was no killer.
Her hands were shaking as she sank into the couch. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she just let him know she was back in town-if he needed a friend? She wondered why, indeed, she
She glanced at the phone. Talking to him wouldn’t be good enough. Not after the blowup they’d had when they were last together. She needed to
The sun had set and the streetlights had popped on by the time Cindy reached Jack’s house. Even when she’d lived there, she’d never liked driving up alone after dark. Jack professed to like landscaping, but what he really meant was that he liked foliage of any kind, and lots of it. His “lawn” was a thick blanket of bromeliads, bushy ferns, and practically anything else that didn’t look like a weed. Large, bushy palms and leafy ficus trees were scattered everywhere, creating an array of menacing shadows. It was enough to make any twenty-five ear-old blonde in blue denim shorts and sleeveless white shell a bit on edge. At night the scene always made her feel a bit like Dorothy in the land of Oz contending with the talking apple trees.
Anxiety propelled her to the front door in a matter of seconds. The porch light flipped on before she could knock, and the door swung open.
Jack stood in the doorway, looking perplexed. “Cindy, what are you doing here?”
“I saw the story on the news. I thought you might need to talk.”
“You’re too much,” he said, opening his arms. She stepped forward to accept his embrace. “After you left I wanted to call you and tell you how sorry I was, but I felt like such a jerk.” He held her tighter and looked into her eyes. “Can you forgive me?”
“Let’s try to forget that ever happened,” Cindy said. “I felt terrible about what I said, too.”
“No, no, you were right,” he protested, “I totally lost it. But-” he shook his head in confusion. “What happened with Italy?”
She slipped from his embrace and gave him a look of concern. “That’s not nearly as important as what’s happening to you.”
His spirits soared. Just an hour ago, after having watched the six o’clock news, he’d thought it would be a very long time before he’d ever feel happy again.
“I guess you know all about the grand jury investigation,” he said, still not quite believing the turn of circumstances.
She nodded.
“Do I need to tell you I didn’t do it?”
She looked into his eyes. “I know you didn’t.”
He went to embrace her again, but his attention was diverted by a car pulling into his driveway. It was a police car-not one but two in fact. And inside the lead car was Detective Lonzo Stafford.
“I’ve got to talk to these guys,” Jack said to Cindy as he gestured for her to go inside. At first she hesitated, but then she entered the house.
Stafford trudged up the path and took Cindy’s place on the porch. His blue blazer was even more wrinkled than usual, his necktie was loosened, and a few extra lines seemed to have appeared in his tired old face. He’d clearly been working some long hours, but the gleam in his gray eyes made it equally clear that he thought his hard work was about to pay off.
“Got a warrant here, my friend. Time for a little search party.”
Jack sighed, relieved that it wasn’t an arrest warrant. “You won’t find a murder weapon here,” he assured the detective. For a moment, Jack felt like leading him right to his footlocker and the old.38. A simple ballistics test would prove it wasn’t involved in the Goss shooting. But the gun was never registered in Florida, a problem in itself, and possessing it would only prove his familiarity with the same type of weapon the newspapers said had killed Goss. Jack figured the less grist the detective had for wild conjecture, the better.
Stafford glanced over his shoulder to make sure the other officers couldn’t hear him. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to get a warrant to look for a murder weapon?” he asked contemptuously. “Then I’d have to tell the jury we looked for it and didn’t find it, wouldn’t I, Swyteck? Besides,” he said smugly, “I don’t need to find the gun. Not since Ballistics determined a silencer was used to kill Goss. Not since that mechanic down at Kaiser pulled a silencer out of your convertible.”
“A mechanic did
Stafford smiled wryly. “You’ll hear all about it soon enough, counselor. Right now,” he said with a wink as he flashed the warrant in Jack’s face, “baby needs a new pair a’ shoes. Reeboks to be exact. You may recall that it as a rainy night when you visited your favorite client. Your footprints are all over the apartment.”
Jack fell silent. Things were getting worse by the minute, but he had nothing to gain by sparring with the old detective. “Just get what you came for,” he said flatly. “And be on your way.”
Stafford signaled back to his team with a jerk of his head. Jamahl Bradley and two other officers filed into the house, heading straight for the master bedroom. Jack followed closely behind, his stomach in knots.
“What’s happening?” Cindy asked Jack, her voice trembling as the officers whisked by her in the living room.
Stafford stopped to field the question. “We’re gonna prove your boyfriend here was traipsing around Eddy Goss’s apartment the night of the murder. That’s what’s happening, miss.” Stafford took another step, the stopped and arched a suggestive eyebrow at Cindy. “You sure you want to sleep here tonight, sweetheart?”
“Shut the hell up, Stafford,” Jack snapped.
Stafford just shrugged and continued on toward the bedroom. Jack started to follow but stopped when he saw the look on Cindy’s face. He wanted to watch the police conduct their search, just to make sure they stuck to the warrant, but he couldn’t let Stafford’s remark linger. He had to keep Cindy’s trust, so he took her by the hand and led her quickly through the kitchen, into the backyard by the gazebo where they’d be out of earshot.
“Were you really at Goss’s apartment the night he was murdered?”
He looked into the middle distance, obviously struggling with what he was about to say. “Listen, Cindy, there are going to be things I won’t be able to tell you from here on out. Not because I’m guilty, but because it’s possible you may end up being a witness at trial-and the less you know, the better. But I may as well tell you this, because the footprints are going to prove it anyway. Yes, I was there that night. I went to Goss’s apartment. But I didn’t kill him. I went because of some threats I was getting. Someone was calling me, telling me there was a ‘killer on the loose.’ And then I was nearly run down, and Thursday-he killed Thursday.”
Cindy brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. . oh, my God, Jack.”
Jack touched her cheek gently to console her. “I figured it was Goss, and sure enough, that day you left for Italy I got a call inviting me to his apartment. He didn’t identify himself, but that was just part of the game-playing. I had to confront him, Cindy. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Are you going to tell the police all that?”
“No way.” He laid his hands on her shoulders for emphasis as he spoke. “It’s very important that you understand this. We can
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Right now, they’re trying to build a case against me for killing Eddy Goss. I don’t know how good it’s going to be, but off the top of my head, I can see one glaring weakness: motive. Why would I kill Goss? Without any evidence that Goss was stalking me, all the prosecution can say is that I killed him because I felt guilty about having gotten him acquitted. Their whole case boils down to whether or not a lawyer-a
She listened carefully, considering his explanation.
“It’s simple,” he continued. “If I were to tell the police about the threats I started getting after Goss’s trial, I’d be handing them a motive on a silver platter. The moment they find out Goss was after me, that’s it. Bingo! They’ve got a motive. Understand?”
Cindy sighed. She felt like she was going to cry, not so much because of what was happening at the moment,
