The Scent of Lies

by Debra Burroughs

  There was a sharp knock at the door and one of the officers opened it. It was the county medical examiner, Dr. Walters, and a two-person crime unit from Boise, there to do the initial inspection of the body and a full inspection of the crime scene.

  “I hope you haven’t let people trample through the murder scene, Ernie,” Dr. Walters warned.

  “No, Doc, I think it’s pretty well intact.”

  “You think?” Dr. Walters challenged. “These small town cops,” he mumbled under his breath as he ducked under the tape. “Any idea where the murder weapon is?”

  “On the dining table,” Officer Donnelly answered, motioning toward the dining room.

  “Did you touch it, Officer?” Dr. Walters asked.

  “No. That’s where it was when we got here.”

  While the medical examiner and the CSI unit set about processing the body and the scene, Detective Andrews motioned for everyone else to move toward the foot of the staircase in the foyer.

  “Ms. McCall, I’ll need you to come down to the police station with me for further questioning,” the detective ordered.

  “Only if I can be in the room with her,” Alex clarified.

  “Of course,” Colin acquiesced, with a patronizing smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He would rather question her without her attorney present, hopefully get her to confess, but he knew Alex was never going to let that happen.

  “You know this lawyer?” Ernie whispered in Colin’s ear.

  “Yes. I’ll explain later,” he whispered back.

  “I don’t understand, Detective Andrews, I—” Delia started to say.

  “That’s enough, Delia, please. Let me do the talking,” Alex warned.

  “But the officers already asked me a lot of questions, Alex. I’ve already told them what happened. I did not kill my husband.”

  “From the evidence so far, ma’am, it looks like you are my prime suspect,” Colin noted.

  “Don’t worry, Delia,” Emily said, putting an arm around her shoulders, shooting Colin a cold stare. “We’ll help you through this.”

  “All right,” Delia replied, throwing up her hands in surrender.

  “We’ll meet you down at the station after Ms. McCall gets dressed, if you don’t mind, Detective,” Emily remarked, apparently the only one who noticed Delia was still in her robe.

  “I’d rather she came with us, so I’ll wait while she changes,” Colin said. “Officer Sanchez, please escort Ms. McCall up to her room and stay with her.”

  “You don’t believe she’ll come to the station on her own?” Alex asked, raising his eyebrows at Colin.

  “She’s a woman with a lot of money and contacts. If she wanted to, I think she could disappear while we’re sitting down at the station, twiddling our thumbs, waiting for her.” Colin had seen suspects run many times in his years on the force in San Francisco, particularly suspects with means.

  “I don’t have a lot of money, Detective. Everything I have is mortgaged to the hilt because of the business,” Delia argued in her defense. “The house, the commercial property—everything!”

  “Calm down, Delia. Let me handle this,” Alex told her. “I promise you, Colin, she’s not going anywhere. She’s as anxious as you are to get this over with. Aren’t you, Delia?” Alex asked.

  “You have no idea,” she replied, eyeing the detective as she pulled her robe tighter around her chest. She turned and grabbed hold of the banister, beginning to climb the stairs. “I’m more than happy to come down to the station, Detective, as soon as I put some clothes on,” she explained, leaving everyone else waiting in the foyer.

  “We’ll bring her down to the station, Colin. You have our word,” Alex said and Colin nodded his agreement.

  “You don’t have to treat her like a criminal, you know.” Emily spoke to Colin with her arms crossed and a sharpness lining her voice.

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. If you had any experience at all, you’d know I’m treating her like a murder suspect.”

  Chapter 9

  They all headed down to the police station and once inside, Colin escorted Delia into one of the interrogation rooms, with Alex close behind, leaving Emily to pace outside in the hall.

  Delia said that she had never been inside a police station before, let alone being taken into an interrogation room suspected of murder. She was sure the glazed look of terror she must have had in her eyes as she walked through the station would confirm it.

  Seated across the table from Delia and her attorney, Colin read her rights then proceeded to pepper her with questions.

  “Your housekeeper said that you and your husband often fight—about money and other women. Is that true?” the detective asked.

  “Don’t answer that,” Alex told her.

  “She also said there was a woman who came to the house while you were upstairs supposedly taking a long bath. Were you aware of that?”

  “Don’t answer that.”

  Colin was undeterred. “Marcela said the other woman and your husband were arguing over their affair.”

  With that comment, Delia felt like someone had just slapped her across the face. She had hired an investigator to find the woman Ricardo had been cheating with and there she was, standing in her house, right before her husband was killed.

  “Why aren’t you talking to her, then?” Delia blinked back her tears.

  “Because we don’t know who she is,” Colin answered. “Do you?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Dark hair to her shoulders, about five six, maybe late twenties or early thirties. Ring any bells?”

  Delia shook her head.

  “That description could fit a lot of women,” Alex answered.

  “Did you know your husband was having an affair?” Colin questioned.

  “Don’t answer that.” At least Alex was consistent.

  “Did you kill your husband because he was cheating on you?”

  “I did not kill my husband!”

