Having listened in to her conversation with Morgan, Brenda probably had a very good idea what she had done, but Trista wasn’t about to provide her secretary with the sad details. She couldn’t understand why the normally reticent Brenda had suddenly turned into such a gossip.
At any rate, if Brenda wanted details, she wasn’t going to get them from Trista. The scene with Suni yesterday afternoon had left her bruised and vulnerable, and she’d had another restless night. She cut off Brenda’s inquisition with short answers, and escaped to her inner-office sanctuary.
Trista sank into her chair, trying to remember the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep. Not since Morgan had been back in her life, that was for sure. And now that they’d made love, sleeping was even more impossible. As was everything else. How was she supposed to get on with her life when the memory of Morgan’s dark head lying on her pillow was so recent?
Her only hope for sanity was to get this case solved, and Morgan out of her life. But not at Suni’s expense. Morgan had been so hard on her yesterday—unnecessarily hard. It was as if he’d already condemned her, even though the evidence was certainly sketchy enough. Just another thing for the two of them to disagree about.
Then there was Brenda. Her receptionist had been acting strange ever since that first office break-in. Was it just curiosity, or did the woman have something to hide? Last night when she’d realized the notes were from Suni, she’d thought it would be okay to open the office, since obviously Brenda wasn’t the mystery lover.
But her secretary’s continued peculiar behavior was causing her to second-guess that decision.
After checking her watch, Trista saw that there were fifteen minutes before her first appointment of the day. On impulse she went to the credenza that contained her administrative information. She opened the long drawer and ran her fingers over the blue tabs, searching for the file with Brenda’s name on it. There it was: Malachowski, Brenda. It wasn’t thick, and took only a few moments to review.
There was nothing that leaped out at her. Brenda’s application for the job, her payroll data, the review letters that Trista wrote every year. Trista flipped back to the beginning, going through everything once more.
No, there was nothing in here of much interest. But there was something that was missing. Brenda’s letter of reference from her former employer.
Trista knew it had been in this folder when she’d hired Brenda. It had been attached to her résumé, which was still here, only minus the letter of recommendation. What could have happened to it? Had it, by any chance, been the target of the office break-in? The only other possibility was that Brenda must have taken it herself. But why would she do a thing like that? It had been a glowing letter.
The tender spot at the back of her head throbbed. Trista knew she had to talk to Morgan. He’d been suspicious of Brenda from the start. He’d even asked her if she’d checked Brenda’s references. Maybe he would know what to do.
She reached him on his cell phone. His tone was brisk, and he admitted he was on his way to Suni’s house. With a search warrant.
“I’m calling about Brenda,” she told him.
“Oh, yeah?” Morgan sounded distracted.
Trista rolled her eyes at his lack of interest. “She’s been acting unusual ever since the office was broken into. And this morning, she was very curious about where I went after work yesterday. I think she was hoping I’d seen you arrest Suni. And another thing—”
“Yes?” Morgan sounded impatient.
“I just finished looking through Brenda’s personnel file, and guess what? Her letter of recommendation is missing.”
There was a pause. A muffled sound that might have been him talking to someone else. “Perhaps you misfiled it?”
“Misfiled it? Morgan, are you listening to me?” She should have known he wouldn’t take this seriously. He’d developed a one-track mind. He had his guilty party—Suni Choopra—and he wasn’t interested in gathering any evidence that didn’t fit with his personal theory.
“I’m listening.”
“Yeah, right. Well, where would I have misplaced it? In one of my other employee’s files perhaps?”
“Have you tried asking Brenda what happened to it?”
“I thought you didn’t want me conducting any more investigating on my own. Why do you think I called you?”
“Look, Trista, I agree it’s a little odd, okay? You did good to call me, but I have to go now. You let me know if anything else unusual happens. In the meantime—” there was another pause while he spoke to someone else again “—I’ve got to get back to work. Why don’t I drop by your office around noon? We can talk then.” And the line went dead.
Trista stared at the receiver disbelievingly. Morgan hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. She was certain of it.
Maybe Morgan had changed more in the past three years than she’d thought. The old Morgan cared about justice. The old Morgan kept his mind open, reviewed the facts objectively. Now it seemed he wasn’t interested in any information unless it supported his theory. That Suni Choopra had murdered her lovers to protect her political career.
And that was that.
Unless someone challenged his theory. And maybe, if no one else was up to the job, that someone was going to have to be her.
MORGAN CLENCHED his teeth as he hung up the phone, glancing sideways at the officer in the passenger seat beside him, before turning his attention back to the road. Trista was ticked off at him, he knew that much, but this was hardly the time for him to explain why he wasn’t concerned with Brenda’s missing letter of reference. He’d suspected for a while that she’d probably forged it.
Morgan pulled up in front of Suni Choopra’s house, a few blocks north of her campaign office in Bloor West Village. He’d have to explain everything to Trista later. Right now he had a job to do. He got out of the car, the officer following suit, but staying behind him as he walked briskly up the steps to the front door of the two-story brick building.
