The designer’s smile broadened unabashedly, and Kay couldn’t decide whether she should be insulted or flattered.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Arsenault?” Finn asked, casually moving through the condo, lingering at the wall-to-wall bookshelves.
Arsenault fingered back a shock of blond hair. “I develop software. Why?”
“Pays well, huh?”
“I’m certainly not in it for the adventure.” He smiled, but only to Kay.
“So why all the books then? Criminal law. Forensics. True crime,” Finn asked, following the precise line of texts with one finger, like a stick to a picket fence. He removed one of the hardbound books, leafed through it, then replaced it, shoving it too far back.
“It’s just an interest,” Arsenault answered. “As a kid I wanted to be a cop.”
“So what happened?”
Arsenault let out a quick laugh. “I heard the pay’s shit. Won’t you sit down?” he asked Kay, guiding her to the seating area.
She obliged, feeling his hand against the small of her back for the briefest moment. Passing the windows overlooking the Inner Harbor, she tried to ignore Arsenault’s stare. She watched a tug break the surface of the Patapsco far below.
“Can I get you anything, Detective Delaney?”
“No. Thank you.”
“So what is this about, Detectives?” Arsenault angled toward the bookshelves that Finn had abandoned.
“We’re investigating a homicide,” Finn said.
“Really?” Arsenault reached for the book Finn hadpulled and edged it forward so the spine was once again flush with the others. “How interesting. For me at least. Death investigation has always been a fascination for me.”
“We know.”
On the glass coffee table in front of her an orchid arched in full bloom, and yesterday’s Sun was squared perfectly with the table’s edge. Kay couldn’t tell if it had been read. When Finn passed her, he nudged the paper off-center.
“So I take it you’re here about my websites. And given Detective Delaney’s presence, I’m suspecting it’s the Eales site.”
“There’re others?”
“I’ve designed several.” Arsenault moved in to straighten the paper, his eyes already tracking Finn’s next maneuver.
“How many?”
“Eales. Clarence Gossard. Eddie McCleester. Willy Tarleton.”
Kay recognized all but one of the names.
“So you develop websites for killers then?” Finn asked.
“I develop websites for men arrested and convicted of murder.” Arsenault straightened a couple architectural magazines Finn had shifted. It had become a dance: Arsenault following Finn through the suite, righting whatever he’d messed with. “I think it’s important that the public has the opportunity to view both sides. Come to their own conclusions.”
“The public already made a decision on those other cases, Mr. Arsenault,” Kay said. “They’re called a jury.”
“Forgive me if I don’t have an undying faith in the judicial system. And, please, call me Scott, Detective.” Another flirtatious smile.
“So do you know Eales personally, Scotty?” Finn asked.
“No.” Arsenault had given up. Sitting on the sofa now,his spine stiff, his hands fisted in his lap, he kept an eye on Finn. “I’ve never met the man.”
“So where do you get the information for your site then?” Finn asked.
“Everything on the site is public domain. It’s all procured from the media.”
“Really?” Finn turned. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” But there was a tremble in Arsenault’s arrogant self-confidence.
“And what’s in it for you, Scotty, mounting these websites? Is it money? Or do you just get off on it?”
“I receive a modest compensation.”
“Ah, the Eales Defense Fund. Are you the beneficiary of that?”
Arsenault stood now, clearly on edge.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Kay asked, and caught the flash of approval from Finn. Keep Arsenault scattered. Keep him on his toes. And while Finn
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Arsenault?” Finn asked, casually moving through the condo, lingering at the wall-to-wall bookshelves.
Arsenault fingered back a shock of blond hair. “I develop software. Why?”
“Pays well, huh?”
“I’m certainly not in it for the adventure.” He smiled, but only to Kay.
“So why all the books then? Criminal law. Forensics. True crime,” Finn asked, following the precise line of texts with one finger, like a stick to a picket fence. He removed one of the hardbound books, leafed through it, then replaced it, shoving it too far back.
“It’s just an interest,” Arsenault answered. “As a kid I wanted to be a cop.”
“So what happened?”
Arsenault let out a quick laugh. “I heard the pay’s shit. Won’t you sit down?” he asked Kay, guiding her to the seating area.
She obliged, feeling his hand against the small of her back for the briefest moment. Passing the windows overlooking the Inner Harbor, she tried to ignore Arsenault’s stare. She watched a tug break the surface of the Patapsco far below.
“Can I get you anything, Detective Delaney?”
“No. Thank you.”
“So what is this about, Detectives?” Arsenault angled toward the bookshelves that Finn had abandoned.
“We’re investigating a homicide,” Finn said.
“Really?” Arsenault reached for the book Finn hadpulled and edged it forward so the spine was once again flush with the others. “How interesting. For me at least. Death investigation has always been a fascination for me.”
“We know.”
On the glass coffee table in front of her an orchid arched in full bloom, and yesterday’s Sun was squared perfectly with the table’s edge. Kay couldn’t tell if it had been read. When Finn passed her, he nudged the paper off-center.
“So I take it you’re here about my websites. And given Detective Delaney’s presence, I’m suspecting it’s the Eales site.”
“There’re others?”
“I’ve designed several.” Arsenault moved in to straighten the paper, his eyes already tracking Finn’s next maneuver.
“How many?”
“Eales. Clarence Gossard. Eddie McCleester. Willy Tarleton.”
Kay recognized all but one of the names.
“So you develop websites for killers then?” Finn asked.
“I develop websites for men arrested and convicted of murder.” Arsenault straightened a couple architectural magazines Finn had shifted. It had become a dance: Arsenault following Finn through the suite, righting whatever he’d messed with. “I think it’s important that the public has the opportunity to view both sides. Come to their own conclusions.”
“The public already made a decision on those other cases, Mr. Arsenault,” Kay said. “They’re called a jury.”
“Forgive me if I don’t have an undying faith in the judicial system. And, please, call me Scott, Detective.” Another flirtatious smile.
“So do you know Eales personally, Scotty?” Finn asked.
“No.” Arsenault had given up. Sitting on the sofa now,his spine stiff, his hands fisted in his lap, he kept an eye on Finn. “I’ve never met the man.”
“So where do you get the information for your site then?” Finn asked.
“Everything on the site is public domain. It’s all procured from the media.”
“Really?” Finn turned. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” But there was a tremble in Arsenault’s arrogant self-confidence.
“And what’s in it for you, Scotty, mounting these websites? Is it money? Or do you just get off on it?”
“I receive a modest compensation.”
“Ah, the Eales Defense Fund. Are you the beneficiary of that?”
Arsenault stood now, clearly on edge.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Kay asked, and caught the flash of approval from Finn. Keep Arsenault scattered. Keep him on his toes. And while Finn
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