The Detective's Dilemma

“But Ms. Velasquez swears that you did,” Paul said.

Beth turned to the small woman huddled next to Dumont. “Letitia,” she pleaded, “please don’t do this. Please tell them the truth.”

“That’s exactly what she’s doing,” Dumont snapped.

The housekeeper broke into sobs. “I only say what I must,” she repeated. “I only say what I must!”

“Can’t you tell the poor woman is devastated to have to do this?” Dumont went on. He smiled maliciously at Beth and added, “She always did prefer you, you know.”

Letitia Velasquez buried her face in her hands and sobbed brokenly.

“There, there,” Dumont said, with the same inflection he’d use with a pesky fly.

Beth closed her eyes and said softly, “It’s all right, Letitia. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be all right somehow.”

“I don’t want to say it!” Ms. Velasquez sobbed.

“You don’t owe her any apologies or explanations!” Dumont growled at the woman. “You know what’s at stake.”

“That sounds like a veiled threat, Mr. Dumont,” Ty said mildly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Dumont retorted. “I only meant that if Letitia does not do the right thing, a murder will go unpunished.”

“Oh, no,” Ty said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this one. Never doubt it.”

“I should think you’ve seen the bottom—as you put it—already,” Dumont rejoined smoothly, but never once during the entire exchange did he look Ty in the eye.

“Some might think that,” Ty replied noncommittally, but he’d suddenly had all of Brandon Dumont that he could stomach for one day—and he wasn’t quite ready to give up on his original game plan just yet. He still might get some important personal questions answered if he played this right. He stashed his pen, flipped the folder closed and got to his feet, sweeping the folder up in his hand. “Paul, why don’t you take Ms. Velasquez downstairs? Give her a minute to collect herself before the stenographer takes her statement.”

Paul was already on his feet and moving around the end of the table to Letitia Velasquez’s chair. “Come with me, ma’am.”

The little housekeeper cast a worried look at Brandon Dumont, then got stoically to her feet, wiping tears from her face with one hand, her old-fashioned patent-leather purse clutched in the other. She glanced guiltily at Beth, then turned her head away and swiftly followed Paul from the room. Beth was glaring daggers at Dumont, who seemed amused. Ty gestured with his free hand toward the room beyond the door at his back.

“I’m going to grab a cup of coffee, then we’ll get down to brass tacks. Can I bring anything for you two?”

Beth shook her head mutely. Dumont curled his lip in an expression of disdain, as if to imply that simple coffee was beneath him, and said sharply, “No, thank you.”

Ty slipped out of the room, pulling the door almost closed. Catching the eye of one of his co-workers, he pantomimed drinking, then pressed his palms together in supplication and jerked his head at the interrogation room door. An understanding nod and quick movement in the direction of the coffeepot parked in an out-of-the-way corner was his answer. Ty stepped to one side of the door, put his back to the wall and waited.

Beth was the first one to speak. “Why are you doing this, Brandon?”

The smugness of Dumont’s voice made Ty want to slap the cuffs on him. “Why, whatever do you mean, Beth dear?”

“Cut it out, Brandon. We both know you’re trying to frame me for Brianne’s murder.”

“Trying to frame you?” Dumont echoed, slight emphasis on the first word. “Tsk, tsk, Beth, why don’t you just accept your punishment like a good little Maitland and be done with it? Your family will get you off with minimal time, say ten or twenty years, which you’ll probably serve in some walled country club. You know, it’s positively unfair what the rich can get away with.”

Beth seemed to ignore his taunts. “It’s because I broke up with you, isn’t it. Is your pride that monstrous? Is this my punishment for not loving you, Brandon?”

“Yet you agreed to marry me,” he told her quickly.

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “I wanted to be in love with you. I wanted you to be everything that you seemed then. But the image didn’t hold, Brandon, and do you know why? It’s that desperation in you, that grasping, frantic desperation. Eventually it seeps through the cool, handsome veneer and makes the other person feel…used, a means to an end.”

“Used?” Dumont snarled. “You amused yourself with me, then tossed me aside like so much trash.”

Ty’s ears pricked, and he straightened away from the wall. So Beth Maitland had ended the relationship, just as she claimed. He had felt inclined to believe her before; now he knew she was telling the truth. Too bad what he’d just heard wouldn’t be admissible in court. His co-worker approached with the cup of coffee, and Ty signaled him to silence before he drew near enough to place the cup in Ty’s hand. Ty mouthed, “Thanks,” and turned his ear to the door as the other detective tiptoed away.

