One Deadly Sister (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #1)

Chapter 23

"Well, she's clever and obviously good at lying. Towson was no dummy, and I bet she fooled him. Is she truly frightened, or did they send her to me for some purpose?"

"I don't care about all of the other family stuff she told you... the threats and who wants to screw who. My concern is did she, or one of her Tampa crowd, commit the murder? The election campaign gives her motive, and sleeping with him positively provides opportunity."

"But why assassinate him if they can knock him out of the election with their Norma Martin rumor scheme?"

"Either way this is good, Sandy. Elena would never have talked with me. I would never have found out about that Tampa family angle without getting myself shot. You did it for me. You're good, thank you."

How delicious was that! "Gee, if I wore glasses they would be steamy right now."

"There's something else on this Tampa angle. You'll probably learn about it anyway. Your friend Linda is using an alias. Her real name is Lynda." He spelled it out. "She's Cuban-American from Tampa, not Georgia."

"Geez, why did she lie to me about that? What's she hiding? And she's been stalking me, or she did at least once. That's how she was able to show up on cue when Huress came at me. What does she say about it?"

"I've told you too much already."

"Will it foul you up, if I confront her about using an alias?"

"I never told you a thing."

"She lied to me about why she followed me, and she lied to me about her Georgia background. I don't appreciate that stuff."

"Time's up, Sandy, got to run."

"What's the rush, you have something you want to attend to at home? Just one more little thing. The M.E. report said Towson dropped right where he was shot. Was there much blood scattered around?" She tried to make the question sound innocent.

"Nice try. So, you read the M.E. report?"

"Of course, the defense has access to it."

"You know I can't talk about it, even if I did trust you, which I don't. We are legal adversaries remember?"

"The prosecution must eventually disclose their evidence to the defense anyway."

"Not all of it. There are always things we don't disclose about evidence, other suspects and theories. Anyway, it's not for the investigating detective to decide. Obviously, I must keep my mouth shut. Sorry, I can't discuss the murder scene."

"Then just listen."

"Sandy, I don't have time for your games. I know what you're up to. You're going to spout off a bunch of theories while you watch my face. Any time I blink or clear my throat you're going to say, gotcha."

"No, I was just going to explain why I think you're making a wrong assumption. I doubt there was sex in that apartment that day in spite of how it looked in the bedroom. I could be more certain, if I knew about the blood spatter."

"Did Elena tell you no sex?"

"No, Linda told me about the bedding on the floor. Would you care for a woman's point of view?"

He shook his head.

"Well, you're getting it anyway. I think the murderer staged the messy bedroom after Towson was shot. Otherwise, we're supposed to believe that after sex the woman gets dressed and leaves. And he didn't get dressed. I don't think so. Remember, he was expecting Tony Hackett later. A king bed has a hellava lot of bedding, and they left it on the floor? I don't think so. If you don't want to make it, then at least pile everything back up on the bed and stop stepping around it. I'm ruling out afternoon sex, which means the scene was staged."

"If no sex, then how do you explain the wine glasses?" Chip asked.

She blinked hard. Wine glasses. What wine glasses? Obviously, the detective had slipped up. She had no idea what he was talking about. She took a guess, "You mean in the bedroom?"

He nodded.

"I'm still working on my wine glass theory."

He went on, "What if he was shot before he had a chance to pick up the bedding?"

"Then there would be blood spatter on the bedding. If there's no blood spatter, then the bed was made up, and the killer pulled the bedding to the floor."

"Can't comment. I can tell you it's a big bedroom, and the shooting wasn't that close to the bed."

"There's always microscopic blood spatter. Another thing, was his robe nearby? I mean was it away from the body, on a hook in the bathroom or something, or was it found near his body?"

No comment.

"If his robe wasn't nearby, then I don't think there was a woman up there. He'd never open the door in his shorts for a woman without his robe."

"I won't talk about the crime scene."

"Okay, so anyway you have my thoughts, no robe the shooter was a man; if a robe nearby, then could be either man or woman."

"Maybe there wasn't sex up there the day of the murder, yet we do know he was having an affair."

"Geez Louise, I've already told you the affair was with Elena Duarte! If you have unidentified prints, they're Elena's, period. What more do you want me to do, hand you her DNA?"

He saw the smirk on her face and slowly said, "What?"

She opened her purse and took out a small brown paper bag. She held it up high with two fingers, swinging it back and forth like a treat held above a pet. "What'll you give me for it, handsome?"

He reached for the bag. She pulled it away, out of reach.

"What's in there?"

"A tissue with her tears on it and most likely some of my DNA as well. You can put mine among your souvenirs, no extra charge."

That brought him straight up in the booth. "My God, you're a genius. Give it to me."

"What are you going to give me for it, big boy?" She moved it farther away.

He leaned back. "Her DNA might not be on there even if she cried. And, there's been no chain of custody. It's not usable as evidence-."

"And blah, blah, blah, but you'd like to have it just the same, wouldn't you? But if you don't, I'll just wipe up this spot here on the table." She started to move her cup, enjoying the look on his face.

He lowered the tone of his voice, "No, I want it. Now hand it over. If you withhold-."

"Oh, shove it, Detective!"

He burst out laughing. "Okay, you win. I owe you."

She set the bag down in front of him.

He took the bag and stood to leave. "Actually, I enjoy talking with you. I wish we had more time."

"Like after you convict my brother there'll be more time for us to talk?"

"No, the circumstances of our first meeting would have had to be different."

"We're in a bookstore and I accidentally drop a book. You pick it up. Our eyes meet. Your knees go weak. You stagger back helplessly and knock over a cart of books. With a sheepish look on your face, you realize you've forgotten your own name, which doesn't matter because you're unable to speak anyway."

"I'll wait for the movie," he replied.

"I'll go look for a bookstore."

She could feel the trust building between them. Chip Goddard was getting hooked. It also occurred to her that perhaps she was as well.