“Yes. Thanks for calling me.”
Detective Richards asked his other questions, most of which Sam couldn’t answer.
When he finished, he stood. “Usually, when we find a dead girl in an alley, she’s a prostitute. But we haven’t come up with a rap sheet for Heather Riddell, and she wasn’t dressed like a hooker. Plus, the fancy car and the silencer lead me to believe this was more than a john who couldn’t come up with the money after the fun was over.”
His bluntness should have bothered Sam, but she was so tired she probably wouldn’t have understood if he’d tried to sugarcoat it.
“I’ll have an officer drive you to your car so you can go home and get some rest. Tomorrow you can come in and look through the mug books. Maybe something will jog your memory.”
She nodded, hoping he was right.
Nikki helped her up. She felt stiff from sitting so long. Detective Richards called for a patrol car to take her to the pizza shop where her car was parked. She and Nikki sat silently in the backseat like they were guilty of something.
Sam was guilty.
She should have thought more quickly. She should have used her phone to get a photo of the man or the license plate, but she’d panicked and blown it.
As she stared out the window, berating herself, a Metrobus came up next to them at a stoplight. She just about threw up. The man in the photo on the side of the bus…
Oh my God.
He was the killer.
Chapter Three
Sam had seen the man before. He’d been in every other commercial for months. He was running for reelection to Congress. Apparently, it was a tight race, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him in the alley right away.
It was so obvious now, but her mind had most likely rejected the idea that a United States congressman would shoot a woman in cold blood in an alley behind a pizzeria. Or maybe she was so exhausted her mind was playing tricks on her.
Nikki looked back and forth between Sam and the bus, no doubt noticing she’d frozen as she looked at the bus. “What?” she asked.
Sam shook her head, glancing at the officer who couldn’t care less what they were talking about. She needed to think it through before she accused a government official of murder. The officer dropped them off at the restaurant, and Anthony came out from his upstairs apartment to check on her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need some sleep.”
“Take tomorrow off. I’ll cover your shift.”
“No. I’d rather come in.” Not only did she not want to sit at home thinking about all the things she couldn’t do to save Heather, she also couldn’t afford to give up the paycheck.
“If you’re sure. You’ve been through quite a shock.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Anthony.” She gave him a wave as she slid into the passenger seat of her car so Nikki could drive her home.
“So, what was that about in the police car?” Nikki asked immediately. “You looked terrified by that bus.”
“It was him,” Sam said quietly, still not believing it was true. She hadn’t lied before. She hadn’t remembered the man’s face when she was being questioned. But seeing the photo jogged her memory. Or had the bus created the memory? No. She knew it was him.
She remembered the way his hair fell across his forehead when he bent over to grab Heather and pull her across the pavement. She remembered the sharp profile of his nose.
Now that she had time to think without the pressure of being questioned it was all coming back to her.
“Who?”
“Congressman Howe. He was the man in the alley. The man who shot that girl.”
Nikki gaped at her incredulously. “Ashton Howe? You think a congressman shot someone?”
It sounded even more ridiculous when her friend said it out loud than it had in her own head. But however ridiculous it sounded, it was still true.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Don’t you think he would have people to do that kind of thing for him? Like a henchman or something? He wouldn’t risk his career by doing the dirty work himself,” Nikki pointed out.
“I don’t know why he did it. I just know he did. It was him. I swear.”
“Okay, relax.” Nikki held up her hand and let out a breath. “You’re exhausted. And—” Nikki stalled.
“And what?”
“Anthony told me about the text from Lance. I’m sorry.” Nik sighed and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Shit. Sam had forgotten all about Lance. Her wrecked love life didn’t matter in comparison with a dead woman.
Nikki parked too far from the curb, but Sam didn’t complain. She wanted to crawl into bed and close her eyes to block out the things she didn’t want to see or think about.
“Things will be clearer in the morning,” Nikki suggested as they walked up to Sam’s apartment. “I’ll sleep on the couch, in case you need me.”
Once inside, Sam dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt before crawling into bed, still shivering.
She lay there for over an hour, trying to fall asleep. Every time her eyes closed, she imagined him there in her bedroom with that long gun of his. She heard the gunshots and bolted up, panting and gasping for air.
Finally, she gave up, went out in the living room, and curled up on the recliner, terrified of her bedroom because every shadow was his smiling face…as it had been on the side of the bus.
When she woke up the next day, it was nearly noon. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so long. It was a good thing she didn’t have to go into the office today.
Despair swept through her as everything that had happened the night before came back in a rush. She didn’t even have a moment of confusion or disorientation to give her a tiny second’s peace. The memories simply snapped back into place the instant she woke.
She ate lunch, fixed her hair, and put on lipstick before she left to go back to the police station. Not that she cared what they thought, but because it was Saturday, and she was alive. There was nothing like seeing death close up to make a person want to feel alive.
