all that remained. And Harper would make a convenient sacrificial lamb.
“Typical.” She sighed. “Did they recover the murder weapon?”
“Yeah, at the scene.” He grimaced. “And they think the bloody handprint they found on a doorjamb is his. They’re still processing the scene. We’ll know more soon.”
Sam saw the circumstantial evidence piling up. A regular slam dunk for the DA. Without a witness or a solid base for reasonable doubt, Seth could go down without the DA’s Office breaking a sweat.
“How long will they hold him?” she asked.
“They get him for forty-eight hours unless they come up with other charges to hold him over.” Ray stared into the other room. “To question him, they Mirandized the kid, but no arrest yet. And he hasn’t lawyered up either.”
Ray was careful not to offer an opinion on Seth’s situation, playing the part of the cagey homicide detective even with her. To make an arrest, they needed probable cause, but she suspected that wouldn’t take long.
“He had alcohol on his breath when they brought him in. And he appeared intoxicated,” he said. “They’re getting a warrant to test him. Does he use drugs?”
Good question. She didn’t know Seth well enough to give a solid answer. And Sam wondered if Jessie would know either. But once they got their warrant, any drugs Seth might have in his system would have dissipated by the time they had tested him. She wasn’t sure if that would be good or bad. She glanced back at Garza, responding to the hint of compassion in his voice.
“I’ve only seen the kid a couple of times, but I’d wager he isn’t a user.”
“Gut instincts tell me that guy has more than alcohol in his system, that’s all.” Ray met her eyes. And in the tight and dark quarters of the observation room, being alone with him felt far too intimate. She forced herself to look away.
“Wish I could argue the point. Maybe Jessie knows more about him.”
As a detective, Garza was as rock solid as they came, and she respected him as a man, too. Despite his strong feelings against Jessie, Ray would help if he could. Sam knew Harper’s fate would be decided by the system, but if Ray could ease her burden, she knew he’d try.
He had never crossed a personal line with her, always remaining professional. Yet something in his eyes gave her the impression he wanted more. Woman’s intuition or wishful thinking, Sam had no idea. Maybe Ray kept his distance, fearing he’d catch sparks off the blazing meltdown of her career, a reasonable certainty under Jessie’s influence.
“Your call whether you bring your friend into this, but with someone like her on his side, that kid doesn’t stand much of a chance.”
Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Her eyes flared at Garza, and anger stirred hot in her craw.
“As I recall, you were just as sure Jessie was good for the murder of Lucas Baker a few months ago. Maybe you should cut her some slack. And giving Harper the benefit of the doubt wouldn’t hurt either. Whatever happened to innocent before proven guilty?”
Ray rolled his eyes, a subtle show of insolence. Normally, she found the gesture appealing, but not when directed at her.
“I saw that.” She glared, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of noticing.
Sam knew that Jessie had earned a name for herself with the local cops. For the most part, her friend did her job well and without incident, but on more than one occasion, she’d demonstrated her more-obsessive nature when it came to pedophiles or other abusers. Lucas Baker, case in point. Jessie had her personal reasons. And even though Ray would back off if he understood Jessie’s motivation, Sam would never betray her friend’s trust by sharing her secrets.
Jessie’s Achilles’ heel had gained her a reputation that kept her from garnering better money in her line of work. The more successful bail bondsmen wouldn’t work with her, so Jess hustled for money as a freelancer, catching odd jobs for lesser-paying recovery work. And the local cops resented her tenacity, especially if she targeted their paid snitches. Sam had learned to trust her friend’s instincts, but Jessie had few advocates within CPD ranks.
She only hoped that when Jessie got involved in Seth’s case, she wouldn’t make matters worse. But there’d be no holding back the floodgates of Jessie’s support after she found out what had happened to Harper.
Death, taxes, and Jessie’s loyalty were things to count on.
“Do they have anything else on him that I should know about?” she asked.
“Since they’re still working the scene, it’s too early to tell. But the kid has been close-mouthed about where he’s livin’, and his background is real sketchy. Apparently he’s been livin’ off the grid, and that ain’t helpin’ his case any.” Garza shook his head. “And he remembers goin’ to meet someone at a bar, but so far, he’s stickin’ to some lame story that he…get this…he doesn’t remember. Like forgettin’ is a legit alibi.”
“From what I know of the kid, he might be protecting someone,” Sam speculated, then turned to face him. “And if he’s telling the truth about not remembering, a smart detective might have to work hard to unravel what really happened.”
She ventured a faint smile. “Are you gonna be that smart detective, or will I have to step in?”
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “This isn’t my case. I was only doin’ you a favor, Coop.”
In the small, dark room, his low voice sent a gentle flurry of pinpricks over her skin.
“Does that mean you aren’t up for a side wager, Raymundo?” She inched closer to him, rolling her tongue with the Spanish pronunciation of his name. “I mean, if CPD has such a strong case, what are you afraid of? That my instincts are better than yours?”
“This isn’t about your instincts. It’s about your loyalty to a friend…” He touched her cheek with a finger. “… somethin’ I happen to respect.” Then he grinned, cocksure of himself. “Besides, I’m not sure you can handle the truth about this case if it goes south.”
“And I have serious doubts you can deal with a woman beating you to it, macho man.” She matched his stance. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Garza narrowed his eyes, and said, “What kind of bet do you have in mind?”
In a cramped room off her kitchen, Wilhelmina Smart sat at her worn Formica table, contriving ways to steal a baby.
She swapped a peek out her dingy miniblinds between swigs of lukewarm coffee and a suck of her cigarette. Dust from the blinds mixed with the smoke that stung her eyes as she stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray that should have been dumped days ago. To ease the throbbing of her tailbone, Wilhelmina stood and lumbered to the kitchen for a refill on coffee, lighting up again as she did.
Michelle would be on her doorstep soon, pregnant with a grandbaby she might have a shot at keeping if she played her cards right. This girl, and plenty more like her, had spread their legs for her boy Eddie. She loved him, despite his ways, but he never had good taste when it came to women.
“That boy humps anythin’ breathin’,” she mumbled, pouring coffee and having second thoughts about the breathing part. “Never can keep it in his pants.”
If she couldn’t convince the girl to give her the baby outright, then she’d take it, legal or not. Knowing Eddie, that girl wouldn’t make a fit mother.
“Would serve her right, the whore.”
She unloaded her ample frame onto the chair again, sloshing coffee onto the stained tabletop. With a swipe of her hand, she made things right, tossing the spill to the floor. Her strapping boy Eddie carried sturdy seed, like his daddy, but a bitch like Michelle had no business raising his baby. Only family could do that.
Her boy didn’t know what was good for him, but she’d make him see.
Eddie would be asleep for another hour, but he’d want to eat before heading to work. He serviced big-rig engines for a friend, with money passing under the table. Since he’d come to stay a month ago, avoiding the problems in his life, her small subleased rental house smelled of motor oil and the body odor only a man could make. And he constantly left lights burning, but since she didn’t pay utilities separate, she didn’t make a big deal about it.
But sharing one bathroom was a royal pain. Every day she dealt with the toilet seat being up and the boy’s dribbles. Hell, sometimes he’d miss the bowl altogether.
