Chapter Eighteen
Ash ignored the icy wind that cut through his coat as he took a wide route toward the Mercedes. He preferred that his prey didn’t realize he was being hunted. Especially when Hutton was in a car and Ash was now on foot.
For once, however, his timing was perfect. He was just approaching the car when the driver’s door was shoved open and Robert Hutton stepped out.
The man was two inches shorter than Ash, around five ten, and slender, with black hair he kept brushed from his lean face. His eyes were dark, and his skin had a faint olive tint even in winter, as if he had some Italian heritage in his background. Currently, he was wearing an expensive trench coat and silk gloves that covered a suit that was no doubt hand-tailored.
Ash smirked as he stepped directly behind Robert. All he was missing was a cane and a monocle to be the image of a cartoon rich dude.
“Hello, Hutton,” he said.
The assistant district attorney gave a small jump as he whirled around to discover who’d managed to sneak up on him. His brows drew together, confusion clouding his expression before he managed to recognize who was standing in front of him. “Ash Marcel?”
Ash offered a twisted smile. “The one and only.”
The man’s gaze moved over Ash, taking in his clothing, which wasn’t designer but cost more than most cops were able to spend.
“I thought you moved away from Chicago?” he finally said, clearly deciding that Ash hadn’t reached a position that meant he had to be more than vaguely polite.
Ash’s smile remained firmly pinned in place. “I’m visiting for the holidays.”
“Ah.” Hutton took a step back, no doubt intending to turn away. “Enjoy your time with your family.”
“Actually, I was hoping we could have a chat,” Ash said, subtly shifting to block the man’s path.
Hutton looked predictably confused. “A chat about what?”
Another blast of wind swirled through the parking lot, feeling like a solid wall of ice.
“Let’s get in your car,” Ash suggested. “It’s too cold to stand out here.”
Clearly impatient, Hutton reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a gilt-edged business card. “Call my secretary and make an appointment,” he commanded. “I’m having brunch with the mayor. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Ash ignored the card, allowing his smile to fade.
“We can chat in your car or we can chat inside, but I don’t think you want anyone to overhear what I have to say,” he said, his words a blatant threat.
Hutton frowned, glancing around as if ensuring that Ash was there alone. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as we’re in your car.”
Hutton narrowed his dark eyes. “You’ve always been an annoying ass.”
“True.” Ash shrugged. It was hard to argue with the truth. Then he moved to pull open the door of the Mercedes. “Shall we?”
There was a tense silence as Hutton glanced toward the nearby hotel. Was he debating the notion of walking away and daring Ash to follow? Probably. At least until the news van pulled in and parked smack in front of the door.
The media had arrived.
“Fine.”
With a petulant expression, the man crawled back into his car and slammed the door. Ash hurried to the passenger side and slid inside before Hutton could lock him out. He sank into the supple seat, his knees barely fitting beneath the glove compartment.
It was a great car, but not made for a man his size.
Hutton turned to send him a sour glare. “What do you want?”
Ash leaned his back against the door, pretending to make himself comfortable. He had years of experience interviewing the toughest criminals in the city. This pretty boy wasn’t going to know what hit him.
“Have you heard the rumors that the Butcher has returned to Chicago?”
Surprisingly, the man flinched. Had Ash hit a nerve?
Before he could pinpoint the source of the man’s unease, Hutton had smoothed his expression into a bland mask. No doubt it was a trick he’d learned in law school.
“I don’t have time to listen to gossip,” he scoffed. “My office deals with provable facts. Until there is an arrest and I have the proof I need on my desk, I don’t have time to worry about a mythical serial killer who might or might not have returned to Chicago.”
Ash studied his companion with open suspicion. Most district attorneys would be salivating to be handed a high-profile serial killer to take to trial. It was a straight shot up the career ladder.
So why was Hutton pretending he couldn’t be bothered with the animal who was stalking the streets of his city?
“Mythical?” Ash snorted. “You make him sound like a unicorn, not an evil, cold-blooded killer.”
“I have actual criminals waiting to be prosecuted,” Hutton said in smooth tones. Too smooth. “That’s what I focus on. Investigating is your job. Wait—” The aggravating idiot paused, then, lifting his hand, gave a snap of his fingers. “You’re not a cop anymore, are you? You’re some sort of teacher.”
“Some sort,” Ash agreed in a dry tone.
“If you want to discuss the Butcher, I suggest you go talk to your brother,” Hutton continued. “It’s his job to track him down.”
Ash hid his flare of satisfaction. Hutton had known that Jax had caught the case. Which meant he was paying closer attention than he wanted to admit.
But why not just confess his interest?
Unless there was something he had to hide.
“I’m talking to a lot of people,” Ash said, keeping a close watch on Hutton’s face. “Including Remi Walsh.”
Hutton looked more bemused than worried at Ash’s explanation. “Sweet Remi. I really should give her a call. We’re old friends, you know.”
