The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon citm-4

by Leann Sweeney

  The thought of Morris pressuring Finn didn’t sit well with me, even though I understood he was only doing his job. “You can’t convince Morris to let up on Finn?” I asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “I can only hope Morris will come to his senses and see how things just aren’t adding up.”

  She glanced at B.J., who was doodling on the notebook in front of him but probably taking in every word. “Come with me and I’ll explain about what the evidence is telling me.”

  “Only if you turn down the darn thermostat,” I said.

  Minutes later, I sat at the table in the center of the officer’s break room with a chilled bottle of water in front of me. Candace had turned the heat off, but it still had to be eighty degrees in here.

  She screwed the cap off her own water and gulped down half the bottle before she took a spot across from me.

  “Where’s Finn now?” I asked.

  “Still in the interrogation room with Morris. He’s never asked for a lawyer, but both Tom and Hilary Roth are scrambling to get him one. Finn said he’s tired of saying the same thing over and over. And you know what? I’m tired of hearing it.”

  “Can’t you let him go?” I said. “I could take him back to my house, let him play with his dog, ask him a few questions. But I need to know about this evidence first. Otherwise, I’ll hear the same things, too.”

  She held the cold bottle against her forehead. “If you hadn’t been so helpful to us in the past—especially to Chief Baca—I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you anything. I swear the chief would hire you as a consultant if he could get away with it.”

  “That’s never happening. But I care about this kid, so anything I can do to help, I will. What’s this evidence?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We found Finn’s prints in Tom’s car.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “We can’t say when they got there. See, that’s the problem with prints. They could have been left on the door handle three days or three weeks ago. But we have other evidence. First off, the lab found traces of baking soda and potassium chloride on the hoodie.”

  “What does that mean?” I said.

  “Those residues indicate he was in a car when air bags deployed,” she said.

  “So he did hurt his head in the car wreck?” This is what I’d feared all along.

  “Not so fast. I’ll get to his head injury. More important, we also got the DNA back from the blood on the hoodie. It belonged to the victim.”

  I gripped the water bottle tightly and stared down at the scarred Formica-topped table. “You’re saying you’re positive he was in the car when Nolan Roth was shot?”

  “Or was there immediately afterward,” she said. “His sweatshirt came in contact with the victim’s blood. Problem is, we found no blood on the sleeve. If he held a gun and shot Roth at close range, we would have found spatter on the sleeve.”

  “So this is good news?” I said.

  “It’s a bit confusing,” she replied.

  “No kidding. Can you make it a little clearer?” I asked.

  “The gun was wiped clean, for one thing,” she said. “Question. You were there when Tom took the gun out of the backpack. How did he pick it up?”

  “He put his index finger through the trigger guard—like I’ve seen on cop shows,” I said. “He carried it to the other room like that.”

  “He still could have wiped it down before he put it in his gun safe, though he denies doing this. I have no reason to doubt his word. We did find a smudge on the trigger consistent with him carrying the gun with his finger.”

  “Tom may not tell you everything he knows, but he wouldn’t outright lie,” I said.

  “Like I said, I agree. There’s more information in Finn’s favor. We know Roth was shot after the air bags deployed because we found his blood all over them. If Finn injured his head and the doctor who examined him believes he was knocked unconscious, could he really have woken up in a stupor, shot Roth, wiped the gun down, yet failed to wipe off the other surfaces he touched?”

  I nodded, considering this. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. And why not ditch the bloody sweatshirt if he was with-it enough to wipe prints off the gun?”

  “See? We’re on the same page. There’s something else very interesting—and it’s the reason I’m completely against arresting Finn.” Candace sipped her water. “I believe I’ve come up with a scenario that fits the evidence better than Finn being the shooter.”

  I leaned forward, excited. “Really? What is it?”