Morgan hammered on the front door. There wasn’t time for niceties. The adrenaline was pounding in his veins and he had that feeling of heightened awareness that he always experienced when a case was drawing to a close.
Suni opened the door, obviously startled to see him. But she recovered quickly. She was wearing a pinkish-colored suit, with coordinating high heels and hat. Even her long fingernails had been painted to match. Did she think she’d be campaigning as usual today? Man, this woman still didn’t know what she was facing.
“Good morning, Detective. How can I help you?” As she spoke, her eyes scanned the street behind him.
Looking for signs of the press, Morgan thought contemptuously. “We have a search warrant, Ms. Choopra.” He held up the official document for her to see. She took it from his hands and read it carefully before stepping aside to let them enter.
“I believe I’ll call my lawyer,” she said quietly.
“You do that.” He nodded to the junior officer behind him. “You start with the house. I’ll search behind the house and in the garage.”
“Just what is it you expect to find?” Suni demanded, her voice for the first time betraying a hint of fear.
“Who knows?” Morgan looked at her and felt no compassion whatsoever. “Nothing, if you’ve been smart. But you’ve already made one mistake, haven’t you? Who knows, maybe you’ve made another.”
MORGAN LOOKED different today, Trista thought as she watched him walk toward her outside the main doors of her office building. His eyes were bright and alert, and there was an all-too-familiar spring to his step. She knew the signs. He felt he was closing in, that the case would soon be solved.
Trista’s heart sank. No one wanted this case solved more than she did. But not at the expense of an innocent woman. And the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that Suni wouldn’t have committed those murders.
“Who’d have guessed we’d be wearing boots in the middle of May?” Morgan asked as he drew
nearer.
The sun was shining, in the process of turning yesterday’s snow into a thick pool of sludge. Trista looked at her mud-splattered boots and shrugged. It was part of life in Toronto. Snow one day, slush the next.
“At least it’s warming up.” Despite her words, Trista pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her trench coat and shivered. Suddenly she wished she could have postponed this talk. She didn’t think she was ready for the news Morgan was about to tell her.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” Morgan asked. “I noticed a hot-dog vendor down the street a few blocks.”
“Why not?” They fell in step together, arms brushing against each other occasionally. Despite the years apart, and the problems between them, Trista’s natural inclination was to reach out her hand to him. But she kept both fists sunk in her pockets. This was no casual afternoon stroll, and the problems ahead of them were much more serious than whether to order hot dogs or sausages from the street vendor ahead.
“We searched Suni’s home today.”
Morgan’s words brought home the stark reality of their most pressing problem. The investigation. That was where it had started and she supposed that was where it would end. But now she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to see it through. Was it too late for her to pull back, to tell him that she really didn’t want to know what he’d found during his search of Suni’s house?
But would that be fair to Suni? She couldn’t abandon her friend now, when her need was the greatest. “Yes?”
“We found the gun in her garage. A Smith & Wesson .38, taped to the bottom of her garbage pail.”
“No!” Trista stopped in her tracks and stared at him in disbelief. What he was saying was absolutely impossible. “I don’t believe it! It’s just too pat. Don’t you see, Morgan? This is all coming together much too neatly. Someone must have planted that gun.”
Morgan scowled. “Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”
“Don’t you think Suni would have been smart enough to get rid of the murder weapon?”
Morgan stared at her, his eyes didn’t flinch. “Not if she thought she might need it again. Guns aren’t as easy to come by as you might think.”
Trista shook her head, not willing to admit there was any reasoning behind what he was saying.
“We’re going to arrest her, Trista. Look, I’m sorry. I know that she’s your friend…”
Trista swallowed hard. It was what she had expected. But somehow, hearing Morgan say the words out loud made it so much harder to take. “You’re making a mistake,” she said quietly. “I’m absolutely convinced of it.”
For a second she caught a glimpse of agony in Morgan’s expression, but it was quickly replaced with that rock-faced certainty of his that could be so infuriating. “I’m not out to get your friend, Trista. I can’t believe you’d really think I would do something like that. The gun is circumstantial evidence, but there’re also the notes. You saw how they matched yourself. Suni’s admitted to the affairs. What more is it going to take to convince you?”
“What about the office break-ins?” Trista asked. “Or do you think it was just coincidence that my office was broken into twice, and I was whacked on the back of the head?”
“I’ve thought about that. Did Suni know the Walkers and Hawthornes were clients of yours?”
Trista was about to say no when she remembered an earlier conversation with Suni. Oh, God. She put her hands to her face. “I did tell her. After Daniel’s death and I’d closed my practice, I went to Suni’s office looking for something to do. I didn’t volunteer the information, but when she asked, I told her.”
“If I was Suni, I would have wanted to make sure neither man had mentioned me during their marriage counseling sessions,” Morgan said.
Damn. It did sound reasonable. But it hadn’t happened that way. Trista just knew it.
“Doesn’t this whole thing strike you as being a little too tidy?” Trista spoke desperately. “Shouldn’t you at least consider the possibility that she’s being framed? Couldn’t someone have put that gun in her garage?”