She called Nikki before going in, hoping her friend might offer some helpful advice. During the drive, she’d been planning what she would say. Basically, she’d decided to walk in there and tell them who the killer was, and let them take it from there.
“Don’t say anything about Howe,” Nikki said firmly.
Her friend’s advice wasn’t just unhelpful, it was illegal.
“Of course I have to say something. One of our congressmen is a murderer. I pay taxes. My tax money could have paid for that gun,” Sam said, appalled.
“Please. You’re a newspaper sales rep who works part-time at a pizza place,” Nikki scoffed. “I’m just saying, even if you’re right and it was him, what do you think will happen? Do you think the police will be able to do anything?”
“They sure can’t do anything if they don’t know.”
“What if he comes after you to shut you up?” Nikki whispered. She liked to joke around, but Sam could tell she was serious.
She swallowed as she thought it over. The whole scenario should have seemed preposterous. And it would have, if she hadn’t seen a woman murdered right in front of her.
“I have to do the right thing,” she said.
“The right thing for who?” Nikki demanded. “The girl who is already dead and can’t be hurt anymore? What about the right thing for you, Sam? What about the safe thing?”
“I have to go. I’ll call you tonight.” Sam didn’t want to get into an argument. Nikki was only trying to keep her safe. She knew that.
“I’ll stop by when you get off work. We’ll drink until you’ve forgotten all about this,” Nikki promised.
Sam didn’t think it was possible, but she was up for trying.
After hanging up, she took a deep, cleansing breath, squared her shoulders, and walked into the police station, determined to help bri
ng Heather Riddell’s killer to justice.
The station appeared different in the daylight. Less gloomy, but just as in need of fresh paint as the night before.
Detective Richards came out and greeted her with a small smile. He was probably close to the age her father would have been.
“Thanks for coming in again. Have a seat.” Richards gestured toward his office. She took the same seat she’d spent hours in the night before. The chair groaned when she sat, as if it remembered her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Okay.” She was doing far better than Heather Riddell.
“Did you remember anything about the man?” He asked the big question.
Sam nodded, but said nothing else. Nikki’s warning played over and over in her head.
“Good. I have some pictures I want you to look at. I’ll get a sketch artist—”
She shook her head and cut him off. “I don’t need a mug book or a sketch artist. I know who he is.” Her voice didn’t sound near as confident as she wanted.
The detective’s eyebrows rose. “You do?”
“Yes. You know him, too.” She twisted her fingers as he waited, his brow now creasing. She opened her mouth to do the right thing. To tell the truth. Her whole life, she’d been told that things would always get worse if she lied about them.
She heard Nikki’s voice in her head. What if he comes after you to shut you up? It was a valid question, but the answer still came back the same.
She had to tell the truth.
Chapter Four
“It was Congressman Ashton Howe,” Sam said clearly, so there would be no confusion. She was sure of her answer, even when the detective frowned and looked up at the stained ceiling.
“Congressman Howe?” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Last night you said you didn’t remember his face. Certainly, you would have recognized him then.”
“I didn’t realize it was him until I saw his picture on the side of a bus on the way home. Then I put it together.”
Richards pressed his lips into a tight line and laced his fingers together on top of his desk. “It’s not uncommon to see someone in the same clothing, and put their face into the slot your mind is trying to fill,” he said softly. “You saw a man in a suit. Then you saw Congressman Howe, and it fit.”
It made sense, but she knew it hadn’t happened like that. “No. It fit because it was him. I’m sure of it.”
“You’re sure of it? Last night, you couldn’t even remember his hair color.”
“You told me to go home and relax so it would come to me. It did. It’s him. I’m certain.”
“Okay. Calm down.”
She hadn’t realized she’d leaned over his desk and was halfway out of her seat. She backed off.
“Let me check on a few things,” he said. “Stay here.”
He walked to the first desk outside his office and leaned down to talk to a lady in a sweater that was too tight. The woman nodded and picked up the phone on her desk.
The detective continued down the line of desks and stopped at a cubicle near the back wall. He gestured while he talked, and then left, disappearing into another room.
He returned to his office and set a cup in front of her. “Coffee?” He dropped a pile of creamers and sugar packets on the desk. She picked up the cup and sipped it black. He seemed to approve of her choice.
“So, the girl last night—”
“Heather Riddell,” Sam said in a shaky voice.
“Yes. Heather.” He set his cup down. “She was a twenty-six-year-old paralegal and a single mother. She dropped her son off with her mother and went to meet this man last night.” He pulled a photo from a manila folder. “She was introduced to him through an online dating site. His name is Kenneth Holden. Does he look familiar?”
Other than the fact he resembled the congressman, he didn’t look familiar. Her stomach felt a little queasy. She shook her head. “No.”
“We went to Holden’s house to talk to him. It doesn’t look like he came home last night, nor did he show up at work today. He’s in the wind.”
