by Robin Caroll
As if that was a surprise. Beau took notes as she continued.
“I’m not in the habit of getting involved with married men, just so you know, but there was something about Kev. I believed him when he said he and his wife were separated. Until I found out she was pregnant.”
“So you two were involved for a couple of months before you found out she was pregnant?” Beau tapped his pen against the notebook sitting in front of him on the table and glanced up at his partner.
Sidney looked at the attorney for permission before she nodded. “He finally broke down and told me a couple of weeks ago. Guess he thought he should tell me since she’d begun to show.”
“Were you angry?” Marcel asked, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning on.
“That’s not really relevant,” the lawyer interjected.
“I have a murder victim who might disagree, counselor.” Beau wasn’t a big fan of defense attorneys.
The attorney whispered in Sidney’s ear before she continued. “I was very disappointed, of course. He’d lied to me about being separated, obviously.”
Disappointed, huh? Beau stared at her from across the table. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Muller?” Would she lie?
She looked at the lawyer who tilted his head. “I saw him in the bar last night. Flirting and being obnoxious.”
“Did you have words? An argument?” Marcel asked. He already knew Beau had brought a copy of the hotel’s security video back to the station. They could easily catch her in any lie she told about last night.
She hesitated. “I told him he should go to his room and call his pregnant wife.”
Marcel leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “You told him this when you two were alone?”
“No. He had a woman hanging onto his every word. I called him out in front of her.”
“Did that make him angry?” Beau looked up from his note taking.
The attorney put his hand on Sidney’s arm. “Ms. Parsons has no way of knowing how Mr. Muller felt or what he thought, Detective.”
Legalese runaround. Fair enough. “How did Mr. Muller respond to your calling him out in front of someone?”
Again, she looked at the lawyer before speaking. “He told me to shut up and leave him alone. I left.”
Beau recalled the video from the hotel bar. She had shoved Muller’s shoulder after slamming down a glass on the bar. “You just left?”
“Pretty much.”
“No, we need you to be specific.” Marcel leaned over, resting his palm on the table. Tall and very present in the small interrogation room. “What did you do? What did you say?”
She whispered to the attorney, who whispered back.
Beau had endured about as much as he could. Maybe he should step out for a while. Cool off a little.
“I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it wasn’t nice. I shoved him, then moved away. The woman stayed with him, and shortly after they left the bar together.”
Good deflection, but Beau knew the score. “And that’s the last time you saw Mr. Muller alive.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I think so, but I’m not sure.”
The lawyer leaned over and whispered in her ear. It was very clear he wasn’t too pleased with her response.
They were in a discussion, while Beau’s upper lip heated.
Marcel moved to hover behind her. “It’s a yes or no question.”
The attorney nodded, but he looked like someone had just grabbed the designer beads out of his hand during a Mardi Gras parade.
“I went to his room, but only stayed a minute or two.”
Nine minutes to be exact. “Why?”
“Because I was ma—disappointed Kev was being such a jerk.”
“To his wife? The woman at the bar? You?” The more Marcel agitated and intimidated her, the more likely she was to let something spill out before the lawyer could stop her.
“His wife. Me. I don’t know.” Her eyes filled as she ignored the troubled gaze of the man beside her. “He’d told me that he loved me. That he was going to make the separation permanent and divorce his wife to be with me. But then he told me she was pregnant, so he couldn’t leave her right yet. He asked me—begged me, actually—to not leave him. To give him time to figure something out. To let the baby be born so he could file for joint custody when he divorced her.” Sidney met Beau’s stare. “I believed him until last night when I realized it was all lies.”
“How did you figure that out?” Beau asked.
“When he’d asked me to not leave him, I told him that I’d wait for him, but our relationship would be put on hold until he’d filed for divorce. He didn’t like it, and we’d argued about it, but that was the best I could do. I thought he’d accepted that. Until I saw him kissing that woman in the bar. That’s when I knew he’d never loved me. Never planned to divorce his wife for me.” The tears streaked down her face.
“So I went to his room to tell him I never wanted to see him again.” She shook her head and wiped her nose on her shirtsleeve. “I told him that he disgusted me and maybe his wife should know about his extramarital activities.”
Ah, now they were getting somewhere. “Bet he didn’t like that.”
The lawyer touched her arm. “Again, Ms. Parsons can’t know what Mr. Muller thought or felt, Detective.”
Marcel stared directly at her. “No, but Sidney, you know what he said in response. What he did.”
She sniffed. “He laughed at me. Told me she’d never believe me because she knew he only went after sexy women, and I definitely wasn’t. Said she knew he only liked curvy women, and I was more fat than curvy.”
Wow, what a prince. Beau couldn’t believe chauvinists like Muller ever conned any woman to settle down with them. “What did you say?”
Sidney wiped her tears. “I told him he was a sorry excuse for a human being.”
Beau didn’t disagree. “Then what happened?”
