Taking the Fifth by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online

leather holder that contained both my badge and my ID. It also held the plastic-coated card with the standard Miranda warning printed on it.
    Clearing my throat, I began to read: “‘You have the right to remain silent…’”
    Instead of appearing upset, Riley simply poured himself another drink as he listened. Watching me intently, he settled back into his chair as though the words I was reading aloud had nothing whatsoever to do with him. His air was one of total nonchalance.
    “So you think I’m the killer?” he asked when I finished. The booze gave his voice a hint of arrogance, a hard edge, that had been absent in our previous encounters.
    “The thought crossed my mind,” I replied evenly. “Where did you go when you got off from work last night?”
    “I came home.”
    “Did anyone see you?”
    “No.”
    “Was there anyone here?”
    “I live alone.”
    “What about your landlord?”
    “My landlord, as you put it, is a widow lady who’s blitzed out of her mind by six o’clock every night.”
    “From what you said earlier, I take it you had a pretty low opinion of Richard Morris.”
    “That seriously understates the case.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he was a leech and a liar and a miserable excuse for a human being.”
    “How long had he and Jonathan…” I paused, groping uncomfortably for the right word.
    “How long had they been lovers?” Riley supplied.
    I nodded.
    “I don’t know. A long time, I guess. If you ask me, Rick Morris saw a likely-looking meal ticket and hung on for dear life.”
    “Jonathan Thomas had money?”
    “His parents are loaded.”
    “I thought you said they disowned him.”
    “Jon’s grandmother left him some money separately, a trust fund, and the house.”
    “So the house belonged to him?”
    Riley nodded. “Free and clear.” He poured himself another drink. “Sure you don’t want one?”
    “Positive,” I told him. This time he didn’t down the liquor all at once. Instead, he took a small sip and set the glass down on the table beside the bottle. I had to give him credit. Gay or not, Tom Riley could definitely hold his liquor.
    “And Jonathan’s parents never came to see him during the time you worked there?”
    “Never. From what he told me, that’s no surprise. His father’s one of those Bible-thumping bigots who claims that being gay is a one-way ticket to hellfire and damnation. And as far as his mother is concerned, what his father says goes.”
    “What about Richard Morris’s mother?”
    Riley shrugged. “She came through Seattle a couple of times. I met her. She’s a nice enough lady, I guess. A little dingy at times, but with a son like that, who wouldn’t be?”
    “Tell me about Richard Morris,” I said quietly.
    “Strictly delusions of grandeur. When I first met him, he was hot to be a cop, an undercover cop. A few weeks later, he dropped that idea completely. It was just as well.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He was running with the wrong crowd.”
    “Druggies?”
    Riley nodded. “He worked some as a stagehand, but mostly he partied. He dragged home all kinds of undesirable characters at all hours of the day and night.”
    “Even after Jonathan got so sick?”
    Riley nodded grimly. “You bet.”
    “Drinking? Drugs?”
    “Both. Come to think of it, I never actually saw him doing drugs, but there were drugs around.”
    “And he had money?”
    “Always.”
    “Did he bring anyone home with him last night?”
    “There was no one else at the house when I left.”
    “And you left at eleven?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Were there women in the crowd he ran with?”
    “A few,” Riley answered.
    “Any fancy dressers?” I asked, thinking about the bloodstained blue high-heeled shoe.
    “Not that I remember.”
    “What about last night? Was there anything unusual in the way Morris behaved last night?”
    “I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, except maybe…”
    “Except what?”
    “He seemed