All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [111]
Natalie sighed, feeling as discouraged as Cole. Before they could decide what to do next, Cole's cell phone rang.
"Parish," he snapped. "What? Are you kidding me? As a matter of fact, I'm in Santa Cruz. All right. I'll be right there."
"Be right where?" Natalie asked when he ended the call.
"The Santa Cruz Police Department. Apparently, they're questioning Dylan about something."
"Dylan? About what?" Natalie asked. "He can't be Malone if Malone is Professor Martin."
"We still don't know that he is. I'd better get over there."
"I'll come with you."
"No. The last place you should be is the Santa Cruz Police Department," Cole replied. "It will just complicate matters."
"He's right, Natalie," Madison added. "You don't need to put yourself in front of a police detective right now. We have to find out what happened first."
"All right," Natalie replied. As Cole sprinted down the stairs, Natalie turned to Madison and Laura. "What should we do now? Any ideas?"
"Maybe we can find out where Professor Martin lives," Laura suggested. "I bet someone around here knows."
"Maybe Diane knows," Natalie said. "She did tell me she'd like to help if she could. Hey, wasn't she married to a professor?"
Laura's face suddenly paled. "Oh, my God, Natalie. You're right. In fact, I think Diane was married to Greg Martin."
Chapter 18
Cole couldn't believe Dylan was in Santa Cruz and at the police department. They had to be questioning him about Emily's death. But what did Dylan know that he didn't? Cole couldn't even guess. After seeing the shrine to Emily in Dylan's closet, he wasn't sure what to think of the man he'd grown up with. At one time, he would have said they had no secrets from each other. Now it was clear they had many. Well, Dylan had been playing the mystery man for too long. The secrets were coming out today.
As Cole entered the police department, he saw Dylan sitting in a chair next to a desk, talking to a detective. Dylan was wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt, and his usual black leather jacket, and the somber expression on his face made Cole feel even more uneasy. The men stood up when they saw him. The detective extended his hand. "Cole Parish, right? I'm Robert Boland. You might remember me. I'm the detective who was in charge of the investigation into your sister's death ten years ago."
Cole nodded, having a vague recollection of the man. He looked over at Dylan, his eyes narrowing as he noted Dylan's unshaved appearance, the dark shadows under his eyes. "You look like shit. What did you do?"
"He broke into an office at the university," the detective answered for Dylan. "The office belonging to Professor Greg Martin."
"He's Malone," Dylan said shortly, meeting Cole's questioning gaze. "Martin is Malone. I know he is."
"How do you know? Did you talk to him?"
"He wasn't in his office. And the door wasn't locked," he added, shooting the detective a pointed look. "I just walked in. Martin is the one you should be talking to, not me."
"He's right," Cole interjected. "I believe Professor Martin is Garrett Malone, the man who wrote the book about Emily's death. I can't prove it yet, but I have a private investigator working on it. I can give you his name and number. He can show you the paper trail we're following."
"All right," the detective replied. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Parish, your father has put a tremendous amount of pressure on my chief to take another look at the case. I've made calls to the three women who were your sister's closest friends. I'd like to interview them again. I have to tell you that we still have no concrete proof that this was anything but an accident. That said, I'm very interested in speaking to Mr. Malone to discuss where he got his information." The detective looked at Dylan. "As for you, you can go. But don't go far. I've got your number, and if your phone rings, I expect you to answer it. Mr. Parish, I've already sent