“I slapped his face and left.” She wiped her face on her sleeve again. “It sounds like it was a long time, but I promise, it was only a few minutes.”
Nine. Was that enough time for her to stab him?
Stabbed nine times. Beau didn’t miss the irony. But could this woman have gotten into the room, had an altercation with Muller who definitely could defend himself against her, gotten him into the bathroom, then stabbed him nine times? In nine minutes?
As much as Beau liked her motive for being the murderer, he didn’t see how it added up. On the video, when she’d left his room nine minutes later, she had no visible bloodstains on her shirt. To have been close enough to stab the man so violently, she’d most likely either had blood all over her or would’ve had to have changed clothes, but the video showed her leaving in the same shirt.
Still, she had motive and means and opportunity.
“Do you have what you need, Detective? I think Ms. Parsons has been more than cooperative.”
“Yes. You may leave the station, Sidney, but please don’t leave town,” Marcel said.
“But I live in Dallas.”
“I understand. We’ll wrap up what we need from you as quickly as possible, I assure you.” Beau stood and opened the door to the interrogation room. Cool air blew against his face. “We’ll most likely need to ask you more questions in the next day or so.”
“I guess I’ll see if I can extend my stay at the Darkwater Inn.” She gave a slight shiver. “Not that I want to stay there now, knowing what happened.”
“If you move elsewhere, please just let us know.” Beau handed her one of his cards.
She thanked him, then followed the lawyer down the hall.
“Detectives, I’m glad I caught you.” Nolan rushed toward them.
“What’s up?” Beau leaned against the wall, enjoying the coolness from the brick wall.
“The knife. It was the murder weapon. Blood on the blade matches the victim’s DNA.”
Finally! Something going right with the case. �
��What else?”
“Robert dusted the handle for prints and got three different sets, even though there was quite a bit of smudging.”
“Smudging like someone tried to wipe it down but didn’t do a thorough job?” Marcel asked.
Nolan shook his head. “Smudging like someone wearing gloves handled the knife.”
Marcel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Handled the knife before or after?”
“I’d guess after, but no way to prove it one way or another.”
“So, three sets of prints?” Marcel asked.
“We just got matches back on all three.” Nolan handed a folder to Beau.
Beau’s gut tightened. “This first set belongs to Ethan Morrison, who has a record for petty theft?”
“And his last known place of employment was the Darkwater Inn, as a part of the kitchen crew.” Nolan smiled. “Thought you’d want this immediately.”
“Thanks.” Beau nodded as Nolan rushed off with a, “I’ll let you know what else we find.”
Beau scanned the rest of the information, flipping the page. The second set of prints belonged to Dimitri Pampalon. Why would owner junior’s prints be on a kitchen knife that was used to stab someone? A question worth asking.
He flipped to the last page and clenched his jaw.
The last set of fingerprints belonged to Addy.
Eleven
Dimitri
Adelaide’s knuckles turned ghost white as she gripped the hotel’s receiver. “What?”
Dimitri rose from the settee and stood in front of her desk.
“So quickly? I mean, I thought it would take days.” She paused, wrapping the cord around her finger. “Really? I guess that’s good.”
She chewed her bottom lip as she listened to whatever the person on the other end of the phone said.
Dimitri ran his hands along the top of the high-back chair. The fabric smooth and cool to his touch.
“So what does that mean?” Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. “I see.” She leaned her hip against her desk, propping herself up.
The pause between her few words grew longer. With every second that ticked off the clock, Dimitri grew more concerned as her face paled.
“M-mine?” Her slight stammer sent shivers over Dimitri, although he wasn’t quite sure why. “I see.”
What did she see? Dimitri gripped the back of the chair.
“I appreciate you letting me know. Please call again if you hear anything else.”
Another pause.
“Yes, of course. Thanks.” She set the receiver back on its cradle and sank into her chair.
“What is it?” He hated seeing her like this.
“That was Geoff. He has a friend on the police force who called him about the case. Nothing official yet, of course, but just giving him a heads-up, per se.”
Now what? The police had been gone only three or four hours. Dimitri wouldn’t push her, even though curiosity surged through him.
“It seems that they found a bloody knife in the Dumpster in the alley behind the courtyard. They’ve verified the blood on the knife is Kevin Muller’s, so they have the murder weapon. Apparently they can get DNA matching results within two hours.”
Why wasn’t she smiling over the news? “That’s good, isn’t it? Because finding the murder weapon will help the investigation?” At least, that’s what those forensic shows that he sometimes had on the television while he played in the kitchen in the evening said.
“It usually is.” Yet her voice sounded rough and gravely. Emotional. “But they’ve found some fingerprints on the handle.”
“That’s good news, right? It should help them track down the killer.” Why wasn’t she more excited about this? It could be the answer that she’d just told him would be best: she wouldn’t have to tell anyone about her connection to Kevin Muller if they could find the killer.