“So she told me.” Ash was proud he didn’t drive his fist into Hutton’s face. It was very mature of him. “Along with another interesting fact.”
“The reason she dumped you?” Hutton mocked.
Ash just smiled. He’d grown up with brothers who’d specialized in tormenting him. He wasn’t going to be provoked by an amateur.
“We happened to be discussing old times and she mentioned an evening when she was supposed to go to a study group, but she felt ill and had to return home,” he said.
Hutton looked genuinely puzzled. “Seriously? This is why you’re wasting my time?”
Ash held up his hand. “I’m not done.”
Hutton peered down at the watch strapped around his wrist. Rolex, of course. The man was nothing if not predictable.
“You have one minute to finish.”
Ash ignored the warning. “The night she returned home coincidentally happened to be the same night that you told me you were at her house having dinner with her mother.”
Something flickered in the dark eyes, even as Hutton kept his expression carefully bland. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.” Ash leaned forward, using his height advantage to gaze down at his companion. “I interviewed you along with Detective Walsh after Tiffany Holloway was discovered murdered in her home.”
Hutton leaned back, nearly smacking his head on the window. “That was a long time ago.”
“Five years.”
“I don’t really remember,” Hutton stubbornly insisted.
Ash made a sound of disgust. “You don’t remember? How many times have you been interviewed by the cops about your relationship to a murder victim?”
“There was no relationship,” Hutton snapped, far more easily goaded than Ash. “The girl approached me about an internship and I agreed to assist her.”
“So you do remember?”
Hutton’s jaw clenched. “I remember being harassed by you and your partner. Lucky for you, I didn’t take my complaint to your captain.”
Ash arched a brow. “Your number was in her phone. Did you expect us to ignore your possible connection?”
“I expected you to have the brains to know I couldn’t possibly be a serial killer.”
Ash didn’t miss the fierce sincerity in the man’s voice. He sounded truly offended that he could possibly be a suspect. Then again, he was a professional liar.
He probably practiced in front of a mirror.
“Then why did you lie?” Ash demanded.
“About what?”
Ash once again managed to avoid the urge to plant his fist in the man’s face.
“Your supposed alibi on the night Tiffany died.”
Firmly cornered, Hutton glanced around, as if hoping for inspiration to strike. When nothing happened, he pointed toward the passenger door. “This is a ridiculous waste of my time. Get out.”
“I’m not finished,” Ash told him.
Hutton stuck out his lower lip, as if he was a twelve-year-old boy, not a polished attorney. “I am.”
Ash rolled his eyes. It was a good thing Hutton was born rich. He never would have survived without a trust fund.
“I’m having this conversation, either here or in front of the press,” he warned.
The lip stuck out another half inch. “I’ll have you locked up for harassment.”
Ash shrugged. “You don’t scare me.”
“You think I don’t have influence?”
“Not with me. I’m no longer with the Chicago Police Department,” Ash bluntly reminded the man. “Are you done with your threats?”
Hutton slashed his hand through the air. “I’m done. Period. As you just pointed out, you no longer carry a badge. Which means I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Ash wasn’t fooled by the man’s bluff. There was no way in hell Hutton was letting Ash anywhere near the media, who continued to arrive in the parking lot.
“Let’s go, then,” Ash murmured, reaching for the door handle.
Hutton muttered a curse. “Why are you pushing me?” he hissed.
“I want the truth.”
“Why?”
Was the man serious? Maybe he’d lived in a world of deceit for so long, he’d forgotten that there were people who actually preferred not to wade through the muck.
“Because Remi is in danger,” he snapped.
Hutton looked confused. “She’s no longer your fiancée. What do you care?”
Ash gave a slow shake of his head. He’d met some weasels in his day, but this man . . .
He was as weaselly as they came.
“She will always be my concern.” Ash allowed a warning silence to fill the car. He didn’t want Hutton to mistake just how serious he was. “And I’ll do anything necessary to protect her. Including destroying your career.”
Hutton licked his lips. He might be a weasel, but he wasn’t stupid. “Now who’s making threats?”
“Mine aren’t empty,” Ash assured him.
Hutton turned his head to glance at the lot, which was rapidly filling with cars. Ash sensed the man desperately wanted to shove open his door and simply walk away. Perhaps he was even scouring his mind with something to blackmail Ash into leaving him alone.
At last he turned back to Ash. “I had nothing to do with the Butcher.”
“Then tell me where you were that night.”
“With Liza, as I told you.”
“A lie,” Ash growled. He was at the end of his patience.
“You can’t prove that.”
Ash held his wary gaze. “Are you certain?”
Hutton studied him, perhaps looking for some hint that Ash was fishing for information. But catching sight of Ash’s clenched jaw, he heaved a harsh sigh.
“Fine. I didn’t meet with Liza that night. She called and canceled.”
Ash felt a stab of surprise. He’d assumed Hutton was the one to bail on the evening.
“Why?” he demanded.
“She didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”
That seemed unlikely, but Ash wasn’t interested in Liza Harding-Walsh. At least, not right now.
