Death Stretch (9 page)

“Lucky? I can think of better ways to get lucky in the morning.” I heard snorts of laughter in the squad room and realized what I said. “I mean, I don't think your waking me up at dawn is lucky.”

The laughter increased, and Dirk raised one eyebrow.

“I don't mean lucky, lucky, I just mean...crap. Never mind.”

“I see I was right about your inability to function before coffee.” He turned and called Allen over. “Get us a couple to go from Dora’s.” He handed Allen a few dollars, stopped and added a fiver. “Better make hers an extra large.”

“Gee, big spender.”

“Count yourself lucky that you're getting any at all.”

Nice. The squad room laughter wasn't at my expense this time.

The teasing light left Dirk's eyes. “Look, let's get to it. I've got a case to crack.”

He tossed the evidence bag on the desk. “We found this powder in your home. Any idea how the bag got there?”

I didn't touch the evidence, didn't even prod it with a pencil. “I've never seen it before.” I looked at him. “Where was it found?”

He hesitated. “In the kitchen. Cabinet above the fridge.”

“Heck, that's so hard to get at, I use it to store stuff I never use.”

“Like crystal champagne flutes?”

I felt heat flush my cheeks. Sure, my love life sucked, which meant it couldn't get worse. See? Proof being I sat surrounded by men. Not by choice, but still.

Maybe I’d been wrong not to call a lawyer or at least Ginger before leaving the house. The evidence, falsified though it was, piled up. Dirk didn’t think I was guilty, did he?

Dirk didn't push the line of questioning surrounding my wine glasses. Instead, he shoved the evidence bag holding the papers at me. “Look familiar?”

“Yes. You showed me those earlier. Where were those found?”

“Same place.”

“That's pretty cliché, don't you think? Do you really believe I'm that stupid?”

Allen set two coffees on the desk and handed change to Dirk. “I can vouch for Katie. She almost flunked science more than once.”

I fumbled the cup. “Thanks, I think.”

Dirk relaxed into his chair and sipped coffee. “Really? And now she works an Auto-CAD for a construction company. That's right, isn't it, Ms. Sheridan?”

I closed my eyes, knowing where his questions headed.

“That type of work takes some mathematical ability, doesn't it?”

“So I'm a late bloomer. Besides, math and science aren't the same thing.”

“Really?”

“Not to me. Look, ask me your questions so I can get to work, okay? I'm going to be late as it is. We've got a big job and I don't have time to waste.”

Dirk leaned forward, slapping his palm against his desk. I grabbed my coffee cup. “You think a murder investigation is a waste of time?”

“Questioning me is, because I don't know anything.” I leaned forward and we were nose to crooked nose. “And by the way, doesn't it take more time than a few days to get lab results? How did you know what to look for and why did you come to me?”

“Preliminary results point to ricin.”

Baloney and more baloney, but I knew I wouldn't get answers going head to head with Dirk. Someone with clout pushed the lab or Dirk had good friends there.

“Someone planted that bag and papers at my house. I never saw that stuff before, and I bet you won't find my prints. So ask me your questions, I'll give you my answers, and we'll both be on our way. Unless you want to hand me a phone so I can call a lawyer.”

“Fine.” Dirk lifted his index finger. “You were within proximity to the deceased before he died of poison found in your home.”

He added his middle finger. “You attempted resuscitation, which could have been a cover to introduce the poison.”

Another finger joined the rest. “Your best friend is being blackmailed after an affair with the victim.”

The final finger rose. “We had a tip.” He lowered the accusatory digits. “Sounds like means, motive, and opportunity to me. Settle in. We're going to be here a while.”

“A tip?” I'm not everyone's idea of a best friend, but who would accuse me? My brain tried to embrace the inconceivable idea. Only one answer remained possible.

“I’m being framed.” My voice sounded weak even to me, and I knew I’d better call a lawyer, pronto. Not that I had money for an attorney. The situation sucked.