  “We found skin cells, a small amount of blood and one sandy hair clinging to the deflated air bag in the spot matching up to a round trace of potassium chloride and baking soda on the dashboard beneath the deflated air bag—which means it was deposited there with force after deployment. The blood and hair didn’t belong to the victim. We also found saliva on the air bag and it wasn’t Roth’s either.”

  I was the one who was confused now. “The air bag would have prevented Finn from hitting the dashboard. Are you telling me he hit his head after the crash? How?”

  “The air bag might have malfunctioned and he could have been injured in the crash, but we found no evidence to support this. Side and front air bags all inflated and deflated properly. Let me demonstrate what I believe might have happened—something I hope the evidence will back up.” She stood and came over to my side of the table. “Sit back in the chair like you’re a passenger in Tom’s car.”

  I did as she asked, folding my hands in my lap, feet flat on the floor.

  “You’ve just wrecked, air bags are popping out like inflating parachutes. You’re dazed.” She stared at me. “Come on. Look up at me like you’re dazed.”

  I met her eyes. “Just pretend I’m dazed.”

  “Anyway, someone comes up to the passenger-side window and you think this person’s a Good Samaritan. Maybe this person even motions for you to roll down the window—we did find the window rolled down, by the way, and Finn’s print on the button. You comply. You’re even grateful. Then this happens.” Candace put her left hand behind the back of my head and pushed my head forward. “Bam!” She shouted so loudly I jumped in my seat. “You are now lights-out thanks to this person you thought came to rescue you.”

  “You mean someone smashed his head—”

  “Please. Let me finish my demonstration,” she said, sounding excited. “This is helping me picture the scene. Now, lean forward like you’re passed out on the deflated air bag.”

  I did, and from the corner of my eye I saw Candace pull her gun from her holster with her right hand. As fast as lightning, she pointed the weapon at what I assumed was our imaginary driver. “Another bam, a different kind. A horrible kind. This time Roth is shot in the right temple.”

  She holstered her gun and I sat up, stunned and a little alarmed by her reenactment.

  “You really think that’s what happened?” I said.

  Candace wore a satisfied smile. “You wanna bet once Finn’s DNA results come back we’ll find his hair and saliva right where I said it was. And when we receive the autopsy report, the trajectory of the bullet will confirm my theory. The evidence is there. I know it.”

  “You believe you have concrete evidence to prove Finn is innocent?” I said.

  She nodded. “I do. This is good news, Jillian. I’ve had a gut feeling about Finn’s innocence and now I believe I’ve found what I needed to back up my instincts.”

  “Thank you for working so hard. This is a huge relief. Can he come home with me, then?” I said.

  “I can’t in good conscience hold him with what we’ve got. But I have to convince Morris to let him go because, of course, he thinks the kid’s guilty.”

  “Why? You said there was no blood on Finn’s sleeve. And can you even tie the gun to him?” I said.

  “Nope,” she said. “I checked and the gun is not in the firearm database.”

  “What does that mean?” I said.

/>   Candace said, “One way to track a gun is to see if the ballistic properties have been entered into the national database after a weapon has been used in a crime. Since this gun hasn’t been involved in any crime we know about and since the serial number was filed away and thus we don’t know who purchased it, we have absolutely no way of tracing it.”

  “But you know it’s the gun that killed Nolan Roth?” I asked.

  “Yes. But that’s all. Now, I’m dealing with Morris being Morris. I explained my theory to him, but he tries not to let hard evidence get in his way.” She smiled. “He bothers the heck out of me most of the time, but deep down I still like him. He knows when to give in, and he’ll give on this one eventually.”

  “You can really get him to see things your way?” I asked.

  “I am becoming a master at getting Morris to see things my way.” She smiled, grabbed her water bottle and started for the door.

  “Wait. I came here to tell you something,” I said.

  “Oh. I thought you were just worried about Finn,” she said.

  “I am worried, but Rory Gannon showed up again,” I said. “This time he followed Kara and me out to her property.”

  She stared up at the ceiling, looking exasperated. “What is wrong with that man? Oh. I forgot. He’s crackerjacks. I assume you’re both okay?”

