.”

  True, but wouldn’t an innocent person hear two gunshots and wake up?

  Chapter 4

  After getting Jericho’s grudging okay to call Beau and Amber at home, Danny switched gears and negotiated letting him and Ryn break the news in person. Ryn would go to Westwood to tell Beau about Stone while Danny went to Amber’s in Pacific Palisades.

  “What guarantee do I have she won’t pull an OJ on me?” Jericho tossed his head in Ryn’s direction.

  Ryn stared, blinking against the sun’s glare. Was the OJ reference simply a weird coincidence? Or did the police use OJ’s name whenever they had a suspect who might lead the police on a freeway crawl?

  “You want to send a uniform with her in the limo?” Danny demanded and bounced up on his toes.

  After thirty seconds of a mongoose-stare, Jericho gave a long, nonchalant shrug. “I should send someone with you. Technically, Beau Scott and Amber Watt are suspects. Just like you, Miz Davis. And you, too, Leopold.”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “Anyone in the world not a suspect?”

  “Yeah,” Jericho snapped. “Me. Now, ya wanna make those visits or ya wanna practice your Stephen Colbert routine some more?”

  Danny nodded at Ryn. While Jericho conferred with a tall, skinny Asian, she called Enrique and asked him to bring the black Mercedes to the front door right away. She thought her voice sounded too curt for normal, but he agreed with his normal amiability. Surely, he knew the police had arrived.

  Was he a suspect?

  After Ryn hung up, her whole body started shaking. She rummaged in her desk for sunglasses. Her mind jittered. What else did she need for the trip to Beau’s? If Enrique didn’t know what had happened, what should she tell him in the car? She banged the drawer shut. She’d figure it out. Her mind was working, she told herself. She’d just made a decision about which limo to take, hadn’t she?