  “Please, Delia, stop.” Alex put a hand on her shoulder.

  Delia felt compelled to answer, to defend herself, in spite of Alex’s repeat warnings.

  He reminded the detective that she had already given her statement at the house and she had nothing else to say. Alex rose from his chair. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Colin countered.

  “My client has nothing more to say.”

  “I suspect she does have more to say.” Colin leaned both hands on the table and stared into her eyes. “She just doesn’t want to tell me.”

  “That’s enough, Detective,” Alex cautioned.

  Delia bit her lip, struggling to maintain her silence as Colin watched, looking ready to pounce—he did. “I think she wants to tell me her husband was a lying, cheating scum bag and he had it coming.”

  “He got what he deserved,” she blurted out, “he just didn’t get it from me.”

  “This has been very stressful on my client and I’m taking her home now,” Alex said, helping Delia to her feet.

  Detective Andrews looked like he wished Alex wasn’t there to restrain her from talking. He appeared as though he thought her feelings were ready to boil over and spill out—like a big-city cop who wasn’t about to let a small town socialite get the better of him. Alex’s warnings to Delia for her to remain tight-lipped had definitely foiled the detective’s hopes to draw a confession out of her.

  With Alex at her side, Delia took a step toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave, Ms. McCall. You refuse to answer my questions, so you leave me no choice. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Ricardo Vega. Please put your hands behind your back.”

  “But I didn’t kill him! I’m innocent,” she screamed at the detective. “Alex! Don’t let him do this!”

  “This is totally uncalled for,” Alex protested in her defense. “You’re making a big mistake. All your evidence is circumstantial. You know it
won’t hold up in court.” Alex spoke indignantly, his lips becoming thin and a vein pulsing in his neck. “While you’re wasting time arresting my client, Colin, the real killer is out there getting away with it,” Alex argued, his arms making wide sweeping motions.

  “That’s Detective Andrews, and I’m just doing my job. You need to calm down, Counselor.” Their eyes met for a moment, as if daring the other to flinch. “You won’t let her answer my questions, she’s not cooperating, and she was found holding the murder weapon leaning over her husband’s dead body. You tell me, what choice do I have?”

  Delia’s eyes were wide and watery, and her brow furrowed, as she silently screamed her fear, glaring at Alex, begging for his help. The officer pulled her arms behind her back to cuff her. “Ouch!” Delia cried as he clamped the handcuffs on her delicate wrists.

  Emily was resting on a bench in the hall now, no longer pacing, but she shot to her feet when the door opened and Colin walked out with a handcuffed Delia and a defeated-looking Alex. He walked her down the hall and Emily hustled to catch up with them.

  “What’s happening? What are you doing, Colin?” she questioned frantically.

  “I’m taking your client to booking. She’s under arrest for murder.” He pulled Delia past Emily, not stopping to talk.

  Delia looked to Emily as Colin escorted her through a door where Emily and Alex could not follow. “I’m innocent, Emily. Please, find out who did this!”

  “I will, I promise.” Delia heard Emily call out after her as the door shut and she was gone.

  * * *

  “Alex?” Emily questioned, searching his eyes for answers.

  “They’re taking her to booking. Since it’s a Sunday night, she won’t be arraigned until Monday morning.”

  “She has to spend the night in jail?”

  “I’m afraid so, but I’ll be in court with her tomorrow, and I’ll ask the judge for bail. With any luck, she’ll be home by that afternoon. If you’re the praying sort, I’d suggest you start now.”

  “That’s doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not. If we don’t find out who the real killer is, she might go to prison for a very long time.”

  Emily nodded in agreement.

  “I have to be honest with you, Em. I’m not convinced you’re up to the job. We both know you don’t have much experience at this sort of work.”

  “Now you sound like Colin.”

  “Maybe he’s right.”

  “I can do this, Alex. Just give me a chance.”

  “I know you’ve already put in some time working on the case investigating Ricardo, and Delia says she wants you on it, but I have some real concerns. So tell me now if you have any doubts. I have other more experienced investigators I can call.”

  “No. I’m up to it. Right now, helping you with this case is my top priority—there’s nothing more important. I know I can do this, Alex.”

  “All right then, Emily, we have our work cut out for us.”

  She took Alex home, driving down the wide, winding streets in his posh neighborhood of River Woods. They found the cars were gone from the driveway and the street in front of his house was empty. It was past ten o’clock and all the guests had apparently gone home. She pulled her car into his driveway.

  “Thank you for coming with me, Alex. I don’t know what Delia would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

  “No need to thank me. It was your quick thinking that brought me into this.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “I’ll find out first thing tomorrow morning when she’s being arraigned, and I’ll be in court with her. I’m hoping to convince the judge to release her on bail.”

  “Did you get a look at the housekeeper’s statement?” Emily asked.

  “Not yet. I expect to get that on Monday, as well. But Colin did mention a few things from it, like there was another woman at the house while Delia was in her bathroom, arguing with Ricardo over their affair.”

  “And Delia didn’t know?”

