Dead Giveaway

'We?'

'Sergeant Kline and me. I am working with HPD on this.'

'How could I forget? You want to fill me in, then? 'Cause I got a feeling you're holding back.'

'I am not holding back. That's why I invited you to dinner, to tell you everything I've learned—though coming here was a far better idea.' I smiled at Lucinda. 'If I ate like this every day, I'd have to make two trips just to haul butt.'

She laughed. 'I think you two should go in the other room and talk while I clean up.'

'Let me help you with the dishes,' I said.

'Go,' she said sternly. 'Both of you. Now.'

We went to the front room and settled into worn armchairs. I told Burl about Lawrence Washington and my visit to Hunstville today.

'Have you had time to tell your cop friend you're convinced Washington is Will's daddy?' he asked when I'd finished.

'No,' I said with a grin. 'I was too busy copying keys.'

'Even if he is the daddy, it still doesn't explain much. We got a bleeding-heart chaplain who thinks the guy's innocent, a blanket connecting Washington to Verna Mae, and a resemblance that says Will and the prisoner are related. Thing is, Washington's been locked up tighter than oil in a barrel for a long time. How does he figure into Verna Mae's murder?'

'Good question. If there had been an argument over the baby or some other problem between him and Verna Mae because she was supposed to care for the child, maybe he got someone on the outside to murder her. Maybe —'

My phone rang and I dug it out of my purse. It was Jeff.

'Hey, there,' he said. 'I dropped by your place and you weren't home.'

'I'm with Burl. Filling him in on the case.'

'Good. Then you better share this piece of news, too. Just got the DNA report. Verna Mae Olsen is not Will's birth mother. She's no relation. Period.'

14

'No DNA match?' I said.

'Nope. Why don't you sound surprised?' Jeff said.

'DeShay and I met with Lawrence Washington, and call it intuition, but I left the prison pretty certain he would never have slept with Verna Mae.' I went on to tell Jeff about the resemblance.

'Abby, a resemblance isn't evidence any more than your incorrect conclusion—logical though it might have been—that Verna Mae was Will's birth mother.'

'Go ahead. Rub it in. I deserve it.' This was damn depressing. Did I really know what I was doing on this case or was I in over my head?

'Don't get all down on yourself,' Jeff said. 'You mess up, you start over.'

'Thanks for the pep talk,' I answered, still feeling dumb for not preparing better for the prison interview. 'See you tonight?'

'Probably not. Tied up on a new case. No one forgot to do murder in Houston on this fine June evening, I'm sorry to say.'

'Okay. We'll talk later.' I hung up.

Burl nodded. 'No match, just as you suspected.'

'Verna Mae is definitely not Will's mother,' I said.

His whole body seemed to relax. 'I never thought so, but it makes me feel better to have proof. Her being so big and all and me being an inexperienced buck, I never asked the one question I should have. I'm relieved she didn't give birth but still mad at myself.'

'What's her connection to Will, then? I mean, she loved that kid, Burl.'

'You think she did. That's not a fact.'

'Yeah. People keep reminding me about those pesky facts.' I closed my eyes, let out my breath and thought for a second. 'Maybe someone left Will on the porch and she and Jasper kept the child for a week or two. When Will's skin darkened and his features began to look more African-American, Jasper told her to get rid of the baby.'

Burl nodded. 'Knowing Jasper, that explanation makes sense to me. She musta got attached to Will. Real attached.'

'That would explain her scrapbooks,' I said.

'Yeah, but there's more to this,' he said, shaking his head. 'Whoever broke in and stole those books knows something we don't, something worth breaking the law for.'

I thought for a second. 'Okay, what if Will's abandonment wasn't random? If someone intentionally left the baby with Verna Mae, she would have known whom to contact once Jasper screwed things up, maybe asked them to pay her to keep quiet about the baby.'

'Not random, huh?' Burl said, sitting back.

I nodded, liking this idea. I knew better than to fall in love with it, though. 'If we knew of anything else taken from the house last night besides those albums, that would sure help.'

'No way to know,' Burl said. 'I didn't find anything but those tire tracks. I'm working on a match, but the cast wasn't good. Don't hold your breath.'

'The books... Verna Mae's connection to Will, you think that's all the thief wanted?'

'Could be,' Burl said. 'They missed the keys, though.'

'Oh, yeah.' I smiled. 'Guess we have something after all. Changing the subject, have you heard any thing about the cold case at the CPS office yet? If that's how Verna Mae found out where Will had been placed, it could lead us somewhere.'

'Bet she paid someone to steal Will's file and trash the place as a coverup,' he said.

'If you can get a hold of the case file, maybe they collected fingerprints or had a lead. Could be names in the file we could check out.'

Burl sighed. 'Abby, they won't even have a case file.'

'But you said—'

'Ever hear of the statute of limitations? I called over there hoping they'd help me track down whoever worked that case, see if the guy is still around. If you expect fingerprints, you're dreaming.'

I stood, feeling a little stupid. I should have realized there'd be no file—unless they were very, very behind at the county sheriff's office and hadn't thrown out anything in two decades. 'I'm tired and discouraged,' I said. 'Maybe on the drive home I can sort things out.'

Burl got up, put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed me close. 'Turn on the radio and give it a rest.'

'Yeah. I might do that.' Funny, but I welcomed his fatherly embrace and marveled at how murder and secrets had joined two strangers in friendship so quickly.

I took Burl's advice and sang along with Dave Matthews and Norah Jones in the car. Definitely relaxing. Once I was home and climbed into bed, I was fast asleep in twenty minutes, Diva purring next to me as happy as a lizard on a rock.

Thursday morning I spent a long time in the shower, organizing my thoughts on the case. I dressed in shorts and a T-shirt—it was supposed to get into the mideighties today—and went to my office to call Jeff for the names and numbers of the officers who'd arrested Lawrence Washington. He told me one officer was dead, the other a retired detective named Randall Dugan. Jeff had never met either of them. He said he'd phone Dugan and tell him to expect a call from me.

Every newspaper article I'd read about Washington's case said they had a mound of evidence, but details might provide me with something useful. Who better to give me the inside scoop than the officer who'd worked the