She didn’t realize real detectives used that term. She thought it was just on television.
“He drives a black Mercury, and his assistant said he was wearing a black suit yesterday,” Richards said hopefully. She guessed he was sharing all this so she would see the writing on the wall and tell him she was wrong. But she couldn’t do that.
“It wasn’t this man. It was Ashton Howe.” She realized how desperate she sounded. But she wasn’t going to back down. The truth was the truth.
Detective Richards sighed as if he hadn’t slept in ages. “Heather had plans to meet Kenneth Holden last night. He has a car that matches the description you gave, and he was wearing a dark suit. He also owns a handgun. Now, he’s missing.”
She met the detective’s steady gaze. If he was going to try to push her into an alternate version of the truth, she was going to push back. “Did he pack his things?”
“No. But if he shot Heather in the heat of the moment, he might not risk showing up at his house to get his belongings.”
She asked what she thought was the next logical question. “Did he withdraw any money?”
“He hasn’t removed anything from his main account or used any cards. We’re looking into other accounts.” The detective rubbed his head, looking slightly annoyed. Maybe he wasn’t used to having his skills questioned.
But she was just as annoyed that he was questioning her recollection of the facts.
“Phone records?” She crossed her arms on the edge of his desk and leaned forward.
“We’re looking into that, too. Trust me, we’re doing everything we can to make sure the pieces fit.”
“Except, it’s not him. I know it.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been doing this for twelve years, Ms. Hutchinson, and the pieces are fitting together pretty well.”
“Other than the fact that you’re wrong. Maybe the congressman did something to this Holden guy to set him up. Maybe—” She was interrupted by the receptionist who tapped on the open door.
“Yes, Renee?”
“Excuse me, sir. I checked with the congressman’s office, and his aide says he was at a dinner meeting last evening in Silver Springs until nine and then went home.”
“Thank you.”
The woman nodded happily and went back out to her desk after giving Sam a pitying smile.
“Your 911 call came in at 9:23.”
Sam thought over how long it would have taken to drive that distance at that time of night. “He could have gotten to the alley by then.” It would have been close, but possible.
“He wouldn’t have had time to pick her up.”
“Maybe she was with him at the dinner,” she countered. “Or in the trunk of his car.”
“And no one heard her in a parking lot at the restaurant?”
“Sedated?”
“You said she was awake when you saw her, and we didn’t find any sedatives in her system.”
Sam realized the detective was losing his patience with her, and she shouldn’t be asking so many questions. But she couldn’t let go of the truth. “Maybe—”
“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Richards interrupted. “The congressman would have a driver. He wouldn’t be driving around with a beat-up paralegal in his car all by himself without someone noticing.”
“Unless they work for him.”
“I appreciate you coming back in, Ms. Hutchinson. When we find Mr. Holden, we’ll call you in for a lineup.” He stood and gestured toward the door.
She’d been dismissed.
And clearly, he didn’t believe her.
As she walked to her car, doubt crept in. As he’d said, the pieces he laid out were fitting together pretty well. All clues pointed to Kenneth Holden. She was rational enough to see that. It was an awfully big coincidence he had run off the night the victim had ended up dead.
She needed to get ready for her shift. Taking pizza orders would keep her mind off things. By the time she got back to the apartment, she still had a tiny, nagging feeling in her stomach. Much like the feeling she got when she realized she’d been wrong about something.
As she pulled on her Santiago’s Pizza T-shirt, she called Nik.
“So?” Nikki pounced as soon as she answered. “How did it go?”
“It’s not the congressman,” Sam said, still trying to convince herself. And failing miserably.
“Told you,” Nik said.
“I have to go.”
“Call me when you leave and I’ll come over.”
“Okay. See you later.”
She sat in her car for a few minutes, not starting it. Just sitting and watching the people come and go in the parking lot. Something so simple. Life moved on. And eventually she did as well.
“It’s over,” she repeated like a mantra as she drove to work. There was nothing more she could do. She’d told the truth as best as she knew it. She needed to find some way to let it go.
Chapter Five
Anthony gave Sam a look of sympathy when she came in the front door instead of using the back entrance. Unable to deal with the alley, she’d parked on the side street.
“I’m fine,” she said before he had the chance to ask. Maybe if she kept saying she was fine, it would come true.
“Are you sure you want to be here? I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take off.”
“It’s Saturday night. You need me.” And she needed to be somewhere with people. Somewhere she wouldn’t be haunted by her thoughts. Moving on, she reminded herself.
Unfortunately, she was still able to think about things while she was refilling someone’s drink or dropping off an order. As usual, things got slow around nine, and she had even more time to think.
Anthony moved to the kitchen to give the staff a break, and she took over the dining room and counter. The bell above the door rang and a man came in to sit at one of the booths alone.
Witness in the Dark Page 2