The Lab Test

by Chris Taylor

  “Barber proved quite talkative and for a while, we wondered if we had our man, but he denied any involvement and—”

  “Of course he did!” Franklin exploded, getting to his feet. “What did you expect? A confession?”

  “And then we analyzed the clothing he was wearing on the day of the murders and it came back clean,” Craigdon added, staring at him with a hard expression in his eyes.

  Franklin lowered his gaze. A shiver of unease ran down his spine. He looked for his drink and found it on the low table beside the couch. Taking a healthy mouthful, he breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the burn of alcohol and the way it helped calm his nerves.

  “What about Thompson’s?” he asked quietly. “Have you received those results?”

  “Yes,” Black replied. “They were also clean.”

  “In fact,” Craigdon added, rounding on Franklin. “Yours were the only ones that came back positive for your wife’s blood.”

  Panic fluttered inside Franklin’s gut and turned his mouth dry. “But, of course there was blood on my clothing,” he spluttered. “I tried to haul Sabrina out of the bath. I told you that already. She had so many wounds. The blood was everywhere. I’m surprised I wasn’t covered in it.”

  “Yes,” Craigdon murmured, his eyes still narrowed on Franklin. “So were we.”

  Franklin bristled at the implied threat that glinted in the detective’s eyes. The gall of the man. Franklin decided to call his bluff. If the police truly had enough on him to arrest him, they’d have done it by now. There would have been no pussyfooting around with questions about his mother and Ben and Dani. The handcuffs would have come out the moment he’d opened the door.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Detective? If you have something to say to me, I suggest you say it now.”

  The two men faced off with each other. As each moment passed, Franklin’s temper rose. He was a partner at Sydney’s most prestigious law firm. He represented only the best. People paid thousands of dollars for his services and they were more than happy to do it. In fact, they felt privileged to do it; honored to be among the chosen few. He’d be damned if some upstart of a detective, out to make a name for himself, would intimidate him.

  The sound of a phone ringing broke the tension. Craigdon glanced at his colleague, who tugged out a cell phone. Turning away from them, he answered the call. Franklin returned to the couch and finished his drink. A few moments, later, Black turned back to them.

  “We have to go,” he said to Craigdon and then turned to Franklin. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I need Angel Lockhart’s contact details,” Craigdon said and handed Franklin a notepad and pen.

  “I only have a cell number,” he said.

  “That’s fine,” Craigdon replied.

  Franklin jotted down the number and handed the notepad and pen back to the detective. The fact that he was able to give them the number from memory earned him another narrow-eyed look.

  He cursed silently under his breath. It was another stupid mistake. He should have at least made a show of having to look it up. Once again, he’d put the detectives off side. He clenched his jaw and hoped his lapse wouldn’t prove fatal.

  “We’ll be in touch, Mr Cook,” Detective Black murmured as both men let themselves out.

  “You know where to find me,” Franklin replied, keeping up the show of bravado.

  The door closed behind them and he collapsed against the couch in relief. The interrogation was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dani glanced at the clock on the wall opposite her workstation and tugged off her latex gloves. It was time for her break and she intended to make good use of it by phoning Detective Craigdon. She was still fuming over the knowledge he’d questioned Ben a second time about her alibi. As if she could even contemplate murdering her sister and baby niece, let alone carry through with it! The very thought was unthinkable and utterly repulsive.

  Slipping out of the lab, she headed downstairs to the coffee shop situated on the ground floor of her building. She grabbed a cappuccino and continued past the information desk, waved to the elderly volunteers manning the area and then walked out into the afternoon sunshine. Finding a spot beneath the shade of a large magnolia tree, she stretched out on the grass. She tugged out her cell, taking care not to spill her coffee. The anger she’d felt when Ben told her about Jett Craigdon’s recent visit reignited the moment the detective answered the phone.

  “Detective Craigdon.”

  “Detective, it’s Danielle Porter.”

  “Danielle. What can I do for you?”

  His tone was polite, if not a little distant. Her anger boiled over. “This is not a social call, Detective Craigdon.” In contrast to the heat that flooded her every pore, her tone was as cold as ice.

  “Okay,” came the far more cautious reply.

  “Ben Fitzgerald told me about your visit. It seems as though I’m once again on your suspect list.”

  “You’re assuming you were ever actually off it,” came the mild response.

  Her eyes burned with anger. “How can you be so dense?” she cried. “You’re wasting precious time! I’m not the one who did this! I could never do something so awful! She was my sister! My baby sister!”

  Her voice cracked with the force of her emotions and she cursed beneath her breath. She didn’t want to sound distressed and out of control. She wanted to be the voice of reason. No matter what she said, he didn’t understand and it was tearing her up inside. He was wasting time double checking her alibi when the real killer was walking free. She wanted to scream out her frustration, pound her fists against something hard. Anything, to take away this feeling of helplessness and dread she’d been carrying around since the murders.

