With Marcus’s lawyer gone, he refuses to talk to us. He’s allowed to call a new lawyer, and we’re told he’ll be here in twenty minutes, at which time he’ll want to confer with his client. The problem is I’m not the most patient person at times.
“This must be what it felt like when you were waiting for Carla to leave the hotel site Sunday night. How did you manage to keep an eye on them but not get so enraged that you rushed over and killed Simon while he was touching your wife?”
Marcus’s face turns so red I worry the man is going to pop a blood vessel.
“Would you like some water?” I ask, goading him further. “You really don’t look so good. Detective, could you please get Mr. Bishop something to drink?”
“I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. I didn’t kill that lowlife piece of trash.” Marcus crosses his arms and leans back in his seat, but his face is still beet red.
“When did you find out your wife was cheating on you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“She seemed to think your marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement. When did it stop being that for you, or did you trick her from the start? Maybe you thought marrying her would give you the opportunity to make her fall for you.”
“That’s tough to do when you’re never around,” Cam says, joining me. I’m a little surprised at first because Cam is the nicest person I’ve ever known, but he doesn’t have any warm, fuzzy feelings for Marcus Bishop.
“Why did you leave her home alone all the time if you were hoping she’d fall for you?” I ask.
Marcus looks at Quentin. “Why are they allowed in here? Neither one is a cop.”
“Are they making you nervous?” Quentin asks. “Perhaps their questions are too on point for your liking.”
“You’re not going to get me to admit to anything. You’re wasting your time. Makes no difference to me if I sit here or in the holding cell.” He laces his hands behind his head.
“If I were you, I would admit to something.”
Marcus laughs. “Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
“I’d admit to seeing Simon. Only if you’re innocent, though. If you killed him, I’d keep your mouth shut. Guilty people shouldn’t talk to the police. Leave that to those with nothing to hide.” My psychology might be a little too obvious here, but that could be because it happens to be the truth.
Marcus shakes his head. “You think I’m going to start talking just because you’re saying staying quiet means I’m guilty? How dumb do you think I am?”
Oh, that’s a dangerous question to ask a woman you held at knifepoint. “You’re the one sitting here in handcuffs, so you tell me.”
Marcus’s chest rises as he fills his lungs with air.
“No witty retort either? You’re making this too easy by demonstrating your lack of intelligence.”
“I work for a huge computer software company. I think that’s proof of my intelligence.”
“Do you think you’re smart enough to get away with murder? For instance, if you were to hide a murder weapon such as a knife, where would you do it?”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone. Though I’m starting to think I should have in your coffee shop.”
Cam jumps to his feet, but I stop him.
I look directly into his eyes. “He can’t hurt me. Don’t let him get to you.”
“Cam,” Quentin says, “you need to sit down, or I’ll have to have you removed from the room.”
He’ll never leave without me. “Please,” I say.
Cam laces his fingers through mine and pulls me to my seat again as he sits. He keeps his gaze on me but addresses Marcus Bishop. “This must kill you, seeing Jo and me, happy and in love. You never had that with Carla. Simon Porter took that from you. I personally wouldn’t blame you if you did kill him for that. It’s hard to see the woman you love with someone else, someone who’s clearly not good enough for her.”
Cam’s words seem like a veiled dig at Quentin at the same time as they’re meant to bother Marcus. Quentin sits up straighter in his seat. He must be picking up on the same thing.
“I told you I didn’t kill anyone.”
“If you expect us to believe that, you need to be straight with us about Sunday night. What happened at that job site?”
Marcus crosses his arms again.
“Fine. If you want to sit here and let the police build a case against you, go right ahead. In my mind, that makes you guilty, and I hope they get the evidence they need to prove it. If all you can say is you didn’t kill anyone, then you must really be the murderer. You can’t give us any evidence to the contrary.”
“I’m not the one who needs evidence. You are. I’m innocent until you prove me guilty. I see no proof.”
I can only think of one way to get him talking. “Have you stopped to consider how you’ll feel in court when Carla takes the stand?”
