Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Laurel paused. “Then you’ll have a record of every meeting as well as documentation of his reports and any payments you might’ve made?”
Vexler sighed heavily. Yeah, his client appeared to be a moron.
“No.” The word was too quick, too sharp from Detective Robertson. “I didn’t, ah, document it.”
Walter snorted. “Want me to arrest and charge him with lying to a federal agent?”
“I don’t have to listen to this.” Detective Robertson’s chin lifted, but it was a weak attempt at defiance.
“You do if you want this to end.” Laurel stared him down. “Mark Bitterson and you exchanged packages several times, and we’ve obtained footage of these meetings.”
Detective Robertson flinched, the truth slamming through whatever defense he’d tried to build. “Footage?”
“Tyler Griggs documented your interactions. Every exchange, every whispered conversation. He was meticulous,” Laurel said.
Detective Robertson sagged, his eyes darting to Vexler and finding no support. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then explain the situation to me,” Laurel said.
Detective Robertson looked down, his fingers digging into his palms. The silence ticked around the conference room until he finally spoke. “Bitterson was blackmailing me.”
“About what?” Laurel asked, her tone flat.
Detective Robertson’s mouth twisted. “My relationship with Jillian Jackson. He said he’d make it public. Ruin me and both of our marriages. So I gave him . . . favors.”
“What kind of favors?”
Detective Robertson’s shoulders hunched. “We just exchanged manila envelopes. Not thick ones. Not big enough to hold any drugs, so I figured, whatever. Right?”
Now they were getting to what Laurel needed. “Your cooperation is appreciated. Who was on the other end of this exchange?”
Detective Robertson looked at the door as if he wanted to run for it.
Laurel waited him out.
“Answer the question,” Vexler said quietly, his expression unreadable.
“Melissa Palmtree.” The name tumbled from Detective Robertson’s mouth, his shoulders slumping as if relieved to finally release the truth. “I just gave her what Bitterson handed me. I don’t even know what was in the envelopes.”
Laurel’s mind raced. “Melissa Palmtree. The Oakridge Solutions lab tech who died in Seattle.” She fell down stairs, and her body should be arriving at Dr. Ortega’s lab any second. Yet one more connection to Oakridge Solutions.
“Yeah.” Detective Robertson swallowed. “I read about her death in the news since it’s out of our jurisdiction. Thought it was a coincidence. I figured . . . I figured when she died, my part was over.”
Walter leaned toward him. “What was Bitterson passing to her?”
“I told you. I don’t know.” Detective Robertson looked sick, his skin pale and slick with sweat. “He just said she was the contact. My guess is that she was paying him, because he bought that sweet black truck that I heard he later wrapped around a tree. Suddenly, he was flush. But I didn’t ask questions. My wife would kill me if she found out about Jillian.” He looked up. “You don’t have to tell her, right?”
Laurel couldn’t believe this man. “Why would Melissa Palmtree pay Mark Bitterson?”
“I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. Bitterson said she was working on something at Oakridge Solutions, something valuable, and if I helped him, he’d leave me alone,” the detective said.
“What about Dr. Liu?” Laurel asked quickly.
Detective Robertson’s brows drew together. His mouth parted, lips slack. True confusion? “Who?”
Laurel tried to read his expression. “Dr. Miriam Liu. One of the lead researchers at Oakridge Solutions. She died in Tempest County in a car accident.” Which also took her out of Detective Robertson’s jurisdiction.
“I’ve never heard of her,” he said.
Laurel measured his breath rate. Fast and from the chest. He was definitely stressed. “How did you exchange envelopes with Melissa Palmtree?”
“I pick up extra shifts as a security guard at Oakridge Solutions.” Detective Robertson’s expression crumpled. “Just on my off days. It’s extra cash. I just walk the perimeter, make sure no one’s breaking in. I didn’t even know Melissa worked there until Bitterson told me, and then one day, there she was in the break room waiting for me.”
Laurel’s fingers tightened around her pen. “Was Bitterson harvesting yew trees? We found his body in a strand of them.”
“You trees? What the hell is that?” Detective Robertson shoved back to stand. “I’ve told you everything I know. I’m done here.”
Vexler rose smoothly, his expression polite but firm. “Unless you intend to charge my client, I believe this conversation is over.”
“Why would Mark Bitterson have rammed our vehicle with his truck and fired upon Agent Smudgeon and me the first time we left Elk Hollow?” Laurel asked.
The detective’s brow furrowed. “I have no fucking clue, lady. I’m out of here.”
“For now,” Laurel replied. “I suggest you stay in town, Detective Robertson. One more question. Did you have anything to do with the deaths of Tyler Griggs, Dr. Miriam Liu, Melissa Palmtree, or Mark Bitterson?”
Detective Robertson stumbled back. “God, no. Wait a minute. Are you saying—”