Page 89 of Sting
“He pressured you to tell him who it was.”
“That’s right. He wanted me to admit that it was Josh.”
“Why? Why was Kinnard so hip to connect with your brother?”
“He thought Josh might pay more to keep me alive than Panella was paying to have me killed.”
“More than two million?” Joe asked.
“Mr. Kinnard is convinced that Josh has the stolen money, not Panella. I tried to disabuse him of that.”
“But his intention was to bargain with Josh for your life?”
“Yes. But he never got the opportunity.”
“Josh didn’t answer Kinnard’s calls.”
“No one did. And for the hundredth time, I don’t know that it was Josh.”
Joe looked over at Hick before coming back to her. “Why don’t you simply tell us where he is, Ms. Bennett?”
“Where Josh is? I don’t know!”
“Not Josh. Tell us where to find Billy Panella.”
“Panella? I have no earthly idea.”
It wasn’t until that moment that she became aware that they had pulled under the porte cochere of a downtown hotel. She looked at the two of them with bewilderment.
“What’s this? Why are we here?”
“We took the liberty of booking you a room.”
“Why?”
“So you can get cleaned up, rest, sleep, have a couple good meals, take it easy. We’ll need to interview you again tomorrow.”
She looked at Joe, then over at Hick, then back at him, now less puzzled than wary. “I have a small apartment attached to my office at Extravaganza for when I stay over. I thought that’s where you were taking me.”
“Extravaganza has media camped around it in a quarter-mile radius. So does your house in Tobias. Staying here will be hassle free. You’ll have room service. It’s closer to our office where we’ll reconvene first thing. A female marshal is bringing you some clothes from your Tobias house. In fact—” Joe checked his wristwatch “—she should be waiting for you in your room.”
“I’ll go check.” Hick got out, showed his badge to the doorman and asked him to leave the car where it was for the time being.
Joe reached for his door handle, but Jordie Bennett stayed him. “Wait a minute. What’s this really about?”
“I told you—”
“You told me a great lot of nothing. Are you placing me under house arrest?”
“What? No,” he said, and realized how phony he sounded. “This is strictly a precaution, meant for your protection.”
“From what?”
“The media.”
She looked at him with disgust and a shade of disappointment. “I know how to handle the media. Try again.”
“You and my wife,” he mumbled. “She sees through me, too.”
