One Deadly Sister (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #1) (21 page)

“You shouldn’t have argued with him,” the chief said when Sandy was settled in his office.

“Saying, ‘No’ isn’t arguing. Saying, ‘Let me out you creep’ isn’t arguing.”

“If it goes beyond the first hearing, you’ll have to testify.”

“That’ll be the best part.”

“I must tell you, it’s not unusual for people to get upset with the police for one reason or another. And then try to strike back by making some charge. You know, like a charge of excessive force or what some hysterical woman believed was inappropriate touching.”

She bit her tongue and decided it was best not to open up on this guy.

“If you win, Miss Reid, you could ruin his career.”

She remained calm. “He ruined his own career. All I ask is that you apply the law. I’m just testifying to the facts of what he did. That’s what good citizens do. It’s up to the process to determine if he’s guilty. The punishment isn’t up to me either. Whatever the law calls for, apply it, no more, no less. He ruined his career when he locked that truck door. That’s a criminal charge by itself. He ruined it again when he pointed to his badge. Again when he flashed his weapon and said he’d make trouble for me, if I didn’t put out. Those are all charges. Then he grabbed me, that’s a charge. Then he added another when he unzipped. I may have missed one or two in there. Are you counting?”

The chief frowned and thumbed through the stapled pages in his hand. “In his statement, Sergeant Huress stated that when he drove up you were hanging out in front of the store. It was getting dark and he didn’t like the idea of a young woman being out there alone at night. He was concerned with your safety. Although he was in a hurry to get home and help his kids with some homework before bedtime, he thought he should wait with you.”

“What a guy.”

“The store clerk remembers you bought chips. Sergeant Huress stated you admired his pickup and asked if you could sit in it. You sat there with your bare legs up on the dash, stuffing chips into your mouth. He said you started making suggestive talk about how cops turned you on. You got upset when he wouldn’t respond. That’s when he told you to get out.”

“By the way, I was wearing jeans. Did he explain about his unzipped fly? Which Linda Call will corroborate. And how his back window and tailgate got broken? Come on Chief, you don’t believe that crap. Why do you want that piece of shit, excuse me, that scheming sexual predator on your force?”

“To continue…you got out. He was still concerned about you. He waited there until Linda Call pulled up. You skipped over to her pickup, gave her a long kiss and drove off with her. Why did you get in his truck, if you didn’t want anything to do with him?”

“Every crude word out of his mouth will be in my statement, and you’re not going to like it. Linda did him a favor. If she hadn’t come along when she did, he’d have gone ahead to the next really stupid step and be facing additional criminal charges plus a civil suit from me and would be missing at least one eye, probably two.”

“Will you try to keep it out of the paper?”

“I’m not here to negotiate with you. Start doing your job. Now give me whatever form I need to make a formal complaint.”

When the item ran in the newspaper, it stated the allegation and identified Huress by name. It clearly identified Sandy as the accuser and sister of the jailed suspect in the Towson murder case. An alleged witness was mentioned but not named.

The item brought forth almost total indifference. Although Bobby Huress most certainly caught hell from his wife, the town ignored it. No reaction, no furor at all except for two phone calls, and one vulgar letter stating it was the sluttish morals of women like Sandy that was ruining the country.

As predicted, the police review panel dropped the charges at the first reading. It was as though the Bobby Huress incident never happened.

I
t was Friday morning. Tomorrow would mark one week since Goddard was handed the Towson murder case. The more he thought of Sandy Reid, the more he realized he had developed no additional evidence against her brother. She says he’s innocent, yet it sounded as though she didn’t actually know what he’d been up to the last few years.

Goddard felt the investigation had stalled out, no new evidence and no new suspects. Most likely, that was the reason Moran called a meeting this morning. When he arrived, he was pleased to find a DNA report on his desk left by the CSI team. He scanned the report, smiled and walked to the chief’s office.

There was no indication from his clear desk that the chief was in the middle of a major homicide investigation. He set aside his
Garden Design
magazine. “Chip, did you know Saintpaulias were brought to this country from Africa in the early 1900’s? That’s why we call them African Violets.”

“Thanks, I’ve always wondered about that.” Goddard handed the report to the chief. “We got a hit. DNA from Norma Martin’s cigarette butt matches items in Towson’s bathroom.”

The chief tried to appear interested. “So, the restaurant owner was his lover and all those rumors are true.”

“So what if she is the lover? Does that help me solve this murder? And she’s married. Hard to believe Towson was that reckless. And where’s her husband? I would need to dig into her background. What’s going on at her restaurant and possibly in Tampa?”

“Tampa?”

“I’m afraid this might lead there. If it does, I’m out of my league. Cuban-Americans in Tampa can be a tight group. Where would I start?”

“The State of Florida could step in, it has organized crime units and all that high-tech stuff,” the chief offered.

“Yeah, why don’t you suggest to Moran that we turn over this investigation to Tallahassee?”

“Not me.”

“Is he aware of what we found on Linda Call?”

“Not yet. He’s on his way here right now. Before he gets here, Chip, tell me what’s with you and Reid’s sister? She embarrassed the department with her charges, and that item in the paper didn’t help.”

Goddard pointed to the garden magazine. “Like you care?”

“Ah, hell, Moran found out about you meeting her. I got my ass chewed.”

“Sorry about that, but I’ll listen to anyone with information about this case. I’d rather she talk to me than to the papers.”

“Reid’s attorney will scream bloody murder, if she tells you something that ends up in the trial.”

“She’s been warned. She talks to me at her brother’s risk.”

