Blood Trust - Eric van Lustbader [10]
“Billy had no trouble—”
“We have filled that breach, Ms. Carson,” Fellows said icily. “I can assure you that there are no others.”
Willowicz looked from Alli to Fellows, as if they were combatants, before he continued. “So, no interlopers. But your roommate, Ms. Carson, was drugged … at about midnight, Fearington’s doctor estimates.”
“I was asleep,” Alli said.
“Well, the problem there is the only person who could corroborate your claim can’t.” Licking his fingertip, he turned a page in his notebook. “Which means that at any time after lights out you could’ve stolen out of your room and, if you were careful enough—well, pretty much gone anywhere on the grounds unobserved, am I correct?”
He was looking directly at Alli, but she said nothing, principally because an idea was dawning on her, and the horror of why these people were so insistent on pinning Billy’s murder on her literally took her breath away.
“So you had opportunity. Tell us a little about the victim.”
She took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure. “Billy worked at Middle Bay Bancorp. He was a loan analyst.”
“Sounds like a snoozer.” O’Banion looked her up and down. “Still waters, yeah.”
Willowicz pursed his lips. “How’d you hook up with him?”
Alli tried to ignore the insinuation, but found herself rising to the bait anyway. “We met at a bar.”
“Uh-huh. Which one?”
“Twilight. In Georgetown.”
Willowicz made a notation. “Yeah, been there for twenty years.”
“The bar for vampires.” O’Banion guffawed.
Willowicz ignored him. “What did he do when you approached him?”
Alli’s cheeks flamed. “He came up to me. I was dancing and—”
“What?” O’Banion interjected. “Like pole dancing?”
Alli’s cheeks continued to flush. “He came up to me, like I said.”
“Was he drunk?”
“Maybe. A little. I don’t know.”
Willowicz nodded. “Then what?”
“We danced … together.”
“And things progressed from there.”
“Oh so very fast.” O’Banion leered.
“And this first meeting was how long ago?”
“About five months.”
“And you’ve been seeing the victim ever since.”
“Yes.”
“When did you see him last?”
A slight hesitation, for which she could have bitten her tongue. “This evening—well, yesterday, now.”
Willowicz’s head came up like a pointer scenting game. “When, exactly?”
“After dinner. About eight.”
“Did you have permission to leave Fearington?”
Alli shifted from one foot to another. “No.”
“So you sneaked out.”
Alli stared at him, unflinching. She had no wish to look at Commander Fellows. “Billy begged me. He said it was urgent.”
“Uh-huh.” Willowicz was scribbling some more. “And?”
“And that’s it. I never found out what he wanted to talk to me about.”
Willowicz’s eyebrow arched. “Why was that?”
“I was supposed to meet him at Twilight. Just as I came around the corner, I saw him walk off with someone.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea.”
“Man or woman?”
“The person’s back was to me.”
“Tall, short, thin, fat?”
“The figure was in shadow.”
“So it could have been a woman.”
Silence.
“Your contention is that you never spoke to the victim at any time yesterday?”
“No, as I said, he and I had a brief phone conversation.”
“You never spoke face-to-face.”
“No.”
In typical interrogator’s style, Willowicz now switched subjects without warning. “And so you had motive.”
“Motive,” Alli said, taken aback. “What motive?”
Again, Willowicz turned a page. “As it happens, the victim had met someone—a week ago. Her name is … let’s see, Kraja. Arjeta Kraja.”
“Fucking foreign names.” O’Banion snickered. No one else moved or said a word.
Willowicz looked up from his notes.