“I guess that depends.”
“On what?”
“On how innocent people’s fingerprints got on the murder weapon. They found three sets of prints they were able to run through whatever system they use to get identities.”
“Did Geoff’s friend tell him who the prints belong to?” This could really be great. Dimitri couldn’t understand why Adelaide was still so pale and drawn— “Oh. Your prints are on the knife, aren’t they?”
She slowly nodded. “They verified my thumb print against my insurance and bonding records.”
He plopped down into the chair facing her desk. “How?”
“It’s a knife of the hotel’s. One of the kitchen ones, Geoff figures by the description. I guess it’s one I used recently. I don’t really know.”
How was this possible? Her prints on the murder weapon, one on the knives from the kitchen. While she certainly had motive to kill the man, there was no way she had. “Who else’s prints were found?”
“Ethan Morrison’s.”
What? “My dishwasher?” No way. “Ethan’s a good enough kid. A little mouthy sometimes, but he gets the job done.” At least it was logical why his prints would be on any and all of the silverware in the kitchen. After washing, he would’ve dried them, wiped them down to make sure there were no water spots, then put them in the tray for the staff to roll into the napkins before putting them on the restaurant tables.
“Ethan apparently has a record for petty theft too.”
The tangle kept tightening around them. “How’d he get hired? Father is very adamant about the hiring policies here. This will put him into a major tailspin.” That was putting it mildly. His father didn’t have any qualms about the caliber of people who worked at the Darkwater Inn. Someone with a record of petty theft would never get hired, in any position.
“I know.” She shook her head. “I’ll pull his records from human resources and find out who hired him and if they knew about his record. It just keeps going from bad to worse.”
True. His father would fire people over this. If he didn’t fire Adelaide, he’d give her a good tongue-lashing, as he would hold her accountable as general manager. Dimitri couldn’t have that. Not now. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Oh, it gets better.”
“What?”
“The third set of fingerprints?”
He nodded, a chill settling unexpected and unexplained over him.
“They’re yours.”
“Mine? Are they sure?”
Adelaide nodded. “They’re sure.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense. I’ve been in the kitchen most of the last couple of days, at least since Father left.”
“But how did our prints get on the same knife that killed Kevin?”
“I don’t know.” He ran his fingers over the chair’s armrests. “But this means you’ll need to tell the police immediately about your connection to him.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head.
“You have to, Adelaide.” He inched to the edge of the chair. “Don’t you see? If you don’t, when they find out, you’ll look even more like the prime suspect.” How could she not immediately see the obvious? She was a smart woman, but in this instance, she acted as if her senses had taken leave.
“They won’t find out.”
“Oh, Adelaide.” Her emotions had totally blocked out logic and reasoning. “They’ll find out. The police always do. Then it will look like you were hiding the truth because you killed him.” Pain shot across her face, but he couldn’t help it. He had to make her understand. “Like you planned everything.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, don’t you see? No one knows what happened besides Tracey. No one. After all this time, if I told now, no one would believe me, and they’d think my best friend was lying for me.”
“At this point, who cares? You’ve moved on. You’re stronger.” He held up his hands in mock surrender as her look turned into a glare. “Look, what happened to you was horrible. The man deserved to have been punished back then, but what happened can’t be undone at this time. T
here is no do-over. You need to tell the police because, despite the horror you went through that no woman should ever go through, you survived. You thrived. You succeeded in spite of his assault.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple, Adelaide, but the truth will come out. You should be the one to tell it to make sure it is the truth and not some glossed-over version. Only you can tell what really happened.”
She shook her head slowly. “They didn’t believe me then. I doubt I’d be believed now. Especially with him dead. Stabbed. In my hotel. With a knife my fingerprints are on.”
He reached across her desk and took her hand. “Which is why you need to talk to the police immediately. Tell them the truth of what happened.”
She snorted and pulled her hand from his. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”
“Why not?” The woman was going to make him pull all of his hair out.
“Because no matter what they believe, what happened to me would get out. To your father, which to him would just be a show of weakness in me.”
Dimitri wished he could argue that, but she was most likely 100 percent right on target.
“To everyone here, which would make me lose the respect I’ve fought so hard to acquire because of the cards stacked against me: young, no experience—hired straight out of college, and a woman.”
“I don’t think so. People respect you because of your work ethic.”
“It’s nice that you think so, Dimitri, but that’s unrealistic. You’ve never had to fight and claw for employees’ respect. It’s a hard-won battle that I don’t want to go through again.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“I’m not. But most of all, it would get out to my father. This would kill him.”
Dimitri could only imagine. Right now, he was glad Kevin Muller was dead. He couldn’t fathom how Adelaide’s father would react. “But he loves you.”
“Yes, he does, and that’s why he can’t know. It would kill him. He didn’t want me to go off to college in the first place. Finding out would prove that he was right.”