“I guess I should have ignored the fact that you cheated on me with Brianne,” Beth was saying.

“That was your own fault, and you know it,” Dumont argued. “A man has to have satisfaction.”

Ty had heard enough. Any more and he risked his case. Eavesdropping without a court order was a tricky business when it came to gathering evidence. He opened the door and walked in. Dumont shifted gears as smoothly as butter melted, saying to Beth in an aggrieved tone, “I loved Brianne. I adored her. I couldn’t help myself. But I’m sorry that I cheated on you, especially if that’s why you killed her.”

Beth rolled her eyes. She looked at Ty and said calmly, “I didn’t kill Brianne Dumont, and he damned well knows it.”

“All I know is that my wife was found dead—in your office—after you threatened her.”

“Threatened her?” Ty repeated sharply, plunking down the file folder and placing the coffee next to it. He brought his hands to his hips and stared down the table at Dumont. “You never mentioned anything about threats before.”

Dumont stiffened. “Well, what do you think all that harassment was about?” he demanded. “She wasn’t just amusing herself!” He gestured at Beth.

“The way she amused herself with you?” Ty asked flatly, and Dumont visibly paled. “Suppose you explain that to me.”

Dumont straightened in his chair. “Y-you were listening!”

“That’s right. Now, let’s hear it, Dumont. Which was it? Was she so crushed when you dumped her for another woman that she was moved to murder, or was she playing with you? In which case, it wouldn’t make much sense for her to harass and murder your wife, would it?”

Dumont swallowed. Then he seemed to realize that he had been rattled, and his face mottled with rage. “You don’t understand these Maitlands!” he exclaimed. “They think they own the damned world and everything in it.” He flung a hand at Beth. “She wasn’t in love with me, but she wasn’t through with me yet. She didn’t want me to be with anyone else until she said so. I crossed her, and she got back at me.”

It was a completely self-serving explanation, but Ty had nothing with which to counter it. Yet. He waved a hand at Brandon Dumont. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Dumont subsided into his studied nonchalance. “Not at the moment.”

“I’ll call you if I need you,” Ty told him dismissively. Dumont glanced around the room, as if expecting to find someone or something else to keep him there. Realizing that he was being told to go, he got to his feet. “I’ll show you where to meet Ms. Velasquez,” Ty said.

Dumont lifted his chin and tugged at the bottom of his tweedy designer suit coat. “I, um, promised the poor woman I’d be at hand to support her,” he said suggestively.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ty replied. “Detective Jester is taking care of her. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can wait.” He turned toward the door. Dumont followed reluctantly, skirting the table and dragging his feet into the ward room. Ty walked him to the elevator, giving him much more explicit instructions than necessary on how to reach the public waiting area. He wanted to give Beth a chance to pull herself together, to think. A rattled suspect often said or did something to incriminate herself. Ty didn’t want that. But what he did want from Beth Maitland was best left unacknowledged for both their sakes.

BETH PULLED a deep breath and put her head back. She had known, of course, but somehow it was still a shock to have it confirmed. Not that he had said anything particularly incriminating. No, Brandon was much too smart for that. He was, in fact, much smarter than she had given him credit for being. Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Neither would she be tamely led to the slaughter as dictated by his massive arrogance. Brandon Dumont was not going to get away with framing her for his wife’s murder.

Ty Redstone entered the room, stopping just inside the door to study her with that blank, inscrutable expression of his. She wondered if it was part of his Native American heritage or a result of his police training. Probably some of both. It didn’t completely obscure the powerful personal awareness of her that she sensed in him, or the surge of satisfaction that she felt as a result of it. Perhaps she sensed it because it was mutual. Ty Redstone was a devastatingly attractive man, sexually compelling. He reached behind him and pulled the door closed, and suddenly she felt at a distinct disadvantage. Impulsively, she shot to her feet, anxious to make him believe in her innocence.

“Save it,” he said, beating her to it, “I’m not trying to prove that you murdered Brianne Dumont, because I’m not convinced you did. I’m just trying to get at the truth.” He brushed back the sides of his suit coat and tucked his hands onto the slopes of his narrow hips.

Beth felt her knees wobble and stiffened them. “You believe me?” she asked incredulously.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Let’s just say I have a nose for a frame-up and a very open mind.”