“I don’t know how—I’ve never been to her condo. You have to believe me.”
“We won’t know all they have until Monday.” She turned to Alex. “Anything else they mentioned to you?”
“The other detective that was questioning you last night, he said there was a pot of red cyclamen on the table that had a florist’s note saying the flowers were from you. Did you send Ms. Laraway flowers?”
“No, I didn’t! I don’t know how they got delivered with my name on them.”
Emily made a note to find out who paid for the flowers. Either he really did do it, or someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like he did.
“The detectives mentioned something about a framed photo on the dresser in the bedroom, a picture of you and Allison smiling into the camera together.” Alex leaned forward and rested a forearm on the table. “When was that taken?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never posed for a photo with her.”
“Her having that particular picture framed and placing it in her bedroom implies an intimate relationship of some kind, don’t you think?” Alex’s tone sounded almost accusatory.
“I wouldn’t know,” Colin replied.
Did Alex believe in Colin’s innocence? Or was rehashing all this evidence giving him doubts, as well?
“Ernie’s working on getting copies of the security video for us,” Alex said. “Roberts swore it placed you at the murder scene during the window of time.”
“I don’t know how it could. I wasn’t there—I keep telling you!”
“Please, calm down.” Emily’s hand reached across the table, hesitating, again wanting to touch him. In all the time Emily knew Colin, she never saw a shred of fear in him—until now. “We don’t know how it could be, but somehow it is. We can’t dispute their evidence until we get all the facts and lay them out there to study.”
“You do believe me, don’t you Emily?”
The worried look in his smoky hazel eyes seemed to beg for her unwavering support. How could she offer him anything but hope? “Yes, of course.” This was not the time to admit any doubt, at least not to him.
“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” Colin’s solemn gaze flickered from Emily to Alex and back again.
“It does for now, until we find the truth.” She shifted in her chair toward Alex. “By the way, have you heard any results from the search of his apartment or his vehicle?”
“No,” Alex replied. “I expected to hear earlier this afternoon. Roberts assured me he’d call. Looks like I’ll need to follow up with him.”
“So they searched my apartment and my Jeep?” Colin asked. “I guess that’s to be expected, but what more did they hope to find?”
Now Emily turned somber. “The murder weapon.”
Chapter 8
As Emily turned into her driveway, she received a call from Alex.
“Finally got hold of Detective Roberts, and it’s not good.”
Emily’s breath caught in her throat as she waited to hear the bad news. “What’d they find?”
“In the Jeep, they found blonde hairs, but we won’t know if they were Allison’s until they get DNA results back.”
“Those could be mine.”
“Let’s hope.”
“And the apartment?”
“That’s the bad part. Roberts said they found a knife that fits the wounds that killed Ms. Laraway.”
“Where did they find it?”
“In Colin’s kitchen. Apparently, it had been wiped clean, but there were some traces of blood where the blade meets the wooden handle. It’s at the lab being tested right now.”
“Oh, Alex. What is going on?” As if the police didn’t already have a mountain of evidence against Colin, now this crucial piece could solidify the case against him.
“This makes absolutely no sense, Em. Either Colin is guilty or someone is doing a spectacular job of framing him.”
“That has to be it.” It made sense. “He has way too much experience with crimes to leave all those clues, if he had done it.”
“I agree, and in those years on the force, he also put a lot of angry people in jail.”
“Do you think it was a person he arrested in San Francisco? Because he hasn’t been in Paradise Valley that long. Anyone he sent to jail here is probably still there.”
“A convicted felon from a case in San Francisco is the most likely, but we can’t discount the fact that it might be the friend or relative of a criminal he put away here.”
“Between the two, that’s going to be a long list, Alex. We need to get Colin thinking through his old cases. I’ll see if Ernie can use his police resources to put together that info. I seem to remember Colin telling me once that Ernie had friends at the SFPD.”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
“So when can you get in to see Colin again?” she asked. “We need to pick his brain, get him thinking through that list.”
There was no time to waste. If someone had framed Colin, they might slip out of town, never to be heard from again. On the other hand, perhaps that person would prefer to stick around and watch Colin get the punishment he’d set up for him.
“With him staying in isolation, it makes it a little more difficult,” Alex said. “It might not be ‘til Monday morning, before the arraignment, but I’ll let you know. Besides, that will give Ernie time to collect those names to help jog his memory.”
~*~
Emily phoned Ernie and explained the thoughts she and Alex had about the possibility of a frame job.
“It makes a lot of sense. I would never in a thousand years—no, make that a million years—believe Colin was capable of doing what they’ve accused that boy of, evidence or no evidence.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that, Ernie. He’s pretty scared right now. With all that evidence, I think he’s afraid it’ll bury him and we won’t be able to dig him out.”
“We’re not going to let that happen, are we?”
“No, we’re not.” Confidence in Colin’s innocence was growing in Emily as she listened to Ernie’s unwavering support.
“What can I do?” he asked.
