A Killer Closet Read Free Page B

ask you some questions.”
    “A person of interest? Isn’t that what they call a suspect?” Harriet said from the parlor.
    Irene didn’t bother to answer, but behind her she heard Adelle gasp.

Chapter 2
    “Why am I a person of interest?” Irene asked.
    “Things would go much easier for you if you just cooperate and come with us,” Chief Iglesias said.
    “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “I don’t want to have to arrest you, Ms. Seligman,” the chief said.
    “You have no grounds to arrest me.”
    Adelle, still standing at the entrance to the parlor, moaned, “Oh, my God! I can’t believe this is happening to me!”
    “Nothing’s happening to you. It’s happening to me!” Irene called over her shoulder. She was fairly certain, however, that Adelle was too absorbed in her self-centered anguish and humiliation to have heard her. She’d been about to insist that if she was to be subjected to questioning, it happen in her home, but she could foresee too many problems if Adelle was around.
    “All right,” Irene said, stepping out the door. “Let’s go to the police station, but no more threats of arrest.”
    “This way, Ms. Seligman,” the chief said.
    “I think I should call a lawyer,” Irene said.
    “There’s no need to call a lawyer. You’re not under arrest.” The chief took her arm as he spoke, leading her toward the police car.
    “I’ll decide when I need a lawyer,” Irene said, and pushed the chief’s hand off her arm.
    “Take it easy, ma’am. I’m not going to hurt you,” the chief said, turning to look at her. There was not even a hint of a smile on his face, something she had found typical of law enforcement officials.
    The two policemen led her to the car and helped her into the backseat. Chief Iglesias and the patrolman, who was driving, were speaking in low tones that were inaudible to her as she leaned forward and spoke through the heavy steel mesh that separated her from the front seat. “I want to talk to a lawyer.”
    The chief interrupted the conversation long enough to respond without looking at her. “I should have told you that you have the right to remain silent,” he said.
    “You only say that to people who are under arrest.”
    “You still have that right. Why don’t you exercise it?” he said.
    Her instinct was to call him a smart-ass, but she restrained herself and said again, “I want to talk to a lawyer.”
    “You can call one when you get to the station,” Chief Iglesias responded, still without looking at her.
    She knew that, of course, but something made her want to agitate and aggravate as much as possible—a trait she’d always detested in suspects she’d dealt with as an assistant D.A.
    But she wasn’t a suspect. Just a person of interest.
    It took twenty minutes traveling along a tourist-congested Cerrillos Road to reach the police station across town, and she was escorted inside the back of the flat-roofed building, designed, like most buildings in the old state capitol, to look like an Indian pueblo. As she stepped inside the double doors, she saw a row of people seated in chairs along one wall of the building. She was told to take a seat and that she would be called soon. She found a chair next to a woman wearing extremely short shorts, mesh stockings, and stilettos. Her face was decorated with black mascara, purple lipstick, and eyebrows that looked as if they’d been plucked and then painted on. On the other side of her was a man who reeked of cheap liquor and kept his head bowed so that his long hair covered his face. Irene took a seat.
    She was uncomfortably aware of the stiletto woman staring at her, and she made an attempt to move away from her, but before she could get all the way to a standing position, a policeman barked at her to sit down.
    “What’d they get
you
for?” There was no mistaking the disdain in Stiletto Woman’s voice.
    Irene tried to ignore her.
    “You don’t look like you could turn a trick if you had to,