Kiss Me, Kill Me by Allison Brennan

Author:Allison Brennan [Brennan, Allison]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Suspense
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Wade Barnett sat in the interview room with his lawyer, James Thorpe. Suzanne hadn’t dealt with Thorpe before, but Panetta knew him. “Five hundred dollars an hour,” he’d grumbled to her before they walked into the room. “Attorney for the rich and infamous.”

“I gather you’re not a fan of his?”

“So perceptive, for a Fed.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the door. “Mr. Barnett, thank you for coming down here this morning.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Wade grumbled.

“You always have a choice,” Suzanne said.

“Then I’m leaving.”

“Well, of course, you’re not under arrest, but I can fix that since you lied to me Thursday. Did you know that lying to a federal law enforcement agent is a crime? Now, if I hadn’t joined Detective Panetta, we wouldn’t be able to arrest you right now. But, because you lied to me—a federal agent—I came up with a damn good reason to get a warrant for your apartment and your office.”

“You can’t—”

Thorpe put a hand on Barnett’s forearm. “Hear them out.”

Suzanne was having fun with the interrogation. This was her favorite part of the job.

“Thank you,” Suzanne said, filling her tone with sincerity. Barnett was wary. He was squirming. He was acting so guilty she expected him to make a full confession this morning before lunch.

She’d go out and celebrate. With champagne.

Panetta said, “Mr. Barnett, you told us on Thursday that you didn’t recognize any of these young women.” He spread the four photos in front of Barnett.

Barnett didn’t say anything. Suzanne took out the New York Post photo of Barnett and Alanna Andrews kissing in the Barnett box at Yankee Stadium.

“Do you remember this?”

No response.

“Mr. Barnett,” Suzanne said, “please answer the question. Do you remember taking Alanna Andrews to this Yankees game? That is you, correct? And Ms. Andrews?”

Again, he didn’t answer. He stared at the pictures.

Suzanne could play this game all day.

“Mr. Thorpe,” she said, “your client can answer questions now, or he can answer them from Rikers. Jurisdiction can go either way. New York doesn’t have a death penalty. The United States does.”

Thorpe leaned over and whispered in Barnett’s ear.

It still took Barnett a full minute before he replied. “Yes.”

“Yes, this is you and Ms. Andrews kissing?”

He nodded.

“That wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

Thorpe said, “Agent Madeaux, with all due respect, cut to the chase. Of what do you accuse my client?”

“I haven’t accused him of anything except lying to a federal officer about knowing these women.”

Thorpe said, “When you approached him in his office, he was in shock. He didn’t understand what you meant.”

“He didn’t understand, ‘Do you recognize any of these women?’ ” Suzanne shook her head. “I have a witness who says that you met this young lady,” she tapped Jessica Bell’s photograph, “at a New Year’s Eve party. Less than a mile from where this college student”—she pointed to Heather Garcia’s image—“was murdered.”

Barnett was slowly shaking his head. Suzanne continued. “I have solid proof that you knew two of the victims but lied to me about it. When

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