His face was red, and he shot a look of anger toward Miss Tank Top. But he appeared to calm himself fairly quickly.
“First, we need names.” When they all three began to protest, I held up a hand. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way, we need names.”
“I’m Alice,” the woman said, then poked the chest of the man beside her. “This, here, is Darrell. And that’s Kirk.”
Coop jotted their names in his little notebook, including their last names, which were tougher to pry out of them.
“Kirk,” I said. “You work at the Spotted Cat?”
Clearly angry, Kirk responded with, “I don’t wear the uniform for fun.”
Instead of stating that a T-shirt wasn’t a uniform, I just nodded, and I wondered how long it would be before I found myself having to enter the Spotted Cat to speak with its owner, Ethan Gentry, also known as Faith Day’s stepbrother.
“Alice, tell us what you saw Friday night,” Coop said.
“I saw a man leave the room on the end—”
“The room that’s now taped off?” I clarified.
“Yeah. Duh.”
“Were either of these jokers with you Friday night?”
“No, I was alone.”
“Go on,” I said.
“It was just after two a.m. I was just getting back from work. I dance at Girlz Next Door. That’s when I saw him.”
“Did you know the man?”
She looked away for a split second, then back at me. “No.”
“Can you describe him? Did he drive away?”
“He was wearing a dark hoodie, so I can’t say what he looked like, but he didn’t drive off.”
“Where did he go?” Coop asked.
“He walked to the Spotted Cat and went in through the back door.”
“As in the employee entrance?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell you call it. He went in through the door that I can see from here.”
“And you’re sure it was a male?” I asked.
“Definitely.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through photos until I found the close-up photo of Ethan Gentry that I kept in my phone. I turned the phone around and held it close enough for Alice and Darrell to see the screen. “Was this him?”
Alice’s body stiffened, and she seemed to pale as she examined the picture of Ethan. But then she looked up at me and said, “Nope. That wasn’t him.”
“How can you be sure? You said you couldn’t describe him.”
“I can’t. But that ain’t him.”
Darrell stood, but stayed on the other side of the bed. “You heard her. She answered your questions.”
Kirk hadn’t moved since we offered not to arrest them for possession or assault.
“What about you, Kirk?” I asked. “You know the person in this photo?” I held the phone directly in front of him.
Kirk slowly shifted his gaze to the photo, then looked up at me. “Of course I know him,” he said. “He own’s the Spotted Cat.”
“Were you working Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“Was Ethan Gentry there?”
“He’s there every night. So, yeah, he was there.”
“Do you remember if he left during the night?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t remember? Or no, he didn’t leave?”
“I don’t remember him leaving.”
“You see anyone unusual come through the back door Friday night?”
“Naw, man. We all go out back on smoke breaks, but I didn’t see no one that wasn’t working come or go out the back.”
Coop asked Alice, “Did you tell the officers who were here on Friday that information?”
“They didn’t ask,” she said.
“They’ll be by to take your statement later,” I said. “I suggest you tell them everything you remember, or Special Agent Adams and I will be back.”
“And we might remember the illegal drugs and assault we witnessed here tonight,” Coop added.
“Thank you for your help,” I said to all three of them.
Coop and I exited the motel room. When we were far enough away, making sure no one could overhear us, I sent Special Agent Thomason a text and asked her whether Ethan was questioned about the murder.
While we waited for a response, I looked to Coop and said, “It won’t hurt my feelings to see Ethan Gentry squirm when I interview him about a murder that happened near his bar and that the killer might have strolled right into his joint afterwards.”
TEN
FAITH
Myra spent thirty minutes with Penelope before she emerged from the hospital room. She walked straight over to where I stood with Annie and Marcus in the waiting room.
“I will represent Penelope. She is being released from the hospital in the next hour, and we’ll drive to Frankfort to be interviewed by KSP detectives at Post 12.”
“Want me to come?” I asked.
“Why would I want you to come?”
I narrowed my eyes at her tone.
“Sorry. No, she doesn’t need you for this. You were right to keep her from speaking with detectives until I was here, but now that I’m here, she needs to appear to cooperate fully. And the name of the game now is to keep her out of jail while encouraging investigators to search for additional suspects.”
“And hopefully the ‘actual’ killer,” I added. I’d seen police arrest and help convict the wrong person before; I knew it could happen.
“Well, I’m going with her,” Annie declared as she stepped closer. “She needs someone by her side.”
Myra took a deep breath, and I braced for how she would handle Annie. I was pleasantly surprised when Myra touched a hand to Annie’s arm. “Mrs. Farmer, Penelope is going to need so much from you in the coming days. I am not sure what KSP is thinking right now, but I listened to what the news was reporting on my way over. I need you to understand how KSP handles murder investigations. They look at scenes, and then they far too often react, and arrest, based on minimal evidence. After they’ve made an arrest, they investigate and analyze forensics with tunnel vision to prove they’ve got the right person.”