  As if sensing her precarious emotional state, the detective’s voice gentled. “We’re working around the clock on this, Ms Porter. I’m sorry that, so far, it hasn’t been enough, but we’re making progress. My colleague felt it necessary to reinterview Mr Fitzgerald. We’ve also spoken to your brother-in-law again.”

  She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “About the phone call he apparently made to his mother?”

  “Yes, that and other things.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told us he panicked and gave us what he thought would pass by unnoticed. He was a little upset when I told him you were the one who told us his mother was dead.”

  Dani closed her eyes briefly on a quiet sigh. Great. Now Franklin was pissed at her. Just what she needed. Still, he shouldn’t have said something so stupid. He should have told the truth.

  “What was he feeling panicked about? Who was he speaking to?” she asked, curious.

  There was a brief pause, as if the detective was debating about what to tell her. A moment later, he replied. “He received a call from his mistress. At least, that’s what he said.”

  Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. Her mouth opened and closed. She blinked rapidly, trying to take it in. The very thought seemed unbelievable.

  “Bullshit,” she replied. “I don’t believe it.”

  “That’s up to you,” the detective murmured. “We got the information directly from your brother-in-law. He gave us her name and her cell phone number.”

  “Have you called her? Spoken to her to verify what he said?”

  “We’ve tried. The number’s currently not in service. We went back to your brother-in-law. He told us she must be out of credit on her phone.”

  Dani shook her head slowly back and forth, still stunned at the revelation. A mistress seemed so out of character for Franklin. Dani didn’t want to believe it, but according to the detective, it was true. She thought of Franklin’s demands for a paternity test and her anger flared back to life.

  “How long’s it been going on?” she said.

  “Your brother-in-law said he’d been seeing Ms Lockhart since before he and Sabrina were married. Of course, until we speak to the woman, we won’t know if
that’s the truth.”

  Another wave of fury surged through her. “The bastard! I don’t believe it! To think he had the hide to accuse Sabrina of cheating! What an asshole!”

  She shook her head again, her anger at Franklin far from done. “His accusation devastated my sister. She was overwrought that he could think her capable of such deceit. And all this time, the asshole’s been keeping a mistress. The dishonesty of it! The hypocrisy! I’m just grateful Sabrina isn’t alive to hear it.”

  “He said your sister knew about the arrangement. Besides, you’re not exactly in a position to judge him,” the detective said in a cool voice.

  Dani’s heart skipped a beat and then galloped hard against the wall of her chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I put your name into the system. It came up with a hit. Two separate charges for prostitution. Not exactly the clean-living, girl-next-door image you portray. Does your employer know about your past?”

  Another wall of shock crashed into her. She gasped and tried to respond, but no words were forthcoming. It was like her brain had forgotten how to function. She didn’t know what to say.

  The detective’s quiet announcement hammered inside her mind. She bowed her head, awash with embarrassment and shame.

  “You are Danielle Veronica Porter, born June eighteen, 1988, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, all the fight gone out of her.

  “So, there’s no mistake. It’s you.”

  The disappointment in the detective’s voice made her feel even worse. She didn’t know why she cared what he thought, but the truth was, she did. He was the first man who’d ever stirred something inside her, something that made her yearn to get to know him better.

  She’d lost count of the number of men she’d been with as a teen, searching for something she hadn’t received at home, but none of them had touched her heart. She’d used them as much as they’d used her. They might have known her body, but none of them got inside her head…or her heart.

  It was different with the detective. There was a goodness and kindness in him she’d sensed right from their first meeting and he was sinfully good looking. For all his crazy ideas, including her being responsible for the murders, he was only doing his job, investigating every possibility. She couldn’t blame him for that. In fact, she admired his dedication. He was just the kind of officer she wanted looking into the murders of her sister and niece.

  “Is there somewhere we can meet to talk about this?”

  The quiet words were out of her mouth before she realized, but she didn’t take them back. All of a sudden, she wanted to explain to him about the charges, about her unsavory past. She didn’t want him continuing to think what he no doubt already was. Whether her explanation would change his mind, she wouldn’t know, but she wanted the chance to try.

  “I guess so,” came the uncertain reply. “My shift finishes at six. I was planning to put in some overtime, but I guess I can spare you an hour or two. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds great,” she replied, breathing a silent sigh of relief. At the same time, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his company again.

  “I could meet you at the Commodore Hotel in North Sydney. Would that be all right?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  Dani slipped her phone back in her pocket with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. In a couple of hours, she’d be facing Jett Craigdon across a table and disclosing the sordid details of her past. The sudden urge to call him back and cancel was almost overwhelming, but she drew in a deep breath and resisted.

  The upmarket bar was not far from where she lived. She finished work in an hour. It would take her another thirty minutes to get home. If she hurried, she’d have time to shower and change before the appointed time.

  Her heart tripped over in anticipation and she frowned. The sexy detective had given her no indication he found her attractive or that he had even the slightest interest. She needed to rein in her excitement. After he heard what she had to say, he’d probably want nothing to do with her. Any possible interest would be snuffed out before it sparked.

  The thought was depressing, but now that she’d set things in motion, she was determined to see it through. She liked him and if there were even the slightest chance there might one day be something between them, he needed to know the truth.