His willingness to jump in and do whatever it took put a slight smile on Emily’s face and gave her spirit a little lift. She asked him to put together a list of all of the cases Colin had worked, both in Paradise Valley and in San Francisco, especially where he got a conviction. She hoped that information could jog Colin’s memory of anyone who’d threatened to get even.
“I’m on it. It may take awhile, but I’ll have it for you as soon as I can.” Ernie paused and the tone of his voice deepened. “You tell that boy we’re gonna get to the bottom of this thing.”
“Thanks, Ernie.”
“You know, Emily, I love that boy like he was my own.” His voice cracked a bit and she could hear him clear his throat. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to that knucklehead.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “I appreciate your saying that.”
~*~
Emotionally exhausted, Emily trudged up the steps to her porch and went inside her bungalow. The clock in her entry read half past three. She kicked off her boots by the door and wandered into the bedroom. Setting her purse on the floor beside her bed, she shrugged out of her jacket and flopped face first onto her bed.
Though Isabel had let her sleep in that morning, the little rest she’d actually gotten was not enough to get her through the day. Her energy was waning and a long nap sounded glorious. She snuggled a pillow under her head and let out a long sigh, expecting to drift off to sleep.
After half an hour of tossing and turning, she decided maybe a hot bath would help her unwind. Perhaps she was too exhausted to sleep.
As the tub filled with bubbles and hot water, she put her hair up with a plastic claw. The warm water soothed her as she sank down into it, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. Visions of Colin sitting all alone in his depressing jail cell floated through her mind, and a twinge of guilt pricked her.
Here she was indulging herself in a warm bath and napping on her comfortable bed while he sat in jail, accused of murder—wrongfully accused, she reminded herself. She shook her head in an attempt to erase the last little bit of doubt. After having spoken with Ernie that afternoon, her faith needle was pushed from ninety-five to ninety-eight percent.
What was it going to take to make it a hundred?
Proof he did not do it.
“Yoo-hoo!” a female voice sang out from the front of the house, breaking into her thoughts.
Oh, my gosh, someone’s here.
“Emily, where are you?” the woman called out again.
That sounds like Camille.
“Emily!” a second female hollered.
“Coming!” Emily recognized Camille and Maggie’s voices. She hastily climbed out of the tub and threw her terrycloth robe around herself. “Be right out!”
With water still dripping down her legs, Emily hurried to the entry and found her friends making themselves at home in her living room.
Seated on the sofa, Maggie looked up from the magazine she was flipping through. “Oh, were you takin’ a bath?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Emily pulled her robe a little tighter and tied the belt.
“No, it’s us who should be apologizing, barging in on you like this—I used the spare key you gave me.” Camille grinned guiltily and stood from the couch, walking to Emily, throwing her arms around her in a quick hug. “We were just so worried—we hadn’t heard anything from you today. Are you okay, Em?”
“It’s rough, but I think I’m doing all right.”
Maggie patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit and tell us all about it.”
“I think I’d like to go get dressed first.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll mop up this puddle you’ve left on your wood floor,” Camille said. “Take your time.”
Emily went to her room and returned a few minutes later dressed in jeans and a sweater. “That’s better.” She claimed the chair across from the sofa and faced her friends for what she suspected would be an interrogation. There was nothing Camille liked better than juicy news.
“Have you been to see Colin?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, this afternoon. I went with Alex.”
“This is just horrible, absolutely horrible, Em,” Maggie said.
“The news this morning said they’ve arrested Colin for murder. We’re all beside ourselves.” Camille perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Yes, that’s true, but—”
“Did he do it? Did he really kill that woman?” Camille asked, leaning forward with anticipation.
“No, Cam, I don’t believe he did.”
“I don’t want to believe it either, but the news reports say they have a lot of evidence, a solid case the reporter said.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear, Cam. Just because it’s on the television or in the newspaper doesn’t make it true.”
“I just meant that—”
“There does appear to be a number of things pointing toward Colin as the murderer,” Emily interrupted, “but Alex and I don’t believe he did it. Ernie either. And we’re going to do all we can to prove he’s innocent.”
“Peter doesn’t believe it either,” Maggie added.
“What about you, Maggie?” Camille asked. “What do you believe, with all that evidence against him?”
“I think evidence can be fabricated. Remember I spent a few years in Hollywood a long time ago. They were makin’ all kinds of things appear real that weren’t. These days it seems like anythin’ can be made to look legit. Doesn’t mean it is.”
“That’s right, Maggs.” Emily appreciated her friend standing up for Colin.
“But who on earth would be trying to make it look like Colin was the killer?” Camille asked. “That sounds like something out of one of those crime shows on TV.”
Maggie nodded at Camille. “It does, kinda—a frame job is what they call it.”
Emily rose from her chair, hinting that it was time her guests were leaving. “Well, that’s what we’re going to have to work very hard to find out.”
