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Harper watched as Daltrey took in Bonnie’s blue-streaked ponytail, her miniskirt, and black work T-shirt.
‘Your name, please?’
‘Bonnie Larson,’ she said, after a fractional pause.
Daltrey wrote this down in a small notepad.
‘Who do you think that is?’ Daltrey gestured with the notepad to the body on the ground.
Bonnie’s throat worked. Her hands clenched at her sides.
‘I … I thought … I mean, I think it’s Naomi.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Naomi Scott.’
Daltrey had been a cop a long time. Her expression gave nothing away as she wrote something else and then raised her eyes to meet Bonnie’s again.
‘What can you tell me about Naomi Scott?’
Bonnie blinked. ‘I don’t …’
‘Anything you know,’ the detective encouraged her. ‘Who she is, where she works, how old she is.’
‘She works with me at The Library,’ Bonnie said, uncertainly. ‘We’re both bartenders. She’s at school during the day. Law school.’
Daltrey made a note.
‘Please,’ Bonnie said, her voice faltering, ‘tell me it isn’t her.’
The detective paused, as if deciding what to say. When she spoke, though, she delivered the news quick and she didn’t sugarcoat it.
‘I’m sorry to inform you that identification found on the victim indicates that it is Naomi Scott.’
‘Oh my God.’ Bonnie reeled back, taking the news like a blow. Her blue eyes filled with tears.
‘She can’t be dead,’ she pleaded, looking from the detective to Harper. ‘She was at work tonight. She was fine. She’s only twenty-four. What happened?’
Daltrey focused on Harper.
‘This is off the record, you got me?’
Harper nodded, although she was taking mental notes of everything that was said.
Daltrey turned back to Bonnie.
‘She was shot.’ Her tone was almost gentle. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about her that might explain who would do this? Did she tell you she was scared of anyone? Did she have any problems you can think of? Drugs?’
But Bonnie was numb now. In a kind of shock.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
Tears spilled over, running down her cheeks. ‘I have to tell her dad.’
‘We’ll take care of that,’ Daltrey said quickly.
She turned back to Harper. ‘Did you know the victim, too?’
‘Only a little. I saw her at the bar tonight. Her shift ended about an hour ago. She said she was going home.’
‘She live on River Street?’ Daltrey asked.
Harper shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
The detective snapped her notebook shut and checked her watch. ‘OK. I need both of you to come down to the station and give me a statement.’
Harper’s heart sank.
‘Could we come later?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got to get my story in first. And there’s not much I can tell you …’
‘I don’t care about your story.’ Daltrey cut her off. ‘This is homicide, McClain. Either you get to the station under your own power immediately or I will have you both taken there under mine. Am I clear?’
There was no point in arguing.
‘We’ll go straight to the station,’ Harper agreed glumly.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ Daltrey said.
She ducked under the crime tape and headed back to the body.
When she was gone, Harper turned to Miles.
‘You heard all that?’
He nodded, concern in his eyes. ‘You want me to call Baxter?’
Harper let out a long breath. The last thing she wanted was for him to call the city editor and wake her up to tell her Harper wasn’t at the scene of a murder in the center of the tourist zone because it turned out she’d been talking to the victim an hour ago.
But that was exactly what he had to do.
‘Yeah.’ She rubbed her forehead. The tequila she’d drunk earlier was transforming into a nice little headache.
‘She’s not going to like this,’ he warned her. ‘She finds out you left, she’s going to be pissed.’
But Harper was already leading Bonnie away. She threw her answer back to him over her shoulder.
‘What’s new?’
When they walked into the lobby of the Savannah police station ten minutes later, the air-conditioning streamed an arctic breeze across Harper’s skin, sending a chill down her back.
The night desk officer, Dwayne Josephs, glanced from Bonnie to Harper and back again.
‘Something wrong, Harper?’ As he took in Bonnie’s red face and swollen eyes, he rose from his chair. ‘Is Bonnie hurt?’
Harper had known Dwayne since she was twelve. He’d been one of the cops who took her under his wing after her mother was murdered.
These days, he was one of only a handful of cops she still considered her friends.
The rest had shut her out. They believed she’d betrayed the force by exposing Smith’s crime.
