“Not one of them stinkers,” Manette whined.
Sinclair touched Manette’s arm and leaned close to her ear. “Let him go. May help calm him down, sober him up.”
“But it’s some Turkish herbal shit in there. It’ll stink this place up, I won’t be able to breathe.”
Hancock’s hands were trembling slightly. Robby watched as he maneuvered the lighter in front of his lips, the flame missing the tip. Hancock put his left hand in front of the right, as if one tremor would cancel the other and get the cigarette lit. He finally succeeded.
Sinclair pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Manette. “Here’s a filter.”
She pushed his hand away. “No thanks.” She waved her hands in the air to disperse the smoke. “What else you got on Vail?” she asked Hancock.
Hancock sucked in a long drag, blew it out his nostrils. “She beat up her husband, put him in the hospital. She’s got a violent streak.” He flicked the ashes into a baby blue and opal colored porcelain vase on the coffee table. “Here’s how it went down. Vail is depressed. She’s got problems with her ex, and her son is in a coma. She finds out her mother isn’t her mother after all, and she starts snooping around. Somehow she discovers the senator is her real mother. She comes here to confront her, to find out why she pawned her off like an old TV. Vail gets on her case, so the senator asks her to leave. Vail throws a fit, a loud one. I’m worried she may assault the senator, just like she did to her ex. So I step in and show Vail the door. She storms out, drives away, and parks. She comes back on foot and waits nearby.”
Hancock took another puff and rubbed at his right temple, the trail of smoke zigzagging as his hand moved back and forth over his skin. He blew a haze into the air and continued. “The senator’s very upset and wants to be alone. I try to help, but she tells me to leave. Vail waits till I drive away, then comes back in and whacks her. Makes it look like a Dead Eyes kill, which isn’t hard to do because she knows this shit so well she could recite it in her sleep.” He leaned back on the couch, his gaze resting somewhere on the floor.
After a moment of silence during which everyone seemed to be digesting Hancock’s theory, Del Monaco spoke up. “But it doesn’t exactly match Dead Eyes. If she was staging the scene, she’d want to follow it to the letter. So there’d be no doubt.”
Hancock blew a plume out the side of his mouth. “She can’t control herself. Rage takes over. Overkill, because of the personal connection.”
Del Monaco bobbed his head about, as if to say he couldn’t completely rule out Hancock’s assertions. Robby remembered reading about overkill in the binders Vail had given him: it was a term used to describe excessive violence found at a crime scene, usually as a result of a soured personal relationship between the assailant and his victim.
“And she’s got no alibi,” Hancock added.
Robby stepped forward, stopping a few strides from Hancock’s feet. He rested his hands on his hips and looked down at Hancock. “Neither do you. And you could’ve staged the scene just as well as Karen could’ve.”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing, Mr. Roberto Enrique
Robby swatted it away and looked at Sinclair. It was a look that begged him to intervene before Robby slugged him in the face and caved in his skull.
“Robby, honey,” Manette said, taking the hint. “Let’s chat over here for a moment.” She stepped forward and grabbed him by the crook of his elbow. She pulled him close and he reluctantly craned his neck down to her level. “We don’t know what happened yet. So he may be a suspect, but he’s our only witness, too. Let’s not piss him off before we get a chance to ask him some questions.”
Robby knew she was right, but his hand was still curled into a fist. And he was ready to use it. “Fine. Ask your questions. I’m going out for some air.”
ROBBY JOINED BLEDSOE in the middle of the circular drive. Bledsoe hung up his phone and stood there, nodding his head slowly.
Vail, coming up from behind him, acknowledged Robby. “So are they raking me over the coals?”
“Just Hancock.”
“Well,” Bledsoe said, “I think we’ve got something on Mr. GQ.”
Robby and Vail looked at him, anticipation raising their brows.
“That was the chief. Gave me something he thought we could use. Seems that Linwood was helping herself to some dessert on the side.”
“An affair?” Vail asked. “With Hancock?”
Robby turned toward the front door. “Now
“Hold on,” Bledsoe said. “We have to decide
“Asshole is trying to pin this on Karen, smug on account that she had a motive and he didn’t. Now we know he might have one. Scorned lover. She wants to call it off, he refuses.”
“Husband needs to be looked at,” Vail said. “We sure he’s overseas?”
“It’s being checked, but they reached him at his hotel in Hong Kong, so I think his alibi is pretty damn strong.”
“Unless it was a contract job,” Robby said. “Hubby wants her out of the picture, hires someone to take her out.”
Vail shook her head. “Contract jobs are impersonal. Bullet to the head and it’s over. None of this bloody mess to the face and breasts.” She turned to Bledsoe. “Maybe forensics will give us something. I say we wait on nailing Hancock to the chair until at least tomorrow. We might get something else to use on him.”
Bledsoe nodded. “I’ll ask the lab to put a rush on trace. Meantime, we wait. Okay?”
Robby curled his mouth into a frown. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Go home, get some rest. I’ll post a uniform, make sure no one goes in or out of the place when we leave. Including Hancock.”
“Especially Hancock,” Robby said.
BLEDSOE WALKED BACK IN, Vail at his side. His brow was furrowed and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his overcoat. He stopped beside Hancock, took a seat on the couch. “I know this is a tough time for you. I’m sorry you had to be the one to discover the body.”
Hancock leaned back on the couch.
“You said the senator had asked you to leave the house. What time was that?”
He squinted as if blinding sunlight was bathing his eyes. “I don’t know,” he whined. “Around seven. Maybe a few minutes after. I wasn’t looking at the clock.”
“And when did you get back?”
Hancock shrugged, looked across the room at the grandfather clock, as if he were calculating the time by working backwards. “Around eight-thirty.”
Manette consulted her notepad. “Nine-one-one was placed around eight-forty-five.”
“Then it was closer to eight-forty-five,” Hancock said, his hands turning palm up. “Look, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone. I’ve had a really crappy night.”
Vail glanced at the bloody trail in the hallway and thought,