  “Except for our rattled nerves,” I said. “This is like a game to him. Do you have any idea how he ended up in town?”

  “I have an idea,” she said. “In checking Tom’s phone—the one we found in his car—I noticed a call was placed to a halfway house in Greenville. Who do you think might have been living in a halfway house?”

  “I can only think of one odd person,” I said.

  “I’ll have to recheck the date when the call was made, but I’m willing to bet Nolan Roth was in possession of Tom’s phone at the time.”

  “Why would Nolan Roth call Gannon?” I said.

  “I’m gonna have to think on that one. ’Course, it gives me a good reason to find the guy ASAP and ask him directly.” She smiled and nodded. “I do believe Morris would love to bring him in.”

  “Are you kidding? I thought he—”

  “Hates the mental cases? He does. But Deputy Rodriguez is good with them. I’ve been asking for more help ever since the murder. Maybe the chief will listen when he comes back from his lunch with the mayor and approve some overtime.” Candace wiped an arm across her brow. “We’re sweating in here like pigs and he’s at the Finest Catch having lake trout seared in lemon butter.”

  “Perks of the job,” I said.

  “We need to hunt down Gannon and explain how harassment and stalking are serious problems, especially for an ex-con. Then we can bring up any recent phone calls.”

  “Will police pressure make him stop following us?” I asked.

  “Probably not,” she said, but then her eyes brightened. “But if we catch him at it, we may learn a few important details. We have his plate number and a description of him and his car. Shouldn’t be too hard, if the chief gives his approval.”

  “Funny how he’s acting all concerned about his boy, as he calls Finn,” I said, “and yet he hasn’t shown up here at the police station to see what’s going on.”

  “Because he doesn’t give a flip about Finn. You know it and I know it. Gannon came here on a mission—and I wish Nolan Roth could tell us why.”

  We walked out of the break room together in time to see Morris open the door of the interrogation room and step into the hall. He closed the door after him.

  “Where the heck have you been?” he said, ignoring me and staring pointedly at the water bottle in Candace’s hand.

  “Did he confess yet, partner?” Candace said.

  “He’s not saying squat,” Morris said. “Where’s my water? Or was visiting with your friend more important than helping your partner?”

  “You’re the one who decided to sweat the suspect. The suspect who’s innocent. I told you already I know what happened, but maybe getting you some water will help you turn down your cranky factor.” She went back to the break room.

  Morris looked at me. “Oh, so she knows what happened. She always knows. Sorry. Dealing with juveniles makes me ornery. How are you today, Jillian?”

  Before I could answer, Candace returned with two bottles of water. “Let’s talk to Finn—all three of us.”

  This particular interrogation room was less cozy than the one we were in yesterday. For one thing, it smelled like vomit. A bench lined one wall and Finn sat there, his back straight, his hands clenched in his lap. A table bolted to the floor was in front of him and two wooden chairs faced him.

  When Finn saw me, his stoic expression softened. “Hey, Jillian. Sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

  “You haven’t caused me any problems,” I said. “I want to help you and, believe it or not, these police officers do, too. I never believed you killed Nolan Roth, and now the police have the evidence to show you didn’t.”

  I sat on the bench next to Finn. Candace and Morris took the chairs. Candace set a bottle of water in front of Finn.

  “She’s right,” Candace said. “We do need to find a murderer, though. To do that, we have to process the evidence. You know what that means, right?”

  “Just ’cause I’m not in college doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” Finn said.

  “Remember how I swabbed your mouth for DNA?” Candace said.

  Finn nodded.

  “What if your DNA would help us prove you didn’t kill Nolan Roth?” Candace said.

  Morris, who had finished off his water in two long gulps, said, “Here we go, kid. The evidence queen is hard at work.”

  The water seemed to have improved Morris’s disposition.

  “But you told me after Deputy Carson left that you liked the evidence queen,” Finn said, amusement showing in his eyes.

