Free The Heavens May Fall by Allen Eskens

politicking. A couple friends invited me to join them for a drink. At first I planned to, but then I felt tired, so I ordered room service—a club sandwich and some fries—and stayed in for the night.”
    “What time did you go to your room?”
    “Around five or so. I called Jennavieve to touch base. She didn’t answer, so I sent a text. Told her to kiss Emma good night for me. You can check the cell-phone records for the exact time. For that matter, check the cell-tower data. It’ll show that I’m telling the truth.”
    “Is it common for her not to answer when you call?”
    “No more common or uncommon than anyone else with a cell phone, I suppose.”
    “And you didn’t leave your room after that?”
    “No. Not until I got up this morning. I started for the conference, but I forgot my schedule. Went back, grabbed it, and was in the big room by the time the first speaker took the stage. Nine a.m. if I recall.”
    “So no one saw you between the hours of five yesterday evening and nine this morning?”
    Pruitt dropped his head and sighed in apparent exasperation. He paused, then raised his head, looked Max in the eyes, and spoke in a slow, clear voice. “Listen, Detective Rupert, if a client called me and said that his wife was murdered and that a homicide detective wanted to talk to him, I’d tell him not to go. I don’t care how innocent that client is. I’d tell him not to talk to the cops because the cops are good at getting perfectly innocent people to say things that make them sound guilty. And if I call up any criminal-defense attorney worth his or her salt, they’d tell me not to talk to you, especially given our history. I mean, you have a problem with me, I know that. But here I am. I want to talk to you because my wife was murdered and I didn’t do it.”
    Pruitt’s face reddened as he spoke, his pitch rising with each new statement. “I want you to find the sonofabitch that killed my wife—that took my Jennavieve away from Emma. I want to be helpful. But if this is just some bullshit attempt to hang this on me—to get back at me—then we’re through. So ask me what you want, but make the questions productive, because if I think you’re not interested in my help—if I sense that you’re just laying some kind of trap for me because you have a problem with me—then I’m done here.”
    “Mr. Pruitt, I’m not trying to hang this on anyone right now. I’m just gathering information. I don’t know what’s important and what’s not.” Keep him talking .
    “Whether or not anyone saw me after I went to my hotel room won’t help you find my wife’s killer. Of course I was there alone. I read a book. Fell asleep early. No friends stopped by. No one-night-stand with some lonely lady at the bar. No escort. Just me and my book and no fucking way to get from Chicago to here and back by morning.”
    “Mr. Pruitt, there’s no need to get riled up. Like you said, it’s standard procedure. We need to exclude you.”
    “Well, you have what you need. Now do your job and find the person who killed my wife. And, by the way, where was Emma when all this happened? Is she safe?”
    “She stayed with a neighbor last night, the Kolander family. She had no idea. She’s still at Terry Kolander’s house.”
    “Where was Jennavieve killed? At the house? Is that why it’s swarming with cops and lab techs? Jesus, what if Emma had been there?”
    “Did your wife have any enemies? Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt her?”
    “No . . . I mean . . .” Pruitt brought his hands up to his forehead and rubbed his temples. “She had some enemies, but I can’t imagine anyone resorting to murder.”
    “Who?”
    “Jennavieve ran a foundation that fought to restore wetland habitat. They would coordinate efforts among conservation groups and the federal government to stop development that might impact a wetland. Jennavieve’s group brought the lawsuits. They were always pissing people off. She got