“Are you telling me they’re going to arrest her? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Annie had a point, but unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple.
“No one has mentioned arresting Penelope yet. My job is to keep that from happening. But if it does happen, I need to make sure your daughter works with the detectives to give them another suspect and doesn’t say anything that could be twisted and used against her.”
“But she’s not guilty.”
“I know she’s not guilty. I believe your daughter. And I’m damn good at what I do. But your daughter needs to know that her son is being taken care of. I’ll do all I can to clear Penelope as a suspect. The quicker we accomplish that, the quicker the police can focus on finding the person responsible for taking away her husband and Danny’s father. That’s where Penelope needs you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Myra seemed to pin Annie with her eyes, nodding as she spoke.
Annie returned the nod. “I do. I can take care of Danny.” Tears fell down her cheeks. “Can I say goodbye to her?”
“Of course. You both should,” Myra said to Annie and Marcus.
After they headed down the hallway to see Penelope, Myra turned to me.
“What can I do for you? For Penelope?” I asked.
“Work your contacts. If you hear anything, I need to know it. I’ve got my people scanning every news source and public forum to see who’s talking about this murder. I need you to do the same. I want to get ahead of all evidence that I can without impeding the investigation.”
“Did I tell you I took pictures of the house?”
“Of Penelope’s house?” she asked more loudly than she had intended. She glanced down the hallway to see if anyone heard her, then grabbed my arm and pulled me further into the corner of t
he room as if to make sure no one heard us. “How the hell did you manage that?”
I shrugged. “Do you really want to know?”
Her lids shuttered over her eyes. “No, I don’t.” When her eyes opened, she stared hard at me. “Study the pictures, do what you do, and email me copies.”
“You got it.”
“She’s going to need every person she can find to be on her side. And she’s going to feel like very few are. She said Steven’s parents haven’t called or come to the hospital.”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“We need them to believe their daughter-in-law is innocent—to stand by her.”
“I haven’t seen them very often since they moved to Florida, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Find out where they’re staying. I know they’re already trying to get his body released into their care for a funeral and burial, but the medical examiner will only release Steven’s body to Penelope.”
“She’s his wife. That’s how next-of-kin works.”
“Losing someone does funny things to people. They sometimes forget to think rationally. Anyway, the medical examiner won’t release Steven until investigators have signed off on it. And that will be to Penelope.”
I pulled my phone out and began making notes. “Penelope needs the opportunity to mourn her husband and to say goodbye. I know she had nothing to do with his murder. I don’t know why this is happening, but I will do everything in my power to make sure she isn’t railroaded for her husband’s murder.”
“Penelope says she and Steven talked about what kinds of funerals they would want when they did estate planning after Danny was born. Most young parents don’t do this, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear that.”
I nodded. “That will make things easier for her. Such hard decisions to make when you wait until something horrible has happened. I should know.”
Myra touched my arm. I’d seen her show affection a couple of times today. It wasn’t something I was used to from her.
“She’ll be lucky to have you by her side,” Myra said.
I nodded, suddenly remembering funerals I’d been forced to suffer through in the past. Emotion threatened to overwhelm, thanks to my condition of hyperthymesia, but I swallowed hard against the lump that formed in my throat.
Myra moved closer and threw her arms around me. “I’m sorry. I know these conditions are not ideal for you.” While her delivery of the sentiment was stiff, I knew it was a big move for her.
I placed a hand on her back, returning the hug. “Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for coming.”
She pulled back. “Okay. I’m going to make sure her release papers are being signed and get her ready to be interviewed.”
“Please tell her that I love her. I’m not going to go in there, because she will want to focus on mourning Steven. With you, she’ll focus on what she needs to tell police.”
“See? Why don’t others get that? You understand the process.”
“I understand the need to tuck away every tragic thing that happens in our lives into their appropriate boxes and sealing those boxes until it’s appropriate to reopen them.”
She hugged me again. “I’m not sure if that’s healthy or not, but in this case it works.” This time, the hug had nothing to do with what we’d been discussing, but as a friend. “I’ve missed you. We need to catch up.”
“I would really like that. For now, though, thank you for helping my only other true friend.”
I made my way to the front entrance of the hospital with one thing on my mind: I needed to get home and examine the crime scene photos. If there was something in them that might help Penelope, I had to find it.
I pushed through the revolving door and exited into what had turned into a gray, cloudy day. I could nearly smell the rain in the air, along with cigarette smoke from a few smokers huddled to my right. One wore a bathrobe, clearly a patient. There always seemed to be a group of smokers taking up residence just outside entrances to hospitals. Did they not understand the irony?
