The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) by Kim Knight (books to read romance txt) 📕

“Right, what ya thinking? “Dunne asked.

McDonald leaned forward in his chair. He placed his elbows on his knees and pointed over to the pictures. Dunne followed his direction.

“Lance already confirmed there was a plan to get rid of Tony,” McDonald continued his theory, Dunne listened with interest. “Now, as for Chelsea, that could’ve been his doing too—he’s got the background.”

“Yeah, the connections for a hit.”

“Think about it. Strangulation as the cause of death, no prints, no weapon, we’re stuck for evidence apart from the contact that they had earlier that day, and a theory,” McDonald said.

Dunne glanced back to the mug shot of Lance. “I need to dig into this deeper. Let’s interview him again.”

28

Crunch Time

Lance

The metallic tick of a key engaged the cell lock, making Lance flinch. He rolled over and sat on his bed.

A uniformed officer entered the cell, his co-worker remained at the door.

“Let’s go. Up on your feet.” The officer held a pair of handcuffs. “And turn around.”

Lance resisted, shrugging the officer off. “Where am I going?”

“Turn around and face wall. You’re going back to the interview room. Don’t make this harder, man, co-operate and turn around, sir,” the guard demanded.

Lance rolled his eyes. “What do they want now? I told them everything.”

As instructed, he turned around, allowing the officer to cuff him.

“This is bullshit,” he said under his breath.

The guards led him out of the cell, and the heavy door closed behind him with a thud.

“Don’t move,” the officer ordered.

The other officer slipped a key into the lock, then engaged the locking mechanism with an audible click.

“This way.” The officer with the keys lead the way.

Escorted, sandwiched between two male officers, he made his way down the long hallway. The more he walked, the deeper his dread grew because he knew where he was heading—to the interview room.

Inside, the detectives, Dunne and McDonald, sat, waiting for him, looking fresh and well-rested. Whereas he arrived fatigued, dehydrated, and was sure the circles under his eyes had darkened several shades.

What day is it? He glanced around but didn’t find anything of reference.

Paranoia sat on his shoulder, keeping him from sleeping. And the mounting fear over the shit Chelsea had landed him in, kept his mind wired.

The past couple of nights in his holding cell—or has it been a week—passed slowly. He’s skin was a sickly pale colour, and his greasy hair was lank, hanging limp against his itchy head.

“Arms up,” the officer with keys said.

Lance offered his wrists, and the officer uncuffed him. He rubbed the sore flesh, then took a seat under the harsh lights opposite Dunne and McDonald.

“Lance, good to see you again,” Dunne said with sarcasm, then he clicked on the tape recorder. “We have a few more questions for you.”

“I don’t know anything about Tony’s murder, okay. I already told you.” Lance looked down at his wrists, taking in the red marks the restraints left.

“This is bullshit,” he said under his breath, then rubbed his sore wrists.

“You spoke to Chelsea a few hours before we first interviewed you. What did you talk about?” Dunne asked.

Lance’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, then closed. “Nothing.” He stared at the table, avoiding Dunne’s gaze.

“Nothing? You must’ve spoken about something. You were on the phone for more than five minutes with her.”

Lance rolled his eyes, then met Dunne’s. “She told me you guys had got in contact with her, that she’d been questioned about Tony, that’s all.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, that was all. Then you two showed up at my garage.”

“Tell us again about what Chelsea wanted and Tony’s death?” McDonald cut in.

“I told you, he was sick with cancer. She looked after him. Once he cut his family out of his will, she knew she was onto a good thing.”

“You said she approached you to get rid of him?”

“Yes, she did.”

“She’s dead.” Dunne paused a moment, taking in his reaction. “Who do you think would want her gone?”

Laughter erupted from between his lips—filled with both disbelief and confusion, “You’re joking, right? Dead! I don’t know. I’m clueless.” He leaned forward across the table. “Look, if you’ve got nothing on me, ya need to let me go. We both know this. You’ve kept me here and not charged me with anything linked to Tony’s or Chelsea’s deaths.”

He paused and looked from one detective to the other.

“Obviously, you can’t link me to anything. I’ve told you what I know,” he yelled out of frustration.

“Wrong, the murder weapon has showed up.”

Lance moved his gaze back to McDonald.

“You’ve confirmed Chelsea wanted him gone.” McDonald smirked. “You too, by the sounds of the recorded conversation we all heard. You both had a motive, it’s a shame Chelsea’s not here to tell us her side of the story. But you are, and you can tell it to a jury.”

McDonald leaned back in his chair as if satisfied, he glanced over at Dunne, who nodded in response.

“Lance Duncan, we have reason to believe you were involved in Tony Patel’s death, and possibly Chelsea Jackson’s. You had an affair, and openly spoke with her about what you’d do with his money once Tony was gone. Whether you actually did the deed yourself, or had someone else do it, both you and Chelsea were involved because of your own greed. She’s gone,” Dunne said. “We can’t question her, but you, we can charge you with conspiracy to murder. We’ll let the jury decide what’s what.”

“You can’t do this. I never had anything to do with it. Oi, oi, are you listening to me?” Lance yelled. He pounded on the table between him and the detectives. Neither of them responded, or even flinched. Lance couldn’t believe it, he glanced from one to the other.

The detectives rose to their feet. McDonald cut the recording and headed out of the interview room.

Heat rose within Lance, fueling his anger.

“Like I said, Lance. Conspiracy to murder.” Dunne leaned across the table. “We have enough evidence to support that. But I’ll look into Chelsea’s death, and if I find you’re