~*~
While her friends were there, Emily struggled to hold her emotions in check. She didn’t want another meltdown like she’d had in the shower that morning. Who could blame her, though? Any woman who had just gotten engaged, and then had her fiancé arrested for the murder of his supposed mistress, would break down into a crying mess.
But she didn’t want to be that woman.
If she was going to find the real killer, she knew she’d have to be stronger than that.
Emily stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed, hoping for an hour or so of sleep. The alarm clock on her nightstand read four twenty-two p.m.
Again, her thoughts filled with Colin. In her mind’s eye, he slowly danced with her in the warm glow of her living room lamps. His moist lips nibbled her neck as the music softly played. He smiled down at her, and she felt safe in his arms. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, his eyes widened in horror and his mouth flew open as he was sucked away from her embrace and deposited in a hard metal chair in the small, dimly lit conference room at the county jail, his face now bruised and battered.
At the remembrance of his injuries, another rush of tears spilled from her eyes. A dark cloud of heaviness settled in her heart. Drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she curled up in the fetal position, and her tears turned to sobs once more.
She eventually drifted off to sleep, a temporary reprieve from the nightmare that had become her life.
The early morning light streaming in her windows woke her, and she was surprised to find herself still balled up in her bed. Yawning as she stretched out her arms and legs, she flipped back her comforter. After sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she rested on the edge and raked her fingers through her tangled curls.
The clock read seven a.m. She had slept over fourteen hours.
There was no more time for wallowing—it was time to hit the ground running.
Chapter 9
Alex Martínez had given Emily the name of Allison Laraway’s assistant in the District Attorney’s office—Julie Clark. She was the young woman who had found Allison’s body and called the police. Hoping there was something she could learn from her, Emily phoned Peter to fill him in and enlist his help.
“I’m happy to help anyway I can,” Peter responded to her request.
“Phone the woman—see if you can meet her today for an interview. It being Sunday, hopefully she’s free. You could tell her something like you’re covering the story for a major television station in Seattle and you’d like to get her thoughts.”
“That is the truth, Emily.”
“So it should be easy to say. It’s important, though, to find out more than just what she saw in Allison’s condo.”
“Like what?”
“Find out if she knows if Allison was seeing anyone. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like she and Colin were having an affair—the flowers, the photo of the two of them, the dates in her electronic calendar naming Colin as the person she was meeting with—not to mention his fingerprints and possibly his DNA in her place. Maybe there is a warm body to go along with the sham.”
“Okay, Emily, I got it.” Peter paused, presumably making notes of their conversation. “Speaking of DNA, have the police gotten the results back?”
“No, should be this week, Alex was told.”
“I’ll give the woman a call and let you know when we’re meeting. You have her number?”
Emily read the phone number to Peter. “Try to get her to meet you face to face, rather than doing a phone interview. That way you can work your charms on her. She’s more likely to relax and open up to you, don’t you think?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Call me back and let me know when and where. I’d like to get you wired and give you an earbud so I know exa
ctly what she’s telling you.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“No offense, Peter, but I’d rather hear it straight from the horse’s mouth than get your interpretation secondhand.”
“Fine. I’ll give you a call after I make contact with her.”
~*~
Emily watched through the large storefront window as Peter sat in the busy Flying M coffee shop in downtown Boise. Through his mic she could pick up the clanging of coffee cups and people trying to talk over each other, fearing it might make it hard to talk privately with Allison’s Assistant, Julie Clark. She was the one that had suggested the location—her favorite coffee place, she’d told Peter—near her work and her home.
Peter reported that when he’d first phoned the woman, she seemed a bit hesitant to speak about the murder, but when he told her he was from a major television station in Seattle, her demeanor softened and she agreed to the interview.
Before driving to the Flying M, Peter had met Emily at her office to get wired for sound. After having borrowed the FBI’s earbuds on her last major case, she’d decided to invest in a couple of pairs of her own, seeing how they could come in handy in her business as a private eye. Like now, for instance.
“I’ll be parked on the street, right outside of the coffee shop, listening,” Emily had said. “The earbud is just in case I think of a question you hadn’t asked her.”
“I’ll do my best,” he had promised her.
Now, with Peter sitting in this noisy café, Emily wondered if she would be able to hear anything.
Julie had described herself to Peter, and he had reported to Emily. She’d said she was petite, late twenties, pixie-cut brown hair and big brown eyes. In turn, he had described himself as very tall with short dark auburn hair and blue eyes.
The bell on the door jingled whenever a customer pushed it open. Emily noticed Peter’s attention was drawn to the entrance each time it rang.
“So far, I haven’t seen anyone that matches her description,” Emily heard him whisper into his mic.
Emily continued to watch him through the glass, hoping the woman would show up. She was taken aback when a short, rotund woman dressed very casually approached him. She appeared to be well into her thirties. The only accurate part of her description was the haircut and her eye color. The look on Peter’s face said he was shocked as well.
The Pursuit of Lies (Book #4, Paradise Valley) Page 6