  “No, she looked as surprised by the news as I was, maybe more so. Colin said, according to the housekeeper’s statement, that the woman was late twenties or early thirties, about five six or seven, with long dark hair.”

  “That sounds like Delia’s assistant, Anna.”

  “You’ve met her assistant?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it was her. Sounds like a pretty average description. That would describe your own wife, for instance.”

  “I guess you’re right, but we should check that assistant out all the same.”

  “Consider it done,” she assured him.

  “I’d like to question the housekeeper myself, if I could find her,” he remarked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure they’re not letting her stay at Delia’s house right now. I expect they have it sealed off as a crime scene.”

  “I’ll do some snooping around and see if I can find her,” she said.

  Alex opened the car door and slid out. “I’ll call you in the morning and let you know what time the arraignment is scheduled. Go home and get some rest while you can.”

  As she drove away, Emily thought about poor Delia, sitting alone in a stark jail cell. According to her, Ricardo was alive when she went upstairs, so someone had to have killed him while she was up there. But who? Who would have gotten in the house? The police said there was no sign of forced entry, so was it someone he knew? And why? Maybe he was into something dangerous and someone was after him. Maybe some sort of deal he was involved with went south.

  By the time she got home, Emily’s stomach was grumbling loudly in protest to her missing dinner. Delia had called before she’d gotten the chance to eat anything at Isabel’s party. She took a box dinner out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave. Standing in front of the oven, she watched her dinner spin around just like the questions that were spinning in her head.

  The microwave beeped, jerking her out of her thoughts. She grabbed a tea towel and removed the hot dish, then moved to the table to eat. But as soon as she sat down, she noticed the photo from the safe deposit box lying on the table. Emily studied it for a minute. “He looks so young,” she muttered, staring at Evan’s engaging blue eyes and that sexy, crooked smile.

  How long ago was this picture taken, and who was this woman? Evan obviously knew her well—he had his arm around her and they looked happy. Was she a friend or a relative? A cousin maybe?

  Emily’s mind was such a jumble of questions that she hardly realized she had devoured her entire dinner without really tasting it. She pushed the plastic plate aside and concentrated on the photo, propping her head on one hand. Maybe she was an old girlfriend? If so, why would he have kept it in that safe deposit box? Or could he have had a wife before he married me? No. If that were the case he would have told me, I know it—Emily shot up straight in her chair—then again, maybe not.

  From the items she found in the safe deposit box, there were obviously a lot of things he hadn’t told her. Besides wondering who this woman was, she was starting to wonder who Evan really was.

  When they had first met about six years ago, she had just graduated from Georgetown University with a degree in US History. She had intended to teach high school, but teaching jobs in the Washington, D.C. area had been scarce. So she had waited tables in a restaurant near Alexandria, Virginia, to pay the bills until the right job came along.

  Evan had wandered into the restaurant one afternoon for a late lunch and they’d struck up a conversation. He’d come back a few more times before he had finally asked her out. She’d happily said yes, and they began to date. Before long they fell in love, over picnics on the grass in the Capital Mall and during late night dinners at out-of-the-way restaurants.

  He worked as a private investigator, he had told her, and sometimes his job took him away for a week or two at a time. Some of his clients, he had said, were corporations with offices in other cities around the world and he had to travel b
ecause of it.

  She’d never met any of his family members. He’d said he didn’t have any. The story was that he’d grown up in England, as an only child, and that his parents had died in a car crash when he was about eighteen. After that, he’d come to America, to find his fame and fortune, as he put it. She’d never questioned him, she’d trusted him implicitly—but now she wondered if it had all been a lie.

  Maybe she had been too trusting. Maybe she should have asked more questions. Certainly when you decide to give someone your whole heart you give them your unwavering trust, as well—don’t you? She couldn’t overlook the missing diamond ring, however, or the suspicious contents of the secret safe deposit box. She let out a long, loud sigh. Emily didn’t know what to think.

  She changed into her pajamas, got ready for bed, and switched off her lamp. She laid her head on the pillow, but her thoughts and emotions were roiling. As with most nights lately, Emily tossed and turned for hours, not able to quiet her mind long enough to drift off to sleep. The questions kept coming at her, no matter how hard she tried to fight them off.

  Glancing at the alarm clock on the night table, it was glowing three thirty-five. Emily dragged herself out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make a cup of warm milk. As she waited for it to warm in the microwave, she picked up the photo again and studied the woman’s face. Then she noticed the building in the background. It looked old, like the ancient buildings in Europe. She wondered where the photo had been taken. More questions would do nothing to help her get to sleep, she realized, so she set the photo back down and picked up the warm milk.

  Chapter 10

  Emily stood perched on the edge of a precipice, figuratively speaking, about to embark on a frightening and exciting new phase of her life. She needed to find out who killed her client’s husband, and why, and at the same time she was desperate to discover who murdered her own.

  She lay in bed and wondered if maybe the two were connected somehow. Was Evan killed because he was getting too close to uncovering the truth about Ricardo and what he may have been into? Did Ricardo kill Evan? If so, then who killed Ricardo?