  * * *

  Jett glanced at his watch and swiveled on the barstool to check the entrance to the Commodore Hotel. He’d arrived at the bar right on the dot of six, but Danielle was nowhere in sight.

  The barman placed a Budweiser in front of him and Jett turned back to the bar. Handing over some money, he murmured his thanks and lifted the bottle to his lips, relishing the icy cold brew. The December day had brought with it warm summer temperatures and he sweated beneath his suit. He’d come straight from work, not wanting to be late and he only hoped he didn’t stink.

  Looking around, he noted the other patrons scattered around the hotel. The building had been refurbished and the curved, brightly lit lime green bar and dark wooden furniture gave the place a modern, classy feel. There were plenty of other professional types in suits, filling tables and standing in groups of twos and threes, all talking and laughing and drinking, winding down after a long day at work.

  The doors to the hotel opened and he glanced over his shoulder and saw her. She looked to the left and then to the right, searching for him. He took the time to study her and was pleased with what he saw.

  She wore a halter dress that was knotted behind her neck. The soft, filmy fabric floated over her rounded hips and kissed the tops of her knees. She wore red high heels that matched the color of her dress and set off her dark hair and olive-toned skin. Her small waist was made even tinier with the assistance of a wide gold belt that also had the effect of emphasizing her more than generous breasts.

  She turned in his direction and caught sight of him at the bar. Her eyes widened with recognition and her mouth turned up in a nervous smile. A swarm of butterflies fluttered in his gut and all of a sudden, he felt like a teenager on his first date.

  He made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat. This was ridiculous. They weren’t on a date. This wasn’t anything like a date. They’d met through horrible circumstances. The person who’d killed her sister and niece was still on the loose and he was responsible for finding him. They’d agreed to meet so that she could explain her past. That was all. As if two separate charges of prostitution didn’t say it all.

  “H-hi,” she stammered.

  A blush crept up her cheeks. Her nervousness helped ease his and he indicated the empty seat beside him. “What are you drinking?”

  “Um, I’ll have a lime and soda,” she said and then murmured her thanks to the barman when he placed the drink before her.

  She reached for her purse, but Jett stayed her movement and handed over a few more bills.

  “Thank you,” she murmured again, this time in his direction. She took a sip of her drink.

  She was even more beautiful up close and did his best not to stare. She wore eye shadow and mascara and her lips were a bright cherry red. Her hair was loose and flowed in curly waves around her shoulders. He’d only ever seen her in person with her hair up on her head, secured in an uncompromising bun. Though the severe hairstyle hadn’t detracted from her beauty, he liked the relaxed look better.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, she turned and offered him another shaky smile. Awareness shot through him and heat centered in his groin. His hand tightened around the Budweiser and he took a quick gulp, needing the distraction and fortification the alcohol could bring.

  “Should we get a table?” she asked, looking around.

  “Sure,” Jett agreed. Given that she was here to explain her past, a little privacy was called for. “Follow me.”

  He picked up his beer and threaded his way through the throng of people. Danielle followed close behind. H
e found a vacant table in a far corner of the room, partly concealed by a large potted plant, and pulled out a chair. She murmured her thanks, and took a seat.

  Now that the moment was upon them, nerves once again swarmed in his gut. Her brother-in-law had spoken about her past in less than flattering terms and two decade-old charges for prostitution didn’t bode well, but it was obvious she’d turned her life around. She was a university graduate and held down a responsible job. He wanted to hear from her how her life had once been so far off course.

  She lifted her glass and in three quick swallows, emptied the rest of her drink. He made no comment, merely braced himself for what he was about to hear.

  “I was born to drunken, no-good parents who never earned the right to be called Mom and Dad. Jim and Gladys Porter couldn’t care less about their kids. Thank God they stopped at me and Sabrina. It was bad enough for the two of us. Why they bothered with any kids at all, is beyond me. They did nothing but yell and shout and criticize. As the oldest, I bore the brunt of their discontent.”

  Jett saw the pain and anger in her eyes and remained silent. After a moment, she continued.

  “My parents were drunk more times than they were sober. There were always debt collectors at our door. I began to spend more and more time away from home, walking the train line, wishing I was somewhere else. Then I went through puberty and my life took another turn.”

  Jett’s fingers tightened around the neck of his beer, but he forced himself to show no outward sign of his turmoil. She’d grown up in a household that was the antithesis of his. He struggled to imagine what it must have been like to be raised without love, respect and acceptance.

  “Almost overnight, I grew hips, buttocks and boobs,” she continued in a voice that was calm and detached. “Boys flocked to me at school. They wanted to ask me out. Before then, I’d been nothing more than the poor white trash that lived on the wrong side of town.

  “I was flattered by the attention. It was the first time I’d ever received praise. It didn’t matter to me that their comments were directed at my physical attributes. I craved attention of any kind. And so, I learned to encourage it and pretty soon, I was hanging out in bars on the edge of town. I was fifteen but could pass for much older. Nobody cared too much for ID.”