“Let’s get out of here,” Pete said.
“My thoughts exactly.” Baronick uncrossed his legs and stood, scooping up his phone.
Outside, the gray early-February sky matched the color of the sidewalks and the buildings in Brunswick’s downtown area. Even the mounds of dirty snow from last week were the same shade. February, the longest and most monochrome month of the year in southwestern Pennsylvania.
Baronick pulled his collar up against the chilly breeze. “You didn’t say whether or not you believed the transient killer theory.”
“No. I don’t. Dustin Landis killed his wife.” Pete winced. He hadn’t wanted to taint Baronick’s findings with his own opinion. Then again, the detective had access to all the records and witness statements, not to mention a jury had already reached the same conclusion. Pete checked his watch. “I should get back to Vance Township.”
“Yeah. Duty calls. You can tell me the rest while we walk to our cars.”
Their cars weren’t parked that far away.
They crossed Main Street and climbed the stairs to the front entrance. Security waved them through, and they headed across the rotunda to the rear exit, reserved for law enforcement.
“Tell me about the gun.”
“Thirty-eight revolver. Registered to a man in Altoona and reported stolen over a year before. We found it in a plastic grocery bag, wrapped in black pants and a hoodie in a dumpster behind the office building where Landis worked. No one saw it placed there, and no security cams. Again.”
Baronick grunted. “Convenient. What about fingerprints?”
“The gun was wiped clean, but ballistics matched it to the bullet that killed Elizabeth. The lab was able to find traces of her blood on the clothes, consistent with the blowback you’d expect from shooting someone at close range.”
“Anything else link the clothes to Landis?”
“Landis’ size, and he admitted owning several pairs of black sweats, but they’d been washed. No DNA. However, we were able to lift a print from the plastic grocery bag. Definite match to Landis.”
“How’d he explain that?”
“His attorney claimed anyone could have taken it from his garbage can outside his house. No one on the jury bought it. That print was the final nail in Landis’ coffin.”
Baronick stopped as they reached the door leading to the secured parking lot and faced Pete. “You’ve confirmed everything I’ve already read in the reports. I want to know your thoughts about the case. About Landis. The stuff that doesn’t get put down on paper.”
Pete met his gaze. “I’ve told you enough. Frattini wants your fresh eyes on the case. I don’t want to taint your findings with my own personal take on Landis.”
Baronick bristled. “I’m a better cop than that. I can still reach my own conclusions even with your input.”
“I know that,” Pete said. “You’ve got the facts. Talk to Landis and decide for yourself. Afterward, come see me and we’ll compare notes.”
Baronick thought about it, nodded his agreement, and pushed through the door.
Pete followed him into a parking lot surrounded by walls and razor wire. At one time, it had separated the courthouse from the old jail, an archaic structure that now loomed empty. “While you interview Landis, I’ll swing by Franklin Marshall’s office and have a chat with him about Elizabeth’s postmortem.” Pete recalled that Marshall had been one of the chinks in Frattini’s armor during the trial.
Baronick chuckled. “You aren’t fooling me, Pete Adams. You’re going to Franklin’s office to see his new chief deputy coroner.”
Pete couldn’t argue with facts.
“How are the wedding plans coming? You’ve got less than two weeks left as a free man.”
“Zoe’s handling the wedding. She’ll tell me when to show up and where.” They’d agreed on a divide-and-conquer mentality. She and her mother tackled the wedding. He dealt with moving his stuff to her farm and getting his house ready to go on the market.
“Smart man.” Baronick headed for his unmarked black sedan. “We’ll sit down later and divvy up the rest of the witness list.”
Pete’s phone rang. He waved a confirmation at the detective. The words Imperatore & Associates came up on caller ID.
“Chief,” the familiar voice boomed in his ear when he answered. “This is Anthony Imperatore. I presume you’ve already spoken to the District Attorney about my client’s retrial.”
“I have.”
“Mr. Landis has asked me to contact you. He wishes to speak to you. The sooner, the better.”
Dustin Landis wanted to see him? “Detective Baronick is on his way over to talk to Mr. Landis. He’ll be handling that part of the investigation.”
“I’m afraid my client insists. He wishes to speak to you, Chief Adams. Of course, he’ll cooperate fully with any other law enforcement officers who need to question him—in my presence, of course—but you’re the one he wants to see now.”
Pete watched as Baronick backed his black sedan from its space. The last person he wanted to deal with was Dustin Landis. He’d heard everything the man had to say nine years ago. Time didn’t change facts. But Imperatore would hound Pete until he conceded. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He ended the call before the attorney could begin arguing for five and stepped into Baronick’s path with a raised hand.
The detective stopped and lowered his window. “What?”
“Change of plans.”
Four
Zoe leaned back from the computer in Franklin’s office at the Marshall Funeral Home and rubbed her eyes. She’d never get used to all the paperwork. She checked the time. Crap. Only an hour until she was supposed to meet her cousin, Patsy Greene, at the dress shop for a final fitting while video chatting with Mother. Her upcoming marriage to Pete warmed Zoe’s heart. Dealing with Kimberly Chambers Jackson chilled it. At least Kimberly had attempted to