“That's one possibility.” He sipped again.

My heart pounded, and I couldn't sit still. Fidgeting probably looked bad, but I couldn't help myself. “I don't even know how the poison was administered, so how can I be the killer?”

Dirk's lips turned up at the corners. “Look, I think you’re the last person to kill with poison or any other weapon. I don’t believe you’re a murderer, but my boss isn’t so sure.”

I blinked. “Why would someone frame me?”

“I'm hoping you can tell me.” He tossed his empty cup into the trash and grabbed a pen. “Let's go over Saturday's events. Maybe you've forgotten something important.”

I covered my groan with a long sip of coffee. This day sucked already, and the clock hands weren’t anywhere close to noon. I capitulated and dredged my brain for answers. Not because Dirk’s eyes were so sexy—a retainer would drain my bank account and max out my credit cards.

But the thought I may need an attorney stayed front and center in my consciousness.

Chapter Eight

Allen gave me a ride home in his car, not in a Granville Falls cruiser. I sat looking at my house, too tired to move. My sweet bungalow didn't seem like a refuge anymore. Especially because my internal alarm system sounded loud and clear.

“You guys locked up when you hauled me in to jail, right?”

“When we invited you for questioning, but yeah, we locked everything.”

The door wasn’t wide open, but didn’t look shut tight, either. “So Allen, why is my front door not closed all the way?”

He squinted at my door then phoned for back up. We sat tight until a cruiser showed up followed by Dirk in his unmarked. I stayed in the car while they searched my house for intruders. The all clear sounded and I walked through every room, looking for anything out of place while the patrol guys checked with my neighbors. They were likely all playing Bingo at St. Bartholomew, but I kept my mouth shut. Ya never know.

Dirk leaned against the door, watching me check for missing items. He knew better than me that I should look for stuff added, not taken. My house existed in remodel mode. Anything could have been tucked anywhere. That thought gave me pause, but nobody would chase me from my bungalow.

He pushed away from the wall. “You okay?”

“The Sphinx speaks.”

Looking every inch Cop Sexy, he sauntered toward me. “I guess I deserve that, huh?” His hands slid into his back pockets. Lucky hands. “Look, I have a job to do. I really had no choice but to bring you in.”

“I get that. I know it looks bad, but I didn't kill Morgan.”

“Everyone in the room heard you say you needed to go to the bathroom. If you were trying to be furtive, your ploy didn't work.”

Was that a little smile I saw on his lips? Nope, guess not. I got an idea. “My exit from the room gave someone opportunity to kill Morgan if her mat lay close to his. Then she could blame me. I wish I knew who started the rumor that I spoke with Morgan before I left.”

“So do I. Morgan had already been dosed when you passed him.”

I shivered. “How do you know?”

“We've got the time of death. The ME worked her way backwards. Given the probable poison type, she extrapolated the dose size and gave us a closer time line.”

“So you knew I wasn’t the killer.”

“No, I didn't. Still don't. The timeline doesn't rule you out, because he was poisoned at the start of or during class.”

His blunt words shocked me into speechlessness.

Dirk moved closer and smoothed his palm over my hair. His hand was the only warm spot on my body. “We’ve got an open investigation. Everyone is a suspect.”

I wished he wouldn't keep reminding me. My feet moved me away from his soothing touch. Cooperating with the enemy was off my agenda.

“My cop sense says you didn't kill Anderson. I need facts that'll help me find the real killer. You're sure Morgan didn't look sick during class?”

I remained in the suspect pool and jumpsuit orange didn’t complement my complexion. Helping him find the killer looked the only way to avoid unflattering photos in the newspapers.

“He might have been a little unsteady at the end, but I wouldn't know. Saturday was my first class.”

“Unsteady, how?”

“I don't know exactly. It's a feeling.” Ginger would kill me, but she always noticed more than me. “You should ask Ginger. She mentioned his goofy balance the other day.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, I just want to clear my name and get on with my life.”