  Morris almost smiled. “Hey. Don’t go telling my secrets.”

  I said, “As you can see, these are good, honest people.” I picked up his hand in both my own and squeezed. “There’s a murderer out there, and they’ll find out who it is. The good news is, it looks like you left evidence in Tom’s car—evidence that explains how you were injured. Candace showed me how it happened.”

  “Really?” Finn said. “Tell me.”

  “I might have to show you—just like Candace showed me,” I said.

  “Go for it,” Finn said.

  Eighteen

  We were all leaving the interrogation room when I saw Tom standing in the waiting room.

  “You all look… relaxed. Does this mean Finn can leave now, Candace?” Tom said. “And when did you arrive, Jillian?”

  “In time to hear about the CSI stuff Candace has been doing,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s way cool, Tom. She figured out how I hit my head,” Finn said.

  “Listen, y’all must be as hungry as I am,” Morris said. “Take this kid to eat and he can fill you in. He needs some meat on his bones.” He turned in the direction of the break room and walked away.

  Tom smiled. “Sounds like a plan. I take it Finn won’t be needing the lawyer I couldn’t reach?”

  “Nope, but I have more questions for you, Tom,” Candace said.

  “About what?” he said. “Because my jaw is getting tired talking about what happened.”

  “It’s about the calls and texts we found on your phone when we took it from the wreck,” she said. “But first, I have to call the crime lab about Finn’s DNA results. Can we talk later?”

  “What about Finn’s DNA?” Tom said.

  “I believe his DNA will rule him out as a suspect,” Candace said. “Now, I really have to get busy.”

  “I’ll explain what she’s talking about,” I said. “Finn’s interview is over and we can leave.”

  As we walked through the courthouse toward the front entrance, I offered a shortened version of what Candace figured out and why she needed Finn’s DNA results.

  “Deputy Cars
on gets so excited about this forensic stuff,” Finn said. “She’s way into it.”

  Before Tom could respond, we saw Karen coming toward us, her straight midcalf skirt making it difficult for her to travel as quickly as she might have.

  When she reached us, she pulled Finn to her and hugged him tightly.

  “I see Candace has released you,” Karen said. “I knew she’d come to her senses. You could never hurt a living soul.”

  Finn gently pulled away. “They’re just doing their job, Nana. I did have Nolan’s blood on my sweatshirt.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “Oh my. But you’re free? They didn’t arrest you?”

  He smiled. “Nope.”

  “How did you find out he was talking to the police?” Tom said.

  “I had a visit from the last person on earth I thought I’d be talking to,” she said. “Your brother. He told me you were making calls to find an attorney for Finn and he thought I should know.”

  Tom’s eyes hardened. “I wondered where Bob was going when I left for here. But of course he left his stuff, so I figured he’d be back—unfortunately.”

  “Interesting how the son I haven’t heard from in years is the one who decided to inform me about what’s going on.” She stared at Tom, a look of disapproval I was certain he was familiar with.

  “You’re making him sound heroic,” Tom said. “Bob wants something—what, I’m not sure yet. It will come out, though. He knows how much you care about Finn and he used it as an excuse to visit you.”

  “You could be right, but he says he wants to apologize to his family,” Karen said. “I had to rush over here, but he’s waiting back at the house for my return. We can all go over to my home and talk.”

  “No way,” Tom said.

  Finn said, “How will you find out what Bob wants if you don’t talk to him?”

  “He’s right,” I said.

  Since we’d all ganged up on him, Tom reluctantly agreed to go to his mother’s house and we arrived five minutes later in our various vehicles.

  Karen didn’t smile when she greeted Bob, just said, “Here we are. Time for you to own up, Robert.”

  His crooked smile appeared. “I—I didn’t expect so many… well, everybody. Glad to see Finn isn’t in jail, though.” He held up his knuckles and he and Finn exchanged a fist bump. “They grill you, bro?” Bob said.