propped it over the other knee. “Because everything I just said is true and is documented. Sealed, but documented. So tell me, Dr. Pierson, just how fond are you of five-year-old girls?”
Pierson’s breath was coming fast. “My daughter has an active imagination. I don’t covet young girls, and I certainly don’t lust after babies. A five-year-old? That’s sick. If you plan to spread rumors that I’m a sexual predator…”
“I don’t. So let’s stop talking in generalizations. Let’s get back to Krissy Willis.”
A frosty glare. “I’m neither a kidnapper nor an extortionist, Mr. Deveraux.”
No, Marc thought with revulsion. Just a pervert and a murderer. “Where were you yesterday from three o’clock on?” he asked.
“Right here in my office. My nurse, my receptionist and two colleagues can testify to that. I came in at ten and didn’t leave until six.”
“And then?”
“Then I drove straight home. Speak to my housekeeper. She cooked me dinner and cleaned up afterwards. She didn’t leave until after eight.”
“What about lunchtime? Did you go out?”
“I had Chinese food delivered. Do you want to see the receipt?”
“Nope. That won’t be necessary.” Mentally, Marc crossed Pierson off his list of suspects. He’d known it was a long shot. But every lead had to be pursued. Plus, if nothing else, Marc’s visit would keep Pierson on his toes, force him to control his unnatural propensity for young girls. The last thing the neurologist needed right now was more scrutiny and scandal.
Marc would have loved to break the guy’s jaw. But that wasn’t in the cards—not this time.
“What about any of your wife’s relatives?” he asked instead. “Or her friends? Anyone close to her who disagreed with the not-guilty verdict and who’s got the temperament to act on it?”
“Fran had no living relatives,” Pierson replied in a clipped tone. “And I’m not well acquainted enough with her friends to know if any of them is deranged. Talk to the prosecutor. The people you’re asking about were his witnesses.”
“I already have,” Marc reassured him. “But I wanted to follow up with you. First, because I didn’t think you’d want the prosecutor to hear my theories about your daughter’s friends. And second, because he’s a lawyer—you were a husband. Generally, they’re privy to more intricate details of their spouses’ lives than a stranger is.”
“Fran’s friends were all mothers. I can’t imagine…”
“Nor can I. But it happens.” Marc skimmed his notes. “I got a list of those friends. Would you object if I were to interview them?”
“No. Not that it would matter. You’d interview them with or without my permission.”
“Actually, I already have.” He smiled what he knew was his most irritating smile. “I just wanted to see your reaction. Clearly, none of them has a clue about your affinity for preteen girls. Which is all that matters to me. Their opinions on the murder are moot. You were acquitted. Double jeopardy applies. Plus, my job is to find Krissy Willis, not your wife’s killer.”
“Then talk to whomever you like. I have nothing to hide.”
“Right.” Marc came to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Pierson. Glad to hear that you’re innocent of murder and of sexual deviance. There’s nothing like a clear conscience.”
Casey had a bad feeling.
Her interview with Claudia Mitchell had never happened. She’d rung the bell a half-dozen times. No one had answered. But she knew someone was home. She’d heard the flurry of muffled footsteps, spotted the outline of a woman through the window. The woman had retreated to the kitchen and hidden behind the counter. Judging from her height and build, it was Claudia Mitchell.
So why wasn’t she opening the door?
The deception raised a host of red flags. Especially since Casey had preceded her trip to Claudia’s house with a visit to the White Plains courthouse where Judge Willis
Pierson’s breath was coming fast. “My daughter has an active imagination. I don’t covet young girls, and I certainly don’t lust after babies. A five-year-old? That’s sick. If you plan to spread rumors that I’m a sexual predator…”
“I don’t. So let’s stop talking in generalizations. Let’s get back to Krissy Willis.”
A frosty glare. “I’m neither a kidnapper nor an extortionist, Mr. Deveraux.”
No, Marc thought with revulsion. Just a pervert and a murderer. “Where were you yesterday from three o’clock on?” he asked.
“Right here in my office. My nurse, my receptionist and two colleagues can testify to that. I came in at ten and didn’t leave until six.”
“And then?”
“Then I drove straight home. Speak to my housekeeper. She cooked me dinner and cleaned up afterwards. She didn’t leave until after eight.”
“What about lunchtime? Did you go out?”
“I had Chinese food delivered. Do you want to see the receipt?”
“Nope. That won’t be necessary.” Mentally, Marc crossed Pierson off his list of suspects. He’d known it was a long shot. But every lead had to be pursued. Plus, if nothing else, Marc’s visit would keep Pierson on his toes, force him to control his unnatural propensity for young girls. The last thing the neurologist needed right now was more scrutiny and scandal.
Marc would have loved to break the guy’s jaw. But that wasn’t in the cards—not this time.
“What about any of your wife’s relatives?” he asked instead. “Or her friends? Anyone close to her who disagreed with the not-guilty verdict and who’s got the temperament to act on it?”
“Fran had no living relatives,” Pierson replied in a clipped tone. “And I’m not well acquainted enough with her friends to know if any of them is deranged. Talk to the prosecutor. The people you’re asking about were his witnesses.”
“I already have,” Marc reassured him. “But I wanted to follow up with you. First, because I didn’t think you’d want the prosecutor to hear my theories about your daughter’s friends. And second, because he’s a lawyer—you were a husband. Generally, they’re privy to more intricate details of their spouses’ lives than a stranger is.”
“Fran’s friends were all mothers. I can’t imagine…”
“Nor can I. But it happens.” Marc skimmed his notes. “I got a list of those friends. Would you object if I were to interview them?”
“No. Not that it would matter. You’d interview them with or without my permission.”
“Actually, I already have.” He smiled what he knew was his most irritating smile. “I just wanted to see your reaction. Clearly, none of them has a clue about your affinity for preteen girls. Which is all that matters to me. Their opinions on the murder are moot. You were acquitted. Double jeopardy applies. Plus, my job is to find Krissy Willis, not your wife’s killer.”
“Then talk to whomever you like. I have nothing to hide.”
“Right.” Marc came to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Pierson. Glad to hear that you’re innocent of murder and of sexual deviance. There’s nothing like a clear conscience.”
Casey had a bad feeling.
Her interview with Claudia Mitchell had never happened. She’d rung the bell a half-dozen times. No one had answered. But she knew someone was home. She’d heard the flurry of muffled footsteps, spotted the outline of a woman through the window. The woman had retreated to the kitchen and hidden behind the counter. Judging from her height and build, it was Claudia Mitchell.
So why wasn’t she opening the door?
The deception raised a host of red flags. Especially since Casey had preceded her trip to Claudia’s house with a visit to the White Plains courthouse where Judge Willis
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