He nodded. 'You will. One day.'
They sat in silence for a time and pondered women and life. The D.A. finally tamped out his cigar and said, 'Scott, even the bad Trey didn't deserve an eight-inch blade stuck in his gut.'
'No, he didn't.'
'Some folks do. Three decades of prosecuting murderers and rapists and gangbangers, I know some people deserve to die. Benito, those Muertos — but the law doesn't allow us to make that decision outside a courtroom. We can't engage in private executions, not even here in Texas. So I'm still going to find justice for Trey. The good Trey and the bad Trey.'
'You should. But his justice isn't Rebecca. It's the mob… or maybe the Muertos… or maybe Pete Puckett. I'm not sure. But I am sure it's not her.'
'Why are her prints on the knife?'
'I don't know. But there's something else.'
'Not Lee Harvey Oswald?'
Scott smiled. 'The mob wanted Trey to be a long-term investment. So they paid him a cut of their winnings for those two thrown tournaments… in cash. Three million dollars. Hundred-dollar bills. Gabe made the payoff personally-at Trey's house. You can't take that kind of cash to the bank, they'd have to report it to the Feds. Which leaves under the bed or in a tin can buried on the beach.'
'No tin can. Old-timers walk the beach with metal detectors, still searching for Lafitte's treasure.'
'Then under his bed.'
'What are you saying, Scott?'
'You think the cops might've taken it? When they searched the house that day?'
The D.A. considered the smoke ring he had exhaled then said, 'I want to say no, but in a world where a governor is caught on tape trying to sell a Senate seat to the highest bidder, who knows? I'll have Hank check it out.'
'You trust him?'
'Hank Kowalski's got no use for money. All he needs to be happy is a fishing rod and bait.' The D.A. finished off his whiskey and stood. 'Oh, prints on the whiskey bottle match the set on the kitchen counter, but the prints from the tape don't match either of the other sets. And Hank said thanks.'
'For what?'
'The whiskey.'
'That proves Pete Puckett was in Trey's house the day he was murdered.'
'Figure because Trey was screwing his kid?'
'That's a good motive.'
'Would be for me. But I thought Pete was playing in Florida that day?'
'He DQ'd, flew home that afternoon. But not to Austin where he lives. Karen got his flight-he flew from Orlando into Houston Hobby, arrived at four. Which puts him at Trey's house by five.'
'In the kitchen.'
'Where that knife was.'
'That makes him a material witness.'
'Or a killer. He had the motive, the means, and the opportunity.'
'I always liked Pete. Everyone I know likes Pete.'
'His WM squared rating is eighty-eight percent.'
'WM what?'
Scott shook his head. 'The cartel and the mob, they had motives, too. And they're professionals. They wouldn't have left prints behind.'
'They wouldn't have left your wife behind either. Not alive.' The D.A. grunted. 'Seventeen days till trial, Scott. We could ask the judge for a continuance, give us some time to investigate Pete, the mob, the cartel.'
'You mean, suspects with motives?'
'Yeah, I mean that.'
'Rex, she's innocent. Dismiss the charges and find the killer.'
'I'd rather find the killer then dismiss the charges. Look, Scott, I still think she did it, but no motive, that bothers me.'
'It should.'
'Guess if I dismiss the charges, I could always indict her again-no statute of limitations on murder. Course, she might make a run for the border.'
'With what? She's broke, too.'
'Good point.'
'She took a polygraph yesterday.'
'You're probably not telling me this because she failed?'
'Inconclusive.'
'That's not the same as truthful.'
'It raises questions whether she's guilty.'
'But it doesn't answer them. Who did it? The polygraph.'
'Gus Grimes.'
'Gus is good. And conservative. He doesn't jump the gun, say someone's lying when they might not be. From him, inconclusive ain't bad. But-'
'But what?'
'As I recall, the house inventory listed prescription drugs, Prozac and beta-blockers.'
Scott nodded. 'In Trey's bathroom. So?'
'So some folks figure they can beat a polygraph by taking beta-blockers and anti-anxiety drugs right before the test.'
'Gus said it only tests anxiety levels.'
'Yep.'
'Rebecca didn't know Trey was taking that stuff.'
'I'm sure.'
Scott pulled out his cell phone and called Gus. He was surf fishing, but he answered.
'Gus, if Rebecca took a beta-blocker or an anti-anxiety drug before the polygraph, would that have affected the result?'
'Did she?'
'I don't know. I'm talking to the D.A. about it.'
'Well, it'd pretty much guarantee an inconclusive result. Artificially reduces the subject's respiration, which is what the machine measures-changes in respiration.'
'Thanks, Gus.'
'You bet. Say hi to Rex.'
Scott hung up and looked at the D.A.
'Well?'
'Gus says hi.'
'About the test?'
'You're right.'
'Inconclusive means the case still comes down to her fingerprints on the murder weapon.' The D.A. sat quietly. 'Why were her prints on the knife?'
'I don't know.'
'Tell me why, Scott-get me past that before trial, and I'll drop the charges.'
'I saw Trey's boat today.'
'You went to the yacht club?'
Scott nodded. 'With the D.A. Nice boat.'
'I could live on it. I loved to pilot it.'
'You can drive that big boat?'
'Sure. We'd take it down the coast to Padre Island, we did that right before Ike hit, so the boat didn't get
