Stolen in Paradise (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) Read Free Page A

our lab books, and the formula laptop!” Moku said.
    “And Dr. Pettigrew’s dead!” Abed wailed.
    To Marcella’s surprise, Truman opened his arms as he walked toward them, and each of the PhD candidates dropped what they were doing and crowded in for a group hug, Abed and Moku giving in to renewed tears and Fernandez croaking like a jungle’s worth of tree frogs.
    “It’s probably one of them, given the restricted access to the main door,” Marcella whispered to Rogers, unimpressed by the emotional display. “Let’s isolate them, take fingerprints and DNA, do alibi statements, and seal the lab.”
    “Copy that.” Rogers picked up the portable crime case he’d brought in and moved in on Peter Kim while Marcella pulled Ron Truman aside.
    “Come with me, please.” She led him into the back room, took up a power position behind a counter. The handsome Dr. Truman propped one ass cheek on a stool and folded his arms.
    “I heard you tell the other agent you were going to seal the lab. That’s out of the question. There are a plethora of time-sensitive projects in the works.”
    “This lab is part of a crime scene. Who knows; Dr. Pettigrew may have been killed here. In any case, this lab is now officially closed.”
    “Can we at least put some of our work on thumb drives?”
    “Out of the question. Until cleared, these computers are a key element in the investigation.”
    Truman pushed away from the tall steel stool, paced. His eyes fell on the pry marks around the open door, and he spun to pace the other direction, pushing a hand though blond Ken-doll locks. “This is bad,” he muttered.
    “I need you to give a brief statement, which I will record. We’ll follow up with longer interviews later.” Marcella set her phone on the counter, turning the video feature on, and Truman sat, frowning into the blinking red light. “Where were you yesterday evening?”
    “With someone.”
    “Name and address?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    “Murder is complicated. This is your alibi; I suggest you provide the information.” Marcella softened her voice and gave a dimpled smile.
    “Well. It’s like this. I’m married. But…I met someone. We were together.”
    Marcella felt the tingle he’d aroused drown in a wash of contempt. “Name. Address.”
    “I told my wife I was working late at the lab. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother her about this.”
    “I can’t promise that she won’t find something out, but I don’t see at this time that your alibi need concern her.”
    “Well, then, I’m not going to say—and anyway, it’s nothing to do with Dr. Pettigrew.”
    “Let me be the judge of that.”
    “I’m sorry. Right now I’m not going to tell you.”
    Brown eyes clashed with green. Marcella shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find out where you were. It’s just going to take longer and be more embarrassing—your choice. DNA sample now, to rule you out, and fingerprints.” He submitted to the fingerprinting and DNA swab with ill grace. “Send in Moku. We’ll talk more.”
    He straightened up, jaw squared, and strode out.
    Marcella’s phone rang, a blare of “We Are the Champions,” the ringtone she used for the Honolulu Police Department. She sat on the metal stool and picked up.
    “Special Agent Scott here.”
    “This is Detective Kamuela. We wanted to check in with you before we went and did death notification—next of kin is one Natalie Pettigrew, niece. Dr. Pettigrew wasn’t married and had no other relatives in the area.” Kamuela had a voice like dark chocolate—husky, with the underlying rhythmic cadence of the islands.
    “We’ll do the notification,” Marcella said, thinking fast. “Dr. Pettigrew’s research project is gone—stolen—and we’ve got some interesting possible suspects in the lab crew. Looks like it could be an inside job dressed up to look like a burglary.”
    “Want me to send in a sweeper crew?”
    “We’ve got our own lab, but