“She has a thing for cops according to Huress.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Chief. She had no reason to bother with Huress. I think Moran was behind that incident. He probably told Huress to go do what he had to do to get her off our back. Huress, in his own small but horny mind, thought he had a cute little pigeon in his grasp. No, Chief, her story was true.

“I guess you know what you’re doing. Remember, Moran is watching.”

Just then, the door opened. Moran marched in with a file of papers under his arm. The chief stumbled in mid-sentence to change the subject. “All right Chip, so what about the new reports on Norma Martin and Linda Call.”

Moran set the papers on the desk. “So Goddard, at long last you got a statement from Martin.”

“No, she won’t talk to me. I did get her DNA from a cigarette butt, however.”

“I hope all this isn’t interfering with your sex life. Where’d you get that coffee? Can you answer that question?”

Goddard pointed. “Out there in the squad room, over by the window. Help yourself.” He wasn’t going to jump and get it, which is what Moran had in mind. The chief got up. Moran said, “Cream and sugar. You mentioned Linda Call?”

“I just got this FBI report on her.” Goddard knew that would get a reaction.

Moran was startled. “She’s a suspect? I just gave her an interview.”

Goddard said, “We faxed the prints we found on the wine glasses to the FBI National Database. Got a hit back this morning, they belong to Linda.”

“Don’t tell me she was in his apartment,” Moran moaned, “And don’t tell me the woman’s got a record.”

Goddard didn’t respond immediately, he pretended to check a folder, letting Moran suffer for the longest possible moment. Then he answered, “No record. Her print set was in the civil section of the Integrated System. She submitted routine fingerprints when she applied for a Concealed Weapon Permit some time ago.”

The chief came back and set the coffee in front of Moran who took a sip, made a face and pushed it away. The chief said, “Not farfetched for a crime reporter to want a weapons permit. She’s a Georgia gal, probably uses guns for bookends. Maybe she used one last Saturday.”

Goddard corrected him, “She’s not from Georgia, as we all thought but from Tampa. The permit was issued there before she was a crime reporter. Why’d she need a gun in Tampa? Also interesting, her name came up spelled L-y-n-d-a. Now that’s Latina. I don’t care if she’s Cuban-American, however Tampa is the center of the pro-gambling opposition to Towson’s election. I want to know what her prints were doing at the crime scene.”

“If she was with Towson innocently that afternoon, why didn’t she come forward? What’s she hiding?” Moran asked.

Goddard hesitated, knowing Moran would explode upon hearing the next statement. “To make matters worse, she showed up at the crime scene while CSI was there.”

“What! She was there at the crime scene? That means all of our crime scene evidence is contaminated and could be thrown out. Damn, I’m dead.” Moran covered his face with his hands. “Who let her in?”

“CSI,” Goddard answered. “Not a good policy but it happens with reporters. I wasn’t there.”

“Not an excuse, you weren’t there! It’s your investigation.” Moran was still shaking his head in disbelief.

The chief said, “I hate to mention this, but if she’s involved and had access to the crime scene, God knows what else she did up there to cover her tracks.”

Moran was livid. “Oh, this is really cute. We know Linda is lying about her pas. She might be the murderer. Might have returned to the murder scene later in her capacity as a reporter, and CSI might have held her handbag for her while she tidied up the evidence.” He stared at the chief expecting an explanation.

“What can I say? Incredibly sloppy crime scene security. I don’t know what happened. I’ll investigate.”

Moran loosened his tie and lowered his head. “God, if any of this shit gets into the trial—.”

Goddard said, “If it helps, her prints weren’t found on anything in the bathroom, so I don’t think his affair is with Linda.”

“Linda is gay,” the chief said. “I don’t think she’d be interested.”

“Come on, Chief,” Moran said, “if Linda wanted Towson dead her preference wouldn’t matter.”

“We’re closer to the identity of Towson’s lover,” Goddard said. “A good chance it was Norma Martin.”

“What makes you think that?” Moran asked.

“We’ve a DNA match with the items in the master bath.”

“Remember, a match doesn’t mean she was up there the day he was killed,” the chief said, “and being his lover might have nothing whatever to do with his murder.”

Moran said. “That agrees with what my secretary told me; she heard the affair was with Martin. Did her prints match?”

“We don’t have her prints on file and no legal way to get them at this point. So we still have unidentified prints at the scene,” Goddard said. “And the wine glasses found in the bedroom still have to be explained.”

“So, you have wine glasses and an unmade bed. Some woman was up there Saturday,” Moran said. “Maybe it was a threesome in that bed: Towson, Norma Martin and Linda Call, who isn’t bad looking by the way. Would Towson go for that?”

“Threesomes don’t happen in my town,” the chief stated flatly.

“You don’t even know what a threesome is. Anyway, it’s not likely in this case. Linda might have been up there merely interviewing him over a glass of wine. She interviewed me this morning and left her prints on my coffee cup. See what she says, Goddard.”

The chief said, “Therefore, Norma Martin is the lover, at least her personal items were found in his bathroom. Absolutely a suspect. Linda was also definitely up there but has an excuse. Except, she’s not our redneck gal from Georgia but Latina L-y-n-d-a from Tampa. Which likely females haven’t we talked about?”

Goddard said, “Tammy Jerold. However, the unidentified prints don’t belong to her. Her prints were available because her real estate license required fingerprinting.”

The chief said, “That leaves Loraine Dellin. No way in hell would Towson have had anything more to do with her. He’d rather die first.” Then he realized what he had said.