The group gathered inside didn’t seem at all interested in quiet reflection. A blonde woman sat in a chair that had been pulled to the center of the room, her face buried in her hands, although from her posture, Leah had the feeling that she wasn’t actually crying. She wore a designer silk dress, black but definitely not tailored as widow’s weeds with its short skirt and low neckline.
“Tassi Standish, wife of Spencer Standish—at least that was the name he used here,” Luka told her in a low voice. He explained about the circumstances and questions surrounding Spencer’s possible financial crimes and his death.
“And she’s here because she’s protesting her husband’s autopsy?” she asked. “On what grounds? Religious?” She’d known the medical examiner to pursue less invasive methods in some cases, but only if they allowed adequate evidence collection.
“That’s what she says. Loudly. But Ford said she also requested an expedited death certificate. For the insurance company, I’m guessing.”
“The kind of woman who wants her cake and eats it, too.”
“Or the kind of woman who understands how to create an emotional smokescreen and use it to her advantage,” Luka replied.
In front of Tassi, in a protective stance, was a man who had the tan and muscles of a tennis pro. He wore crisp white linen slacks and a blue polo top that matched his eyes. He had his arms crossed over his chest and stood with his feet planted as if prepared for battle. The object of his fury was an even taller and more muscular man who, from his posture, had dismissed the second man’s presence to focus on the widow, speaking to her in a low but threatening tone that was unmistakable even without hearing his words clearly.
“The Ralph Lauren model is Larry Hansen,” Luka continued. “He’s the neighbor who found Spencer’s body. And obviously a very good friend to Tassi. Not sure exactly how good—that’s one of the things I’d like to find out. Larry not only found the body, he also has no alibi and was an investor in Spencer’s fund.”
“So he was a victim. Which makes him a suspect,” she surmised. Luka nodded. “Who’s the wannabe Navy SEAL? He looks like he wants something from Tassi.”
“Foster Dean. Former DEA, now works as an investigator for victims of Spencer’s previous Ponzi scheme back in Denver. Back there Spencer faked his death, ran off with the money, and laid low until he showed up here almost two years ago and started up shop again.”
“He’s a good guy?” Her skepticism colored her voice. Any man bullying a widow—even if her husband had been a crook—was not a good guy.
“I’m not sure. All I know is that he left the DEA in a haze of suspicion for possibly feeding intel to the Zapata family. And, apparently, from what I’ve gotten from Denver so far, one of the investors in the Denver Ponzi happened to be a Zapata cartel money-launderer.”
“Ah, making Mr. Dean our bad guy.”
“Except he has a solid alibi—unless our time of death is way off. He was on a plane flying from Denver the morning Spencer died.”
Leah’s mind buzzed with the various ramifications and connections. Life in the ER was so clean and simple compared to Luka’s work untangling the threads leading to a crime. And of course, his job was made more complicated by the need to be able to prove everything in a court of law.
Tassi raised her face so that Leah could finally get a good look. She was beautiful by any standards, but also had an elusive quality to her. The way, with a beseeching glance of her eyes, she compelled Larry Hansen to edge even closer to her, his body blocking Foster Dean. What had Luka called it? Emotional smokescreen. A woman like that, working with a husband who was a conman—were they partners in crime? “You think Spencer confessed to save his wife.”
“Good call. Yes, I believe he did. Especially as she was also his wife back in Denver—before he faked his death, so how much does she really know about his criminal activities? How involved is she? She plays dumb, but I think she knows more than she’s letting on.”
“Clearly, Mr. Dean is as suspicious of her as you are.” She thought for a moment. “How did you say Spencer died?”
“Ford was kind enough to share his preliminary impressions with Harper—” That drew a raised eyebrow of surprise from Leah. “I know, somehow he likes her. I’ll need to start sending her to more autopsies. Anyway, he thinks Standish hit the back of his head, breaking his neck, which eventually caused enough swelling around the spinal cord to stop his breathing.”
“But you found him in his car with the engine running. So someone put him there after he sustained the cervical spinal fracture? To make either an accidental slip and fall or an intentional blow to the head appear as suicide?”
“Even if he hit his head accidentally, it’s still premeditated murder. It took him time to die, enough time for him to inhale some of the carbon monoxide fumes.”
She cringed. “That’s cold.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t expecting Hansen to be here, but I find it interesting, the way he won’t leave the widow’s side. Plus, he found the body—”
“Or says he did. You said Spencer had a broken neck—a chiropractor would know how to do that. He could be our killer.”
“Any of them could. I wondered if you could get a preliminary statement from the wife. She was too distraught yesterday and I need to get her on the record. Which is especially dicey since Tassi’s spiritual counselor is also her attorney. Reverend Matthew Harper.”
“Harper? As in Naomi? I met one of her brothers today, he was very helpful.”
“Well, the
