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tried not to fidget as Detective Roberts returned to the interrogation room with another detective to begin the questioning. Alex had directed Colin not to say anything, so they were hopeful that the interrogation wouldn’t last long.
    The detective leaned on the table, assuming an intimidating stance that Colin knew all too well. “Where were you last night, Mr. Andrews, between the hours of seven and midnight?”
    “Don’t answer that,” Alex ordered.
    “But, Alex—”
    “Silence.” Alex frowned at Colin, who was straining against his attorney’s directive.
    Colin leaned over and whispered into Alex’s ear. “I was home alone.”
    “According to Ms. Laraway’s appointment calendar, she had a date with Colin last night.”
    “No! That can’t—”
    “Colin, please. Stop talking. He’s just trying to bait you.”
    After stonewalling one question after another, Roberts slammed his fist on the table, apparently exasperated by Colin’s lack of cooperation. “You’re just digging yourself deeper, Andrews. It’ll go a lot better for you if you cooperate and answer the questions.”
    Colin knew these interrogation tactics—he’d used them himself—but it was different being on the receiving end of the accusations.
    Alex folded his hands on the table. “If you’re looking for a confession here, Roberts, you’ve come to the wrong person. My client is innocent.”
    “My pile of evidence says otherwise, Mr. Martínez. The fingerprints, the DNA, the photo we found of the two of them snuggling together for the camera. Hell, we even have the florist’s note, still stuck in the pot of red flowers he sent to her, with his name on it.”
    My fingerprints and DNA? What flowers?
    “Whether he sent her a potted plant, or not, proves nothing,” Alex said.
    Colin frowned at the mention of the flowers, shaking his head. He hadn’t sent any.
    “What was the cause of death, Detective?” Alex asked.
    “Looked like stab wounds. We’re still looking for the knife.”
    “I see. So you have my client’s prints, which could have been left there at any time, you have a pot of flowers with his name written on it by a florist, and you have no murder weapon.”
    “We’ve also learned Andrews is engaged to that feisty private eye over in Paradise Valley, Emily Parker. So if he was seeing Ms. Laraway on the side, and she threatened to tell his fiancée, shutting her up would give him plenty of motive.”
    Why were they bringing Emily into this?
    “All circumstantial. You’re grasping at straws, Roberts.”
    “You think so, Alex? We’ve had our CSI techs going through Laraway’s laptop and her cell phone. They’ve discovered some pretty explicit texts and emails between the two of them that prove they were having an affair.”
    “That can’t be!” Colin was outraged.
    “Ms. Laraway’s condo building has security cameras and we’ve already gotten the tapes. The one facing the parking lot clearly shows the back of a red Jeep Wrangler with a license plate that shows the vehicle belongs to you, Andrews.”
    What is going on?
    Colin’s head snapped in Alex’s direction and he felt his eyes go wide with the fear that was filling him.
    Karl Kingsley, the junior detective, leaned in toward Colin. “And the DNA we found at her condo has been sent to the lab. When it comes back as your DNA, which we believe it will, that’ll be the final nail in your coffin.”
    “If you want to play hardball, we’re happy to play,” Detective Roberts said. “You don’t want to cooperate, Andrews? Fine.” He stood, picking up his folder. “You leave me no choice but to place you under arrest. We’ll take you over to booking and get you out of those fancy duds.”
    “You won’t look so snazzy in one of our orange jumpsuits,” the junior detective quipped.
    “On your feet, Andrews, I’ve got to put your bracelets on.” Roberts dangled the handcuffs in front of Colin before walking around behind him. “Colin Andrews, you