Warden Karo
Sam's POV
I got Rachel's confirmation that a lawyer was on the case, and I returned back to the precinct before Captain James noticed I was missing for too long.
He loves to have someone to grill and rant on, and not being present for that was the biggest crime in his rule book. I had a crazy thought the red sheath dress I wore this morning would make him less hostile. At least he would have something to stare at other than glaring at my face. But it was just a crazy thought. No one takes a detective in a dress seriously.
I wished my face had the same charm to Captain James as my body had. Then this would have been easier. I sighed from exhaustion as I dropped into my seat after leaving the interrogation room, questioning some of the hotel staff and the hotel guests.
I leaned against the cushion backrest of my chair, and I flipped through the copy of the hotel register for the rooms on the tenth floor, ninth floor, and eleventh floor, especially those within the axis of Miss Rosewood’s hotel room. It had to be closer to hers. Jumping around the hotel balconies was a very hard task even for a pro, and jumping from top to bottom or from bottom to top was harder.
The killer had to book at least three to four rooms on both sides and at least one room from the top or bottom. I leaned an arm onto my desk, my brows wired together as I thought, my eyes still flipping through the printed copies of the register, guided by my fingers. We could be looking at a daredevil here. The killer could be crazier than I thought. Could be a dedicated killer. I would need to expand the net then.
I unconsciously pushed my pen to my lips, biting gently on its ball end. I could expand the net to five rooms to the sides and three rooms top and bottom. That means I would need the registers for the guests on floors twelve and thirteen and eight and seven. That would be seven floors in total.
I clenched my teeth hard, already picturing how many people that would be in my head. I would have to look them up, their backgrounds, histories, and all, get some warrants, then track them down to their separate homes and businesses if they had already left the hotel, and then find time to question them. That was a hell of work. I tilted my head to the side, yawning at the prospect, while I reached for the telephone. I would need the registers for the other floors I was expanding too. Then I paused. My eyes picked up a name on the register, a name on the same floor as me and Rowan and the victim—Miss Rosewood.
My eyes narrowed on the name, and I traced it with my finger while I spelled it out: Warden Karo. The name wasn't just unpopular. It was odd, very odd. And something about it strikes me as fishy.
I snatched my pen from my teeth and began scribbling on the empty end of the printed paper. I wrote down :Warden Karo, and Rowan Drake just over each other. I cancelled each letter in one name with the same letter in the other name until finally, I was left with nothing—no letter. Rowan Drake rearranged became Warden Karo.
I leaned onto my seat, staring at both names whose letters I had struck down with a slash while cancelling them out. The names were anagrams for each other. This was more than a coincidence. It was either Rowan Drake was hiding something, or the killer knew Rowan Drake and was trying to pin this on him.
I traced down the name on the register with a finger to spot the room number—I gasped. It was room 2003—just two rooms after Miss Rosewood's. This was definitely the room the killer used.
I reached fast for the telephone receiver, and I threw it to my ears. “Officer Harry.” I called to the other officer on the end of the line. And when I heard his reply, I continued. “Help me run through this person and dig up anything you can on him…” Then I proceeded to read him the ID card details associated with the room. “Please run this fast. I need it immediately.” I said.
I was dropping the receiver back onto its cradle when a shadow loomed over my desk. I raised my gaze, and it was a small man in a suit that hung around his small, sloppy shoulders. He held a briefcase that looked equally big for him.
I never judge a book by its cover, especially lawyers. But this one. I had to judge. He had a stomach twice his head and looked like a pregnant racetrack bookie.
He brandished a smile and leaned his hand out to me. “Hi, Detective Samantha Cross. I am Richard Grant, an attorney with Dawson & Whitmore, and Mr. Rowan Drake’s personal lawyer.”
I took his hand, rising gently from my seat. “Hi,” I responded. I circled around from my desk to him.
“Can I see my client now?” He said, gesturing in the direction of the police cells.
“Yes.” I answered. My chin quivered a little as my eyes surveyed him carefully and critically. I just hoped Rachel was right with her choice. I hope he is up to the task I want him for.
I realized I was staring too long, and I forced an apologetic smile, dragging my face forward. I led him to the interrogation room where Rowan was waiting.
I was greeted by the cold, stale air as always. The stuffiness of the room attacked me the moment I stepped in, and he and Attorney Richard Grant shut the door with a loud bang.
I looked down at Rowan, his lips still creased in that proud, mischievous grin he had taunted me with during our investigation earlier. He relaxed on his seat, his hands folded behind his head again.
I wondered how serious this needs to be before he realizes the kind of situation we were both in. “This is your lawyer, Rowan.” I gestured at Attorney Richard Grant. “So would you talk now?”
“I am Richard Grant, your lawyer.” The attorney leaned out his hand to shake Rowan's.
Rowan just eyed his outstretched hand. His gaze swept forward to me again, the grin on his face widening. There was something about his stare that stirred a heat in me. The amber-hazel pair of his seemed to dissect me and bore me open, as if they could see through.
I shook my head and body, regaining my composure. The bastard, he was enjoying this. Enjoying my discomfort. He just grinned. “Darling,” he said. “I only said get me a lawyer. I never did say I would talk if you get one. The only time I am talking is when I know I am leaving here.”
I leaned on the table, and I slammed my fist on it, the noise of the slam echoing through the tiny windowless room. With nowhere to go, it reverberated down our eardrums, mine especially. Rowan didn't seem to feel it. He didn't flinch.
“Then help me so I can help you, Rowan. The only way you can leave here is when we are able to prove that you aren't the killer.”
He shook his head. “You are wrong, Detective.” He threw his hands onto the desk, leaning forward, bringing his face closer to mine.
And for some reason, my hands just trembled on the table, unable to rise and push him back. I let him come, the heat of his upper body engulfing mine.
I didn't know why, but staring right into his eyes toggled something in me, and surprisingly I found myself relaxing, though his face was encroaching on my space. My eyes strayed to his lips, tracing the alluring thin strips of pink. I dragged my eyes back to his, only to meet another taunting grin. The bastard. He was enjoying this.
“I can leave here anytime, Detective, by mentioning your name as my alibi. I just have to recount our steamy night together, and you wouldn't be able to deny it, and then I will be free. That is if you guys decide to hold me down more than the constitutional 48 hours.”
I flicked up my eyes to the camera. A wave of calm flooded my chest when I found it off. “Then why haven’t you told anyone I was your alibi?”
“I am still trying to see who I can trust in your precinct."
I jammed my fists on the table again, and the noise echoed once again in the room. “Damn hell. You can trust me, Rowan.” I yelled at him. My fist quivered on the table. Just why must he make this harder than it should be for us? “Who else can you trust here better than the lady who gave her body to you?”
He threw himself back onto his seat. “Come on, darling. Don't use that card on me. Sex is a two-way thing. That doesn't mean I can trust you.”
I wanted to speak again, but a loud ringing noise broke the air. My lips sealed, and I leaned off the table to pick up my call.
“Detective Sam Cross.” I said as I pressed the phone to my ears.
“All the CCTV footage for last night is ready for pickup, Detective Cross, or should I send it over?” the voice on the other end said.
A shiver shot through my spine, and I stiffened, snapping straight like a ruler. “No!” I screamed. “I would come get it myself.”
I couldn't risk the footage falling into the wrong hands. It must include the footage of me and Rowan entering our room. If anyone else got it and it magically fell into Captain James's hands, then I was cooked.