His fists clench, and I know I have his attention now.
“She’s going to tell the jury what kind of man you are. How she got a restraining order against you. How you have a temper.”
“The defense is going to run with that,” Quentin says. “And we’re getting video surveillance footage from every camera on the route from your house to the hotel construction site. If your vehicle is on it, and you have nothing to say as to why you’d be there, we’ll be able to put you at the scene of the crime at the time it occurred. I’ve seen juries convict people for less.”
“I think we’re good,” I say, turning to Quentin.
He looks at his watch. “Agreed, and I can still make dinner.” He stands up and smiles.
Cam and I stand up, too.
“Wait!” Marcus says, panic in his voice. “Are you really getting surveillance footage?”
Quentin nods. “Will we find your vehicle on it?”
Marcus Bishop bobs his head. “But I didn’t kill him.”
We all sit back down.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” I say. “If you’re innocent, Detective Perry will need to know all the details if you want his help.”
Marcus is quiet for a moment while he gathers his thoughts. “I followed Carla. I called the house, and she didn’t answer. I have a tracker on her phone. It’s one of those apps parents use to keep tabs on their kids.”
“Does she know you have that on her phone?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I changed the icon to something else and told her it was one of the apps that came standard on the phone. I made up some reason why removing it would cause problems with the phone’s software.”
I can’t believe Carla never clicked on it to see what it did. I would have been too curious not to.
“Anyway, I saw she was on Ridgeway Court, so I drove there. I parked one street over and walked from there.” He’s fidgeting with his hands. “I heard them talking, saying things…”
Most likely things he wished she’d say to him.
“Did you see them?” Quentin asks.
Marcus sniffs. “At first, but I couldn’t watch them. I waited until Carla left. Then I confronted him.”
“Did you have a knife on you?” I ask.
“No. I only had that steak knife with me yesterday because Carla grilled steaks the night before. I had to work late, so she packed it for my lunch. I normally take pasta or salads, nothing that requires a steak knife.”
For some reason, I believe him.
“So what happened when you confronted Simon?” I ask.
“He said he thought Carla and I had an agreement. Told me I couldn’t hold it against him because Carla told him I wouldn’t care what she did in her own time.”
“But that wasn’t true,” I say. “You love her.”
“It did start as a business arrangement. I met her at a bar. She was the prettiest woman by far, and all my coworkers were really taken by her beauty. I realized I needed someone like her on my arm. All the successful business types have these gorgeous wives. So I sent a drink over to Carla’s table. She was nice enough to come over and thank me, and that’s when we started talking. I bragged about my money and how much I made. She seemed interested in that.”
“But not in you?” Cam asks.
Marcus huffs. “No. That’s when I jokingly told her my plan of us getting married so I could parade her around as my wife and she could have whatever she wanted. I was floored when she said she’d do it.”
“Did the arrangement work out the way you thought?” Quentin asks.
“At first. She always made my lunches and showed up at work functions on my arm looking like the perfect wife. She’s a natural born actress. Sometimes, she even fooled me.”
The pain on his face is real. Having her act like the loving wife and then go home to ignore him must have been heartbreaking.
“No, I didn’t kill Simon Porter. In fact, I shook his hand and told him he won. All the money in the world wasn’t going to make Carla love me. Looking at Simon, I understood that.”
I’m sure that wasn’t an easy lesson for him to learn.
“When did you leave the construction site?” Quentin asks.
“Right around one thirty in the morning.”
“The bad news for you, Mr. Bishop, is the coroner put the time of death right around one thirty. How do you explain that?”
“Let me get one thing straight. If Carla had loved me back, I would have killed Simon Porter. But the truth is, I knew I’d never have her that way. I’d rather lose her than go to prison.”
Because he never really had her to begin with.
“You’re still going to prison,” Cam says. “You attacked Jo.”
“Doesn’t really matter. With Carla divorcing me, I might as well rot in a jail cell.”
“Did you see anyone at the job site when you left?”
He shakes his head. “It was dark out. I didn’t see anyone.”
“And the only one who can verify your story is dead,” Quentin says.
