Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [24]
“No can do.”
“Run that by me again?”
“No.” Before he started his spiel about a crime being committed on the property and my responsibility to grease the wheels of justice, I held up my hand. “For that confidential information, Sheriff Dawson, you’ll have to get a court order.”
He blinked at me as if I were joking.
I wasn’t. “Besides, I’m the lowly bartender. I don’t have the authorization to share that information even if I wanted to. You’ll have to ask John-John and Muskrat the company policy on clientele disclosure.”
Dawson loomed over me, which was never a good move on his part unless we were in bed. “I’ve got a dead guy. As you’re the person who discovered his body, I’d think you’d be eager to cooperate. If not for yourself, for the safety of the patrons who frequent this bar.”
“Right. A murder victim won’t keep customers away, Sheriff, it’ll bring ’em in droves. So try again.”
The ambulance bumped past us, but no other vehicles followed suit. As much as I hated the sound of sirens and the strobe-like effect from the flashing lights, a slow-moving ambulance was worse.
“Full cooperation and full disclosure will clear you from suspicion much faster.”
After the ambulance taillights disappeared behind the rolling hills, I faced him. “You suspect me?”
“You found him. You admitted there were no other witnesses. I’m just following standard procedure, Mercy.”
“Bullshit.”
His shrewd eyes dropped to my right hand, jammed in my jacket pocket. “You carrying?”
Always. Which he knew. “Yes. I have a permit to carry concealed. You want to see it?”
“The permit? No. The gun? Yes.” Dawson turned his head and yelled, “Deputy Moore?”
Kiki bounded over. “Yes, Sheriff ?”
“Grab an evidence bag. Then I’ll need you to glove up and remove the firearm from Miz Gunderson’s right jacket pocket.”
“For Christsake. I can just take it out—”
“No. You will hold still and let the deputy do her job relieving you of your weapon.”
“Fine.” Jerk wad.
“Slowly raise your hands and put them straight out in a T formation.”
“Is this because I refused to tattle on my customers?”
Dawson’s face was pure stone. “You need me to remind you that you are armed, in an area where a crime was committed using a firearm?”
“I’m not the only one who carries a gun.”
“This is standard procedure. And if you continue to resist, I will cuff you and haul you to the station. Now, put your arms out, palms facing me.”
Breathe. Stay in control.
I complied.
“Proceed, Deputy Moore,” he said, hands resting on his hips, close to his gun.
I felt a hand in my pocket, and my jacket become lighter.
“The firearm is bagged and tagged, Sheriff,” Kiki said.
“Thank you.” He gave me a critical and slow once-over. “Are you carrying concealed elsewhere on your person, Miz Gunderson?”
“No,” I snapped. I could not believe he’d taken my gun. He knew how I felt about my guns.
“Deputy Moore, if you’ll verify that by patting her down?”
“Yes, sir.”
Impersonal hands swept over my body as I seethed.
Dawson, the pompous prick, could’ve done this differently.
You could have, too.
“No other weapons, sir,” Kiki said tightly.
“Good. Miz Gunderson, please hold out your hands so Deputy Moore can test them for gun powder residue.”
My gaze snared his. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
No, you look like an asshole who decided to make an example out of me at three o’clock in the goddamned morning.
I thrust my hands out and didn’t bother to hide my fury.
When Kiki finished, she passed me an alcohol-soaked cleanup cloth and murmured something to Dawson.
I methodically wiped my hands, my blood pressure veering toward stroke level. Dawson’s treatment of me rankled because he’d made it personal. But what really pissed me off ? This show of his supposed power was a big waste of time. We both knew I hadn’t killed Jason Hawley.
“Now, Miz Gunderson, you’ll need to come with me to the sheriff’s department to answer a few questions.”
Like hell. “No.”
“No?”
I canted my head. “I’ve been more than cooperative. I’ve stuck around the crime scene