“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. And I could be more certain if I knew about the blood splatter.”
“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
“If no sex then how do you explain the wine glasses?” Chip asked.
She blinked hard. Wine glasses. What wine glasses? Obviously, he 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 splatter
“Can’t comment, but I can tell you it’s a big bedroom and the shooting wasn’t that close to the bed.”
“There’s
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 discuss the crime scene.”
“Okay, so anyway you have my thoughts, no robe the shooter was a man;
“Maybe there wasn’t sex up there the day of the murder, but 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?” 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 and our eyes meet. Your knees go weak, you stagger back helpless, 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.
Chapter 24
State Attorney Moran was waiting in the chief’s office when Goddard arrived. The chief was checking days off on his wall calendar. “It’s the start of the second full week on this case, gentlemen.”
“Do you suppose this might be the week we stumble across something important,” Moran said.
Goddard assumed he was the target of the sarcasm. He closed the door and held up some papers. “Been waiting for this follow-up on a fingerprint report. An interesting development.”
The chief explained to Moran, “Some nine-year-old was rummaging through a dumpster over on Ocean Drive, yesterday afternoon. Found a shiny new box with the picture of a gun on the lid and showed it to his mother. Go ahead and fill us in Chip.”
“No gun in the box, but the mother called police anyway because it looked scary, as she put it. We’re interested because the box is obviously brand new and once contained a Smithy .38.”
“Big deal, an empty box in a dumpster,” Moran said.
“The dumpster is behind Tammy Jerrold’s place.”
“Same caliber as the murder weapon,” the chief said. “Either that box once held the murder weapon or it’s an amazing coincident.”
“What does this mean?” Moran was thinking aloud. “Found in Tammy’s dumpster? She bought a gun and threw the box away? You might not find her prints on it. It will be covered with a hundred prints from the factory, the store, the kid, and his mother.”
“Well, that’s the surprise in this report. The box was recently wiped clean. We found only four sets of prints. The prints belong to the kid, his mother, our jailed suspect, and Tammy.”
“Evidence found without prints is always suspicious,” the chief noted.
Goddard continued, “Doesn’t make sense for Tammy to buy a gun, wipe the box clean, then touch it again and toss it in her dumpster. And if somebody else placed the box conspicuously to be found in Tammy’s dumpster, then how did her prints get on it?”
“In any case, the box connects Reid and Tammy.” Moran made a low whistle. “Reid told us in his statement Loraine Dellin showed him a gun box containing a small revolver at the motel. Later he went to meet Tammy. But if it’s the same box that was at the motel, why didn’t we find Loraine’s prints on it?”
Goddard answered, “She could have been the one who wiped it clean. Then Reid touched it—then Tammy touched it.”