She’d had a solid year of shrugs and turned backs. Of phone calls that began with her giving her name and ended a second later with the click of a phone being put down. Of getting pulled over for minor traffic offenses she knew she hadn’t committed.
So she was grateful every time Dwayne greeted her kindly.
‘She’s not hurt,’ Harper assured him. ‘You heard what happened on River Street?’
‘The shooting?’
She nodded. ‘She knows the victim. Daltrey asked us to come give statements.’
His expression grew somber. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that.’
While Harper led Bonnie to a hard plastic chair, Dwayne disappeared behind his desk, reappearing a second later with a paper cup.
‘Here’s some water,’ he told Bonnie. ‘I’m sure you could use it.’
She accepted it numbly. ‘Thank you, Dwayne.’
‘Detective Daltrey won’t be too long,’ he said, squeezing her arm.
He was wrong about that, though.
Harper and Bonnie waited for more than half an hour in the arctic lobby.
Periodically, the buzz of Harper’s phone broke the silence as Miles sent her cryptic messages from the scene.
Cop source tells me purse untouched but phone missing.
Reading this, Harper’s brow furrowed. Surely no one had murdered Naomi over a phone?
She texted a quick reply:
What about wallet/money?
She stared at her phone, waiting impatiently for his response.
It killed her not to be out there with him. There was so much she could be doing right now, instead of sitting here.
When her phone buzzed again, though, it wasn’t with the answer she expected.
Told Baxter you knew the vic – she’s thrilled. Wants you in the office by nine.
Harper shoved her phone back in her pocket with more force than necessary.
When a police car pulled up out front, she craned her neck to see if it was Daltrey. Instead, a pair of uniformed officers got out, leading a handcuffed suspect to the back for processing.
By the time Daltrey finally walked through the bulletproof glass door, they were half-asleep. Bonnie had curled up in the plastic chair, her head resting on Harper’s shoulder.
It was nearly four in the morning. The night had begun to feel endless.
‘Sorry you had to wait,’ the detective told them crisply. ‘Come with me.’
They stood up slowly, muscles aching from the hard seats.
Bonnie’s eyes were puffy; her skin blotchy from crying. She was so out of place in this official world, with her turquoise hair and cowboy boots, it made Harper’s heart hurt.
At his desk, Dwayne pressed a button, unlocking the security door with a jarring buzz.
The long back corridor was lined with offices – this was where the real work of the police department got done. During the day it would be teeming with detectives, 911 operators and uniformed cops. At this hour, it was shadowy and still.
‘This way.’
Daltrey’s voice echoed as she guided them to the right. They walked past several doors before reaching the room she wanted.
Flipping on the light, she set her bag down next to a metal folding chair.
‘Have a seat, ladies,’ she told them with a brief twist of a smile.
The room was small and windowless, holding only a scarred wooden table and four chairs. A narrow sliver of mirror glittered coldly on one wall.
Daltrey waited as they settled into place across from her. In the harsh fluorescent light, Harper could see the long night was showing on her as well. There were shadows under her eyes, and the humidity had left a sheen on her skin.
‘This won’t take long,’ she said, pulling a notebook and a ballpoint from her bag. ‘I’d like you each to tell me in your own words about tonight. Your impressions of the victim.’
Harper knew she wouldn’t have much to say. All she knew was that three hours ago, Naomi had been alive – small and absorbed in her work, her heart-shaped face serious as she scrubbed The Library’s bar with a towel, her motions fast and angry. She’d barely looked at Harper when she sat down, and Harper hadn’t paid any attention to her. She was focused on her own problems. And on the margarita on the rocks Bonnie was setting in front of her.
Daltrey motioned at Bonnie. ‘You first, Miss Larson. I understand you knew her best.’
Bonnie glanced uncertainly at her.
‘I don’t know what to say …’
‘Anything you noticed could be helpful,’ Daltrey coaxed. ‘Start with the basics. How did she seem tonight? Happy? Unhappy? Frightened? Or did anything strange happen on her shift?’
Knotting her fingers on the tabletop, Bonnie thought it over.
‘Well,’ she said cautiously, ‘she seemed fine most of the night. Like, normal.’
Daltrey cocked her head.
‘You said “Most of the night”. What did you mean by that?’