He slid closer and twisted a strand of my hair around his finger. “Does that include bringing your wine glasses out of retirement?”

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. “Detective Johnson? You here?”

Dirk dropped my hair and stepped away from me. “Living room.”

Allen entered holding a note in an evidence bag. “Detective, I found this inside a coffee mug.”

He handed over the bag and gave me a worried look. Great. More crap piled up against me.

Dirk handed the bag back to Allen. “Get that to the lab and tell them we need a priority workup.”

I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t show me what they’d found. “Hey, aren't you going to show me what some dick planted in here?”

“Katie, you don't want to see the note.”

“Why not? Is it a photograph of me injecting Morgan?” I shook my head. “Can't be. I hate needles. Okay, then it's a signed confession with my name, saying I killed him. Right?”

When neither man answered I repeated my last question. “Right?”

Dirk motioned to Allen, who remained standing still. “Go.”

Allen shot out of my house, leaving Dirk and I alone, at least for the moment. “You don't want to know what the note said.”

“Yes, I do. If it concerns me, I damn well do want to know.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You have to promise me you won't go off half-cocked with a frying pan.”

“Then you'll tell me? Okay, I promise.”

He aged in that minute. Watching him was like looking at fast-frame photography, the way his eyes grew sad and his shoulders slumped. Whatever baggage the man carried weighed heavy.

“The note says, ‘Your friend now owes a quarter million. Tell the cops and she dies.’”

My vision blurred and my legs collapsed. Lucky I stood in front of the couch. “Who's doing this?”

Dirk knelt on the floor in front of me. “We're gonna find this dirt bag. I promise.”

The cops left, and I went through my kitchen trashing anything powdered or lace-able with poison. There's never much food at my house, but I like to bake. An unopened ten-pound bag of flour went in the garbage along with all my other dry goods. Even my coffee. I love my Arabica beans, but someone broke in twice. I wouldn’t take chances.

Dirk asked for a police patrol and guard on the house. I figured the effort was too little too late, but the attention gave me some comfort.

Jim called to check on me, too. He told me to take the rest of the week off. I had an idea of how to spend the next day, but then I'd need to get back to the Auto-CAD. Jim would screw my machine up for sure.

One more thing was certain. I needed answers. I'm no cop, but I'd lived in Granville Falls all my life. Ginger was the only person I trusted, but I still knew how to get the dirt. If Ginger couldn't help, Mona would. With no coffee in the house, I'd have to stop at the Chocolate Fix in the morning.

Chocolate and coffee for breakfast. A hardship, but I'd struggle through.

****

Mona, Ginger and I sat at one of the Chocolate Fix's tables, inhaling mochas and chocolate croissants. The combo rocks out and our inattention was a travesty. We didn't savor our treats. Nerves have that affect on people.

Ginger licked her fingers. “So when I thought back, I realized Morgan's last pose wasn't strong, and he had us in the Savasana earlier than usual. He almost sank onto his mat. That wasn’t like him.”

Mona swallowed her coffee. “Dang, I always hated the corpse pose. Achieving total relaxation while laying on a one-inch piece of foam covering a hard floor? Not in my lifetime.”

I bit into the pastry. Sheer heaven. “Dirk said Morgan was poisoned that morning.”

Ginger looked startled. “I guess he must have been, but how could that be possible?”

Mona sat like a statue. “Can you tell me how he was killed?” Her face looked pasty and she didn't appear to breathe.

“I guess so. I mean, the information hasn't hit the papers, so you may want to keep this to yourself, but Dirk said ricin is suspected.”

The chocolatier's eyes narrowed. “Ricin? The same stuff someone sent in a letter to the White House last spring? I recall another news story last year. A death in the Midwest, or maybe a nut job threatening people.” She leaned her chin on the palm of her hand. “Some assassin used ricin to kill a Russian or maybe a Bulgarian bigwig. Made all the papers. I think the story got made into a film. I don't remember for sure. Humph. Ricin.”