Boyd sneered. “Try again, O’Connor, because I’m not buying it.”
“It’s true,” Liam insisted. “I took her there as a sort of joke, and we ended up staying. Margaret had one too many drinks at dinner, so we decided to get a motel room for the night.” It sounded seedy, even to him. He couldn’t even look at Cora, and he could only imagine what she thought of him right now.
“You really roll out the red carpet for the ladies, don’t you?” Boyd said scornfully. “A real prince.”
Liam clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to haul Boyd across the table by the shirt collar and pummel him. He wasn’t accustomed to being on the receiving end of Boyd’s derision. Boyd was a hothead with a temper in the past, but they’d always been on the same side, and Boyd usually followed Liam’s lead. For the first time, Liam was beginning to realize just how much he actually disliked Boyd, and he wondered if their thieving life back in Ireland had been the only shared common ground that brought them together.
“Mrs. Brady says she passed out, and when she woke up you looked like that.” Boyd gestured to the fading bruises on Liam’s face. “She says you told her a story about getting beat up near the ATM, but she can’t prove it. She has no idea how long you were gone.” It was obvious from the look on Boyd’s face he was leading up to something. “Care to tell me what really happened on Saturday night?”
“Exactly that, as she said.” Liam sat forward in his chair and continued in measured tones. “I went for a walk and ended up sitting on the bench near the store by the ATM. An old man was getting walloped by some guy who tried to steal his wallet.”
“Is that right?” Boyd wasn’t even trying to hide his skepticism.
“It’s the truth,” Liam said coolly. “When I intervened, the man attacked me, we threw a few punches, and then he ran away.”
“What did he look like?” Boyd asked.
“It was dark, and the streetlight was out, so I didn’t get a close view of his face. He wore a hooded sweatshirt. I wasn’t able to see much, except that he was about my height.”
“And the old man? I don’t suppose you happened to catch his name or where he lives?”
Liam shook his head. “I only spoke to him briefly before he got in his car and drove away.”
“Why didn’t you call it in?” Boyd asked.
“The old man said not to bother. I got his wallet back for him, and that was it.”
“And afterward? You just moseyed on back to Mrs. Brady at the motel and chose to sleep in the chair? She said she didn’t believe you ever got in bed with her that night. Were you two fighting?”
“No,” Liam said with annoyance.
“So, what? You just didn’t feel like cuddling?”
Liam narrowed his eyes. “I’m not the type of man who takes advantage of a woman when she’s passed out drunk.”
“Even so, it strikes me as odd that you wouldn’t join her in bed. Unless, of course, you never slept. Maybe you weren’t really there for most of the night. Maybe you were across town at Belltown Heights.”
“I was across the street,” Liam said through gritted teeth.
Boyd kept talking like he hadn’t heard him. “Maybe you were tired of Mrs. Brady’s marital status and decided to pay her husband a little visit.”
Liam snapped. “If you think I had something to do with that man’s murder—”
“That’s exactly what I think,” Boyd roared. “Where the hell were you, Liam? What else aren’t you telling us? Because your track record’s looking pretty dismal right now. You’ve already proven you’re a cheater, and you’ve withheld important information from this investigation, so that makes you a liar, too. Maybe the answer here is simple. Jealous lover offs the husband so he can have the woman all to himself.”
“Captain,” Cora blurted. She glanced worriedly at Liam, then back at Boyd. “I don’t believe Liam would do something like that.”
“See, now that makes me question your judgment, McLeod.” Boyd turned from her and stared Liam down, his expression hard as stone. “Unless you can find that old man or get a statement from some other witness to vouch for you that night, you’re a suspect. I don’t want to see your face for the next week.” He smacked his hand on the desk. “Get out.”
“Captain,” Cora said in shock. “I think—”
“Not a word.” Boyd pointed at her. “Unless you want to join him.”
She straightened her spine and stood. “No, sir.”
Liam stared at Boyd with contempt and slowly rose from his chair.
“Out,” Boyd spat. Then he jerked a chin at Cora. “Back to work, McLeod.”
Liam walked stiffly out of the building. This time, Mavis’s cheery disposition at the front desk did nothing to alleviate the cloud of gloom settling over him. He drove back to the house with frustration roiling in his gut. He felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web, and every time he made a move, he only got stuck further. He needed divine intervention to get out of this mess. Were those angels even paying attention, or were they up there on some cloud tinkering in other people’s pathetic lives? Each day that passed seemed to bring Liam more and more obstacles, and his chances of success seemed farther and farther away. Did the angels even care? Twenty minutes later, he pulled his car into the driveway of Cora’s house with grim determination. He’d try summoning the angels to ask for help. They’d never answered him before, but maybe today would be an exception. And if that didn’t work, then he’d chase away his worries the good old-fashioned way.