“Possibly. But who? Who else had a motive for killing both Jerry Walker and Daniel Hawthorne?”
“You’re asking me that question as if it’s my job to solve this case. But it isn’t. It’s yours. I’m not surprised you don’t have any other suspects when you ignore any evidence that doesn’t support your own theory.”
Morgan’s chest heaved, and she thought he was finally going to blow. Then he exhaled and asked in an artificially calm voice. “I see. I suppose you think I should be arresting Brenda. Because she snitched her letter of reference.”
“Very funny.” Trista lifted her chin defiantly. “And do you have some logical explanation for why she would have done such a thing?”
“As a matter of fact, I think I do. Brenda took that letter because she was afraid you’d find out that it was forged.” He turned away from her and resumed walking.
Trista stared at his receding back. “Forged?” For a second she stood still with the shock, then she trotted forward, grabbing Morgan by the shoulder when she caught up with him. “Why do you think Brenda forged her letter of reference?”
Morgan kept his eyes focused in front of him as he walked. “I guess she did it because she wanted the job.”
“Morgan.” She pulled on his arm, forcing him to stop. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
Morgan glanced up into the sky, then finally met her gaze. “Brenda’s gay, Trista. She thinks she lost her former job because of it.”
“Gay?” Trista sputtered out the word. “Brenda gay? It’s not possible. She dates so many men…” Suddenly Trista’s thoughts did a tailspin. Brenda dated a lot. But it was only Trista’s assumption that she dated men. After all, Trista had never met any of them. Only heard Brenda’s low voice when she was speaking on the phone. “I guess it’s possible.”
“It’s more than possible. It’s a fact.” Morgan spoke crisply. “When she lost her last job with the school board, she filed a grievance with the union, but later she dropped it. I don’t know why. I don’t have any proof that she doctored her reference letter, I only suspected as much, based on her history. If you want to pursue it, we could call her former employers and see if they have a copy of the letter.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s only circumstantial until we get the evidence.”
Trista ignored his sarcasm. She was floored by this news about Brenda. She couldn’t care less about the secretary’s sexual orientation. Surely Brenda would have known that. Why had she felt she had to keep it secret?
Because of the forged letter? After all, Brenda hadn’t known her when she applied for the job. Perhaps her past experiences had made her legitimately cautious.
At least this accounted for her recent strange behavior. She must have known that Morgan would check into her background. She must have lived in daily fear that he would spill the beans. God, she’d probably been worried that the police would have the same prejudice against her that her former employer had.
If only Brenda had been honest, instead of stealing that reference letter. Trista could understand why Brenda might not have been willing to tell her the truth at the beginning, before she knew her. But now…
Actually, Trista realized, she shouldn’t be surprised that Brenda hadn’t come to her. She’d never encouraged closeness between the two of them. So why would Brenda decide to trust her with her biggest secret? Trista wrapped her arms around herself, against the damp chill of the wind off the lake.
Morgan’s arm slipped around her, and for an instant she leaned into him, needing his strength and his warmth. “Poor Brenda, the agony she must have been going through.”
He pulled her in closer. “Poor Trista. If I know you, you’re blaming yourself again. You aren’t responsible for Brenda’s actions.”
Trista nodded. She felt so safe and protected here in Morgan’s arms. She’d missed him last night.
Postponed eating until almost eight, unable to stop from hoping he’d drop by. She should have known better. After the way she’d practically thrown him out of the apartment the night they’d made love, he’d probably never come back. Which was what she’d thought she wanted at the time.
“So you haven’t considered Brenda a suspect right from the beginning?” she asked Morgan.
“I didn’t say that.” Morgan removed his arm to place their order with the vendor. Then, hot dogs and cans of pop in hand, they headed for a small park farther up the block.
“Knowing she was gay, of course I realized she wasn’t the mystery lover we were looking for. But I’ve never discounted her as a possible suspect for the murders. All that resentment and hatred that she’s been suppressing… I figured she could have stepped over the edge. Plus, she had opportunity…”
“So when did you decide she didn’t do it?”
“Today. When we found the gun.”
Morgan looked directly into her eyes, but Trista had to look away. She tore the wrapper from her hot dog and took a bite. They were back to the gun again.
“Where did Suni get this weapon, anyway?”
“That’s the interesting part. The gun was registered to Jerry Walker. I stopped in at Walker’s Hardware to ask Nan if she’d noticed when it had gone missing, but she wasn’t there. Neither was Lorne Thackray. Guess where I found them?”
Trista caught the cocky edge to his grin, and quickly discerned the reason. “No! Not Lorne and Nan?”
“Yes, Lorne and Nan. They were at his place. And from the look on their faces and the length of time it took them to answer the door, I have little doubt what was going on. You should have seen Nan. Blushing and chewing her nails at the same time…”
“So what did Nan say about the gun?”
Morgan popped the tab off his soft drink. “Nothing very helpful. She knew Jerry had one but she didn’t know it was missing. She didn’t even know where he kept it.”
Same Place, Same Time Page 17