“So where did you go?”
“Nowhere.” He gave a vague lift of his shoulder. “I stayed home.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, by myself.” A flush touched the man’s face, as if he was embarrassed to admit that he’d been without a ready date. “It was too late to make other plans.”
He had no alibi. How many other nights had the weasel supposedly been home alone when women were getting their throats slit? Had he been so infuriated by Remi’s refusal to consider him as a potential boyfriend that he’d gone over the edge? It didn’t take much to provoke men with fragile egos.
“How did you know Tiffany Holloway?”
“I told you,” Hutton muttered.
“Yeah, and we know how much that’s worth,” Ash said in dry tones.
Hutton tried to stiffen his spine. “I’ve answered your questions, now get out of my car.”
Ash didn’t budge. “Were you with Tiffany that night?”
“No,” Hutton rasped, pointing a finger in Ash’s face. “You’re not pinning her murder on me.”
Ash knocked away the finger. Hutton was quick to assume Ash thought he was involved with the girl’s death. A guilty conscience?
“There’s no way in hell you gave out your private cell number to a waitress who supposedly wanted to be an intern.” He flicked a taunting glance over the man’s expensive coat. Men like Hutton never helped anyone unless there was something in it for themselves. “We let it go in the past because you had an airtight alibi. That alibi is gone, and I’m not going to stop digging until I find what you were doing with her.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Hutton insisted. “Leave it alone.”
“Never.” Ash held the man’s gaze. He wanted him to see the truth staring back at him. “Not ever.”
Hutton’s hands curled into frustrated balls. “If I was the Butcher, I would just slice your throat and dump you in the trash.”
Ash wasn’t worried. Strange. He probably should be, considering he wasn’t carrying.
“Jax drove me here.”
It’d been an offhand threat, but suddenly Hutton looked more worried than he had since Ash had insisted they have this chat. Why? It took a full minute for Ash to work out the fact that the assistant district attorney was wondering if Jax had managed to see O’Reilly climbing out of the Mercedes.
There was a tense silence before Hutton made an explosive sound of anger.
“If you tell anyone what I’m about to say, I swear I will destroy everyone in your family,” he snarled.
Ash allowed the threat to stand, even as he inwardly scoffed. His brothers would twist this idiot into a pretzel and dump him in the river if he tried to hurt any of them.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Hutton took a second to gather his thoughts, his hand smoothing back his hair before he was tracing the knot of his silk tie with the tip of his finger. Was he ensuring it was perfectly square?
“I met Tiffany at one of the endless charity events I’m forced to attend. She was working for the catering service,” he finally admitted. “I was bored and started chatting with her. She chatted back and made it clear she was interested in a little off-duty fun. At the end of the night I asked her if she wanted to go for a drink.”
Ash’s brows snapped together. “She was seventeen.”
Hutton flattened his lips, his expression defensive. “I didn’t know that. Not until it was too late.”
Ash grimaced. Hutton might not have known Tiffany was still in high school, but he most certainly had to know she was too young to legally drink alcohol.
“Too late?” he demanded.
“You know what I mean.”
“Before you had sex with her.”
Hutton sent him an aggravated frown. “When I realized how young she was, I told her we couldn’t see each other anymore. She wasn’t happy.”
“That’s when she called you?”
“Yes.”
“And she ended up dead.”
“I couldn’t believe it.” Hutton curled his lips in disgust. He clearly didn’t have any sympathy for the poor girl who’d been brutally murdered. His only concern was for himself. “I’d assumed I’d managed to escape unscathed from the potential scandal, only to land in the middle of a murder investigation.”
“So you lied about your alibi.”
Hutton looked unrepentant. As if lying to a law official investigating a serial killer was nothing more than a trivial oversight.
“After I realized my number was going to show up on Tiffany’s phone, I called Liza and asked her to say we were together the night she died.”
“And she agreed?” Ash demanded, not bothering to disguise his shock. He clearly was going to have to have a conversation with Remi’s mother.
Not something he was looking forward to.
Maybe Jax . . .
Hutton interrupted his dark thoughts. “She was as eager as I was to have a reasonable alibi.”
Ash tucked any questions about Liza and her willingness to offer Robert Hutton an alibi in the back of his mind. That was a problem for later. “Did Tiffany ever mention that she was being harassed by anyone?” he asked.
Hutton shook his head. “We didn’t do a lot of talking.”
“Christ.” Ash felt a stab of disgust. “You’re a piece of work.”
Hutton flushed, but with a determination that warned Ash the man was done with the interview, he shoved open the car door and climbed out.
“You have your truth, now go back to whatever rock you crawled from beneath and leave me alone.”
Ash slid out the opposite side of the car and pulled his phone from his pocket as Hutton stormed across the parking lot. He wanted to pass on what he’d learned before Jax confronted O’Reilly. Then he needed to head toward the line of taxis parked in front of the hotel.
It was too damned cold to wait for his brother to return.