“Hmm. Okay.”
She could see him scribbling down some notes on a small yellow pad lying next to the folder. Sydney craned her neck and tried to see what he was writing. She couldn’t make anything out.
“What about Mr. Evans—do you think her working in his office would cause any problems? Problems that would—”
“Would make him want to kill Lizzy? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? He could have just fired her.”
O’Connell studied her for a moment. She could see by the way his eyes moved around his face that he was thinking something but not telling her. Sydney knew people often underestimated her because of her looks, but her intuition had never failed her in situations like this one.
“Is there something you are not telling me, inspector?”
He leaned forward and put his massive elbows on the table. “Mrs. Evans, I assume you know the sensitive nature of Mr. Evans’ online gambling business, especially given that your deceased husband was his partner?”
She gave a slight nod, fighting back the fireball of grief burning in the back of her throat.
He continued, “Do you think it’s possible that Miss Ortez found something at his office, or in his files, that she wasn’t supposed to find? Like a piece of evidence that might point to something illegal happening at DoubleDownCasino.com?”
Sydney swallowed deeply and considered what he was saying for a moment.
Of course, it was possible.
DoubleDownCasino.com had always operated in a legal grey area. Jack had assured her over and over again that it was a legal business and that the law was on their side. But she knew by the amount of stress that Jack was under that bounds of legality were being tested. Ethan was always a bit of a wild card. His brother, Jack, balanced him out with rational, responsible thinking. This caused a lot of tension between them. Tension that Sydney could see but that Jack refused to confide in her about. It created a small divide in their marriage that had widened over time.
But in this case, she had to protect Marissa and Ethan. The wedding meant so much to the both of them. She wanted to see them succeed as a couple, she needed them to succeed. It gave her a sliver of hope.
“Oh no, that’s not possible,” she said, regaining focus. “Everything in Ethan’s business is completely aboveboard. He is in constant contact with his lawyer to make sure all the legalities are ironed out, before he does anything.” Technically that’s not true, she thought as the words fell out of her mouth. But O’Connell didn’t need to know that.
She could see the shades of doubt cast across his face. She needed to redirect the conversation, and quickly.
“Have you spoken with Will?”
“Uh…” He looked down at his papers and began shuffling through them. “William Sauder?”
“Yes, Will is Lizzy’s boyfriend. They’ve been living together for four years. She was always a little too good for him in my opinion, and he sells life insurance for a living.”
Even as the words came out of her mouth, she found it hard to believe that Will would have anything to do with Lizzy’s death. But she’d seen enough episodes of Snapped to know that life insurance policies were often a motive for murder. By the quizzical look on his face, she seemed to have caught the stalwart inspector off guard, which gave her a new wave of boldness.
“Hmm, we will take a look.”
“Also, what about her cousin, Javier? He was always asking her for money. I think he was involved with drugs. Would he benefit from her death?” She arched a carefully drawn eyebrow at him to emphasize her question. “That might be worth looking into.”
She was on roll now, throwing out suspects like candy at a Fourth of July parade. O’Connell didn’t look too convinced by any of her ideas, but at least it would spread his attention thin enough to maybe take some of the heat off of Marissa and Ethan.
O’Connell jotted down what she assumed was Javier’s name on the notepad in front of him. He tapped the table a few times with his black ball point pen. “Mrs. Evans, as you know, we have your cell phone. As a courtesy, we’d like to ask your permission to search your phone for any evidence in the case.”
Sydney’s chest fluttered in a bit of a panic. Search my phone? For evidence? She couldn’t for the life of her think of anything in her phone that would be related to Lizzy’s killer. In fact, they’d likely find nothing but thousands of photos of herself in various outfits and shopping apps. All of her social media accounts were secured against hackers, but her photos and text messages would be fair game.
“I can assure you there is nothing in my phone that would help in this investigation,” she said flatly.
“So, that’s a no?”
Sydney sighed. “No, it’s a yes.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Great,” he said, slapping the folder in front of him shut. “It will take some time. I would like to put you up in a local hotel while we continue our investigation.”
“But, I need to—”
He raised a hand to cut her off. “We will book you a new flight to Jamaica. You’ll be on your way early tomorrow morning.”
Sydney sighed heavily. “Okay.”
“In the meantime, there is someone I would like you to meet.”
O’Connell nodded at what Sydney assumed was a two-way mirror behind him. Whoever she was about to meet had just heard their entire conversation.
Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she was about to find out.
Five
Sydney
As the minutes passed, Sydney fingered the now cold coffee cup in front of her. She felt more tired than she had since she finished her last half-marathon race. Her eyes felt swollen and puffy, and she was dreaming of a hot shower. A hundred different thoughts were barreling through her mind like a runaway freight train.
She had no concept of time, but it felt as though she’d been waiting inside the small room for hours. O’Connell sat across from her, rifling through his folder of paperwork only peaking up every few minutes in her direction. The room had a faint smell of commercial-grade cleaner, which made her slightly nauseated. Or maybe it was the cocktail of sleeping pills and wine that was still making its way through her system. Just as she was about to ask for a restroom break, the door cracked open.
A broad-shouldered young man with closely cropped brown hair stepped into view. His eyes were a light color that leaned neither to blue nor green; they were a steel grey. He had a straight nose that pointed and a full bottom lip that made him look like a younger Brad Pitt. He was dressed terribly according to Sydney’s standards. He wore khaki pants with a brown belt and a pale short-sleeve button-down shirt that was topped off with an equally unfashionable tie.
His fashion choices clearly didn’t affect his confidence, because he swaggered his way over to where she was sitting and enveloped her in a faint smell of Old Spice. Sydney fumbled with the long ponytail from her hair extensions and straightened her shoulders.
“This is FBI agent Alex Birch. He will escort you to your hotel,” O’Connell said.
He made eye contact with Sydney, and she felted like a wilted flower being burned by the sun.