I walked in the opposite direction toward the parking garage.
“Miss Day,” a woman’s voice called behind me.
I turned and watched a familiar woman of average height and shoulder-length blond hair with a perfectly styled wave emerge from the hospital. This was the same female detective who showed up to question Penelope the day before and who I’d seen at Penelope’s house the day after Steven’s murder. She wore khaki cargo pants with a fitted, black quarter zip sweater. Her sidearm—a nine millimeter Glock—hung at her waist like a perfectly chosen fashion accessory.
She held out a hand. “Detective Glenda Fish, KSP. We met at the hospital. I’m lead detective on the Champagne murder.”
I shook her hand, but remained silent.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” She gestured toward a bench away from the smokers.
“Depends on what the questions are,” I answered.
She studied me a moment, smiled, then gestured again to the bench.
All right, I thought. I was curious, after all. I walked to the bench and sat. She did the same.
“I’m told you were friends with Steven and Penelope Champagne.”
“I am a friend to Penelope, and yes, I was a friend to Steven.” She already annoyed me by speaking about Penelope in the past tense.
“When was the last time you saw the two of them?”
“I saw Penelope less than five minutes ago.”
“Before that.”
“Yesterday.”
The detective angled her head, unable to hide her annoyance.
“I talk to Penelope via video chat when I’m traveling. The last time was a little over a week ago.”
“Is it true that you and she chat by video every Friday night?”
I cocked my head, wondering who told her that. “Not every Friday night, but yes, we have tried to touch base once a week. It’s typically on a Friday evening.”
“Were you supposed to speak with her this past Friday night?”
Detective Fish had a pleasant way about her. She was probably very good at her job, but I wasn’t ready to trust her. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but think that her manner of questioning was exactly why people were sometimes tempted to lie to cops. The manner in which she had kept her interview casual, by inviting me to sit on an outside bench, didn’t change the fact that this was quickly turning into a fishing expedition.
But I truly had no reason to be evasive, and if I could help the police get on the right track, I would. Also, it would be simple to locate records of our calls. “Yes, we were supposed to talk.”
“Did you try calling her that night?”
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t answer.”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m told you’ve been out of town—out west—during the past year.”
“I’ve traveled to a lot of places.” I decided she didn’t need to know where I’ve lived and when. At least, I didn’t see how that would help her at this time.
“Where were you Friday night between the hours of eight and eleven p.m.?”
I angled my head. “Are you seriously asking me for an alibi?”
She smiled. “Just doing my job, Miss Day. It’s always nice to rule out anyone who might have had contact with the victim.”
I started to correct her by telling her that there were two victims, but I stopped myself. “I was at home.”
“Home,” she deadpanned. “And where is that, currently?”
“I live in an Airstream. On Friday night, I was parked at the Kentucky Horse Park Campground.”
“Can someone confirm that?”
“I was alone Friday night, but my neighbor at the time might be able to confirm she saw me and/or my truck at my campsite.”
“It must be exciting to travel the country so lightly and live minimally like that.”
While Detective Fish dressed minimally for work, her hair
was curled and styled, and she wore enough makeup, including a rose-colored lipstick, to suggest that she was a bit higher maintenance than someone who traveled the country in a trailer.
“Any more questions, Detective?”
“Just one. Did you send pictures to Penelope and Steven of your travels?”
I fought hard against shifting on the bench—against showing any element of surprise at the question. It was a strange question. I stared at her, angled my head. “No. But you have me curious as to why you would ask that.”
She stood and held out her hand again. “Thank you, Miss Day.”
I also stood and gave her hand a shake. “Why do I feel like I just gave you exactly the information you were after?”
“I have no idea,” she answered. “I’m just trying to get to know the victim and his wife. I’m told you were one of Penelope’s closest friends.”
“Victims,” I corrected after she referred to Steven being the only victim of Friday night’s crime.
“I’m sorry?”
“You said victim. And from where I’m standing, there are two victims.” Detective Fish was quickly moving to the top of the “not-to-be-trusted” list.
ELEVEN
LUKE
We waited until after opening to enter the Spotted Cat. Ethan, who was behind the bar, dumped a large bucket of ice into a stainless steel basin.
He lifted his head as we got closer. And if I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed the moment he winced.
“Hi, Ethan,” I said. “This a good time?”
“Special Agent.” He lifted his head slightly in ‘hello.’ “The bar just opened, and we already have ten tables of customers. No, this isn’t a good time. But I suspect you knew that.”
Cooper stepped closer and flashed his I.D. “Special Agent Cooper Adams.”
Ethan nodded at Coop. He set the bucket aside and wiped his hands on his black apron. “What can I do for the two of you?”
I showed Ethan a photograph of the warden’s wife. “You know her?”
Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3) Page 8