Читать книгу Submission - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 13

DREW MORRISON, THE ONLY guest at Hotel Josephine, didn’t have anything to do with Frederique Arkart’s killing, of that much I was sure. But right now everything was up for grabs. Because ruling out Morrison didn’t change the fact that I had two dead women on my hands and zero solid suspects.

I drove through the narrow streets of the Quarter, heading in a direction I didn’t want to be heading as I checked my cell phone. I typically leave it in the car when I’m questioning a potential suspect or witness because there are few things like a shrill chirp and an unwanted caller to throw me off my game and put me back to square one when it comes to any kind of rhythm in my questioning tactics.

There was an art to getting what I wanted out of someone. A certain way of phrasing a question, pausing for just the right amount of time, that netted me information I wouldn’t get otherwise. I had taken great pride in that talent at one time.

But now I seemed to be just going through the motions, more aware of the shadows lurking behind me, trying to catch up and pull me into the darkness, than what lay in front of me.

Two messages from the precinct indicating emergency calls had come in while I’d been at the Josephine. Astrid, it had to be. My sisters had my cell phone number, so there was no reason for them to go through dispatch. I stopped at an intersection and scrolled through the calls. My ex-wife’s number popped up and I winced. Probably she was calling about Zoe again.