Marcus laughs. “I guess you’re right. Looks like we’re both screwed, Detective. You can’t prove I killed him, and I can’t prove I didn’t.”
“What do you think, Jo?” Mo asks as we sit down to some coffee after dinner.
Jamar takes a seat on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. “Yeah, do you think Marcus Bishop killed Simon Porter?”
“Honestly? No.”
“How can you say that?” Cam asks. “He admitted to being there at the time Simon was murdered.”
“I know, but I think that was the moment he realized his marriage was over.”
“But it wasn’t real anyway,” Mo says. “How upset could he really be? It’s not like Carla ever loved him.”
“So you don’t think he’s guilty either?” Wes asks her.
“Oh, he’s guilty of plenty, like going after my sister, and again, he’s lucky to be alive right now. But do I think he killed Simon Porter? No. If he really wanted to make things work with Carla, he would have put in some effort. He didn’t even try.”
“Carla said he’d sometimes get into bed with her late at night,” I say. “I bet she’d get up and leave when he did that. After a few tries, he probably gave up. Working all the time was most likely easier than facing the reality of his situation.”
“I agree with Jo,” Mo says.
“Yeah, I suppose I see your point now, too,” Jamar says.
“Why are you on the floor?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. It kind of reminds me of school, though. You know in elementary school where everyone sits in a circle, crisscross applesauce?”
“We did that at summer camp,” Wes says.
“Speaking of camp, when is that environmental group leaving King’s Cabins?” Jamar asks. “I’m curious if they’ll be showing up at Cup of Jo again tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “It’s possible they will be.”
Jamar doesn’t look happy about that. “That one girl went off about how our disposable cups don’t properly biodegrade.”
“Yet she continues to buy coffee from you guys,” Mo says. “Some people are such hypocrites.”
“Exactly. She was trying to get people to sign a petition to stop DeShawn Washington from building the hotel, too. I could tell she was bothering some of the other customers.”
Petition. Something clicks in my mind. “Remember when we talked to DeShawn Washington?” I ask Cam. “He mentioned there was a woman who kept calling to protest the hotel. He said he could barely understand her because she was crying and mentioned something about her husband.”
Cam nods. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t think this girl is married, Jo. She’s only in her mid-twenties.”
“I know. I think you’re talking about Harmony. I met her. But Mr. Washington mentioned the woman’s name. Didn’t he say it was Underwood?”
“Maybe.” Cam furrows his brow as he tries to remember. “Why?”
“Think, Cam. Underwood. Gabe Underwood was Simon Porter’s best friend, the one who was killed in the car accident twenty years ago.”
“What could that possibly have to do with Simon Porter’s murder or the hotel construction?”
“I don’t know. But Simon and Gabe are connected, and they both worked in security. I wonder what job they were going to the night of the car accident.”
“I might be able to find out,” Mo says. “I’d need some time, though. That was twenty years ago.”
“It’s getting late,” Wes says. “We should go.”
“I guess I should, too,” Jamar says. “Cam, are you staying with Jo, or do you not think she needs constant protection anymore?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Marcus Bishop is in handcuffs in a holding cell at the station. I’ll lock my door and the windows.”
“Okay, I guess it’s safe.” Cam kisses me goodnight.
“I’ll be right next door if you need anything,” Jamar says.
“Thanks.”
I see them all out and lock the door. Midnight comes out from my bedroom and meows at me. “I didn’t even know you were here,” I tell her as I fill her water bowl and get her some tuna. “I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”
I go into the bedroom, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m wide awake, and I remember something else. Midnight jumps up onto the bed. “That’s it!” I say. “The girl in Cup of Jo said Harmony’s mother protested the hotel being built. Harmony’s last name is Underwood. She’s Gabe Underwood’s daughter!”
This can’t be a coincidence. Simon Porter was driving the car when Gabe Underwood was killed by a rock falling from the mountain during that thunderstorm. Simon was hired as security on a job site for a hotel that Harmony Underwood and her mother were protesting. This has to all be connected. I just have to figure out how.