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“What is your interest in this other than your association with the Kincaids?”
“My interest? It’s my business. But you know that already.”
“What were you doing in Ralston’s apartment?”
Sean forced himself to relax. “I knew that Ralston was one of Morton’s associates and wanted to talk to him, that’s all. Like I said, my job is to make sure Lucy isn’t in danger. I needed to assess whether any of Morton’s associates were a threat to her.”
“You’re her bodyguard.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
“Exactly what I did say. Roger Morton died in the same area where one of his victims lived,” Sean said firmly. “That’s not a coincidence. If he had plans to harm Lucy, or had a partner—I need to find out.”
“That’s my job.”
“No, your job is to find out who killed the bastard. My job is to make sure Lucy is safe. It’s what I do, hence the ‘protective services’ after ‘Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid.’”
“You all think you’re above the law,” Armstrong said.
“What?” Sean had sensed that Armstrong didn’t like him, but this sounded as though he knew him.
Armstrong didn’t respond, but said, “Did you touch or take anything from the apartment?”
“No—just the doorknob.” He grinned. “Scout’s honor.”
Armstrong wasn’t amused. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave the investigation to me, and guard Ms. Kincaid’s person, instead of attempting to interview my witnesses.”
Sean wanted to leave and let the Fed try to get the information about Ralston out of Tessie. That was his job, right? But that kind of knee-jerk reaction was what had gotten Sean in trouble in the past, and he was trying to curb the tendency.
So he bit back his initial reaction, and said as casually and conciliatorily as he could, “I had an interesting conversation with the landlady. She’s known Ralston for nearly twenty years.”
“You talked to a witness?”
“I helped her with her groceries. We chatted.”
Armstrong stared at him in disbelief. “Chatted.”
“She invited me in for cookies.”
“And milk?”
“Coffee.” Sean grinned. Playing with Mister Special Agent Armstrong was getting fun. “I can introduce you if you’d like.”
“Cut the crap, Rogan.”
Sean straightened, mimicking a soldier at attention. Just the facts. “The last time Tessie remembers seeing Ralston was Wednesday night, when her granddaughter walked in after their weekly bingo date. However, she heard him in the lobby Friday morning arguing with another man. She didn’t go out—she was still in her pajamas—but she was getting ready to call the cops when the visitor left and Ralston stomped up the stairs.”
“Friday,” Armstrong said flatly.
“She also knows a lot about Ralston’s rap sheet, which I’m sure you’ve already pulled. But the one thing you might not know yet is that Ralston was an informant.”
Sean hid his enjoyment as he watched Armstrong react to the information.
“Informant.”
“Do you ever speak in complete sentences?” Sean jibed.
