I was finished and cleaning my Glock when the range door opened and Lead Agent in Charge Weatherspoon walked in. "Hey." I nodded to him.

"McKenna, you have a couple of Minneapolis detectives asking for you upstairs."

I finished loading my magazine with ammo, and chambered a round. "Martinez and Peterson?"

"No. I haven't met them before."

I dropped the magazine back into my hand, shoved another bullet in, and slammed it back into the gun. "They tell you what they want?"

"Nope. But they look mighty serious."

Standing with a sigh, I slid my weapon into my shoulder holster and snapped it in. "Maybe it's about Mike."

Weatherspoon shrugged, and we headed up to the lobby. While we were in the elevator, I checked my cell. Reception in the basement was often spotty. Four missed calls from Martinez and three from Harry. I wondered what was so urgent.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal two men I assumed were the MPD detectives. One was lean and brunette, while the other was stockier and blond.

Weatherspoon and I stepped off the elevator, and I approached the men while Weatherspoon continued on toward his office.

The blond said, "Agent Cailin McKenna?" I nodded as he introduced himself as Detective Hutch Ronson and his partner as Detective DeCamp.

"What can I do for you?"

DeCamp stepped closer to me, while Ronson moved to the side. DeCamp said, "We have a few questions for you. Wondered if you might come down to the precinct and answer them."

I stared at them blankly. "About what?"

Ronson said grimly, "The death of Elisa Knight."

My mouth dropped open, and I snapped it shut so hard my teeth clacked together. "What are you talking about?"

DeCamp said, "Early this morning a jogger found the body of Elisa Knight on the west bank of the Mississippi not far from the Stone Arch Bridge."

"You've got to be kidding." My voice sounded strangled. I forced myself to breathe.

DeCamp replied, his voice polite. "No, Ma'am, I'm not. Are you willing to come on down to the station and talk with us?"

Twenty-five minutes later I found myself on the wrong side of one way glass in a very small, very bleak 1st Precinct interrogation room. DeCamp and Ronson faced me across a scarred table that looked like it just barely limped out of World War II.

Ronson was saying, "…know that you are not being charged with anything, and that we just want to ask some questions. You can stop at any time."

Still in shock, I waved my hand. My brain was frozen and my voice hoarse. "Yeah. Okay. I have nothing to hide." God, wasn't that what all criminals said?

A manila file folder lay atop a yellow legal pad in front of DeCamp. He slid the folder off the pad of paper and opened it. "When was the last time you saw Ms. Knight?"

"I think it was day before last." My insides were roiling. I was pissed at Eli, but I'd never kill her, as much as I may have wanted to.

"Where?"

"At the Great Lakes Advertising Agency."

Ronson leaned forward on his elbows, his sleeves rolled up. "What time was it you saw her?"

I considered the question. "I think it was sometime around five. Maybe closer to four-thirty."

"How long did you talk to her?"

God, it had felt like an hour, but was probably not more than a few minutes in all. "I'm not sure, maybe ten minutes."

"What did you do after you left the agency?" DeCamp spoke without looking up from the file folder. I wondered what was in it. Couldn't be anything good.

"Well, I drove home, and fell asleep on the couch."

DeCamp finally peered up at me. "Do you have anyone who could verify that?"

My forehead crinkled as I thought. I hadn't called Alex, and Alison wasn't home when I arrived. I didn't remember seeing my neighbor Agnes outside either. My stomach clenched as I said, "I don't suppose I do. My partner Alex came home later in the evening. I'm not sure what time."

Ronson's eyebrow twitched slightly at the word 'partner.' He asked, "What exactly is your relationship to Ms. Knight?"

Now I'd find out for sure if either detective had a problem with gay folk. "We'd been in a four and a half year relationship. We split a couple of years ago."

DeCamp asked, "Why did you break up?"

I looked at him and said as levelly I as could, "She cheated on me, and I kicked her out."

Nice. Nothing like handing them a Scorned Lover Motive.

DeCamp continued. "Did you remain in contact after the break up?"

"No. I hadn't seen her for almost two years when she showed up in New Jersey while I was working a case out there."

Ronson sat back in his chair. "Why did she show up?"

Oh God. I really didn't want to get into this. Especially with two lawmen. I breathed deeply, feeling my heart hammer inside my ribs. "I had an accident, was in the hospital, and she heard about it. Decided she wanted to get back together with me. I told her no. When I came back home, she started sending me cards. Flowers. Left a number of messages on my machine, all saying how much she wanted to get back together."

DeCamp's eyebrows arched. "Sounds like she was feeling desperate."

"Yeah, I think she is. Or was." I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Elisa was dead. I was waiting for my insides to hurt, to feel like it did the day I kicked her out, but it wasn't happening, yet, anyway. "We're pretty sure she slashed, or had someone else slash Alex's tires about a week and a half ago."

"Did you report it?" DeCamp asked.

"Alex did that day."

DeCamp nodded and made a note on the legal pad. "Did you ever confront her about what she was doing?"

"A few times. I thought she'd get the message to butt out, but it didn't seem to be working."

Ronson leaned forward again. "What other things did she do?"

I briefly described the incident at the hospital, and waking up with no memory in her penthouse, leaving out the unnecessary details.

"Why didn't you get a restraining order?" DeCamp asked.

"I guess I thought I could handle it." I shrugged. It wouldn't be easy explaining the ins and outs of a lesbian relationship gone wrong to those who would need to know.

Ronson slid the legal pad his way, and scanned the top page. He made a show of licking his finger, flipped the page. "You talked to Ms. Knight the evening of the 5th. A witness says you and Ms. Knight had words. Said you threatened to kill her."

His words took my breath away, although I suspected it was coming. "I-I did threaten her, but just to scare her off. I wouldn't do actually do it. I'm a cop, for chrissake." I paused and sucked in air. "Maybe this would be a good time to ask for a lawyer." My heart was doing a painful two-step.

Ronson said, "No, no need for that yet. We aren't charging you with anything, Agent McKenna. We just want to hear your side of things."

Isn't that what cops always wanted? Your side of things? Yep, right before they slapped you in the slammer. But I had done nothing wrong. I sat up straight and stretched my neck to one side and then the other, and made a decision. I'd know later if it was a regrettable one or not. "Night before last when I talked to her, it wasn't pretty. I confronted her about how I wound up at her place with no memory, and I think most of the employees of Great Lakes saw it."

DeCamp nodded. "Yeah, that's about what we've heard." He looked back down at the file folder and pulled out a sheaf of papers that were stapled together. He flipped a few pages over, and paused, his eyes moving down the sheet. Then he looked back up at me, his eyes burning into mine.

"Were you aware that Ms. Knight has a life insurance policy in excess of $750,000?"

I shook my head, and almost whistled. We'd never taken out life insurance while we were together.

DeCamp sighed. "Were you aware that the primary beneficiary on the policy is you, Agent McKenna?"
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