Snapped (12 page)

Sophie opened a door, and Allison followed her into a conference room that was disappointingly ordinary.

“I’d offer you coffee, but honestly? We don’t have time. Diane can only cover me until one o’clock.”

Allison checked her watch. Fifteen minutes. “I’ll get straight to it, Ms. Barrett.”

“It’s Sophie.” She smiled and gestured her to the chair at the head of the table, putting Allison in the power position. Allison thought it was odd, but maybe the woman was being strategic.

Allison sat down and flipped open her notebook. “I’m just here to clear up a few details related to the information you relayed to Detective Macon.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. “Anything I can do to help.”

“Okay, so I understand you went to the university on Wednesday. What were you doing there?”

She crossed her legs. “Enrolling in classes.”

“So, you’re a student?”

“Just taking a few hours. I’m trying to beef up my résumé before September.”

“What happens in September?”

“The assistant director of public relations is leaving to have a baby,” Sophie said. “They’re going to need a replacement, and I want a chance to interview. Right now, my work experience doesn’t exactly get me there.”

“What’s your work experience?” Allison put her pencil down. She didn’t really need this info, but it didn’t hurt to have a more complete picture of her interview subject. If this witness was credible, she stood to knock a hole the size of a barn door in this case.

“Well, let’s see.” Sophie leaned back and drummed her manicured fingernails on the table. She had pretty hands. Of course, given that she also had a body to die for, hands probably weren’t the feature most detectives noticed about her. “There was a six-month stint at
the mall,” she said. “I graduated from peddling hair extensions to cell phones. Then I decided I might do better working for tips, so I waited tables at a nightclub in Dallas until I got my big break and started singing there. Only it wasn’t such a big break when the manager told me I needed to get down on my knees to collect my paycheck.”

Allison looked at her, startled.

“Don’t worry, he got busted soon after that.”

“For sexual harassment?” That was a tough charge to prove.

“Back child support,” Sophie said. “
Then
I went to work for the woman who busted him. She was a PI with a specialty in computer crime and deadbeat dads. That was my first real office job. Then I followed Alex here—”

“I’m sorry, Alex is …?”

“The private investigator. Alexandra Lovell. She’s a genius with computers, so Delphi recruited her for the cyber crimes lab, and she was nice enough to get me my first gig here, which was working in the accounting office as a file clerk.
Extremely
boring, if you want to know the truth. But the pay was good, so I wasn’t complaining. Plus, I didn’t have to spend a lot of money on clothes then. The dress code gets stricter the closer you get to the front door, as you can see.” She gestured to her black linen dress and patent-leather slingbacks. “And then the receptionist left. I’m much better with people than filing, so I interviewed and got
this
job, which I’ve had for the past year. That enough background?”

Allison looked down at her blank notebook page. She didn’t have time to write it all, so she’d have to remember
it. She glanced at the clock on the wall and realized Sophie Barrett had just seamlessly eaten up half of their interview time. Intentional or not? Allison wasn’t sure, but she was annoyed with herself for letting it happen.

“Okay, so … you were on campus Wednesday. What time did you arrive?”

“About twelve twenty-five.” She smiled. “I spotted the open parking space at twelve-thirty.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

They walked through the next critical minutes, step by step, from the time the driver of a green VW allegedly took Sophie’s spot until the first rifle shot rang out. Allison made careful notes—not just of the events as they were being told to her but of Sophie’s mannerisms.

“And did you get a good look at the driver?”

“I didn’t see much,” she said. “It was only a glimpse.”

“Okay, what about the car? Any other details you didn’t mention?”

Sophie’s gaze moved up and to the right, which according to body language experts meant the subject was recalling a fact, not constructing a lie—assuming Sophie was right-handed, which Allison knew from watching her sign for the delivery a few minutes ago. Of course, it also assumed the shrinks who wrote those textbooks weren’t full of crap. Allison had her suspicions.

“Like I said, a dark green VW. An old-model Beetle.”

“What about body damage?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Allison asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t notice a crumpled bumper?” Allison
flipped to the front of her notepad. “Left side, if you’re facing the front of the car?”

“No.”

“And you’re certain?”

She paused. “Yes.”

Allison made a few notes. “And once again, you noticed the time when this happened and it was—”

“Twelve-thirty. I’m sure. I’ve even got my parking ticket for you, just to confirm what time I pulled into the garage. Would you like to see it?”

“I would.”

“It’s in my purse.” She looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, but speaking of time, we’re running over, which means my post is empty. Is there anything else you need to ask me?”

Allison pushed her chair back and stood up. “That about does it.”

Sophie led her out of the room and back to the lobby, where her desk was indeed empty, as she’d predicted. She pulled her purse from the drawer and handed over a yellow parking ticket with the date and time stamped on it. It said 12:36.

“You know, eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable,” Sophie said.

Allison watched her warily as she handed back her visitor’s badge.

“I assume that’s why you’re here?” Sophie asked.

“You assumed right.”

Something sparked in her eyes. “That and the fact that I could be just some hysterical woman who doesn’t know what she saw?”

“Listen, Ms. Barrett—”

“If you really want to know what happened, why don’t you send that Volkswagen up to our lab here? We’re already running all the rest of your evidence, and we’ve got the world’s top DNA experts. They can get a profile off a
single
hair follicle. It’s really amazing. If someone besides James Himmel was in that car, our tracers will find evidence of it.”

Allison couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like you’re already trying out the PR job.”

“I believe in the mission here.”

“Mission?” She made it sound like a religious quest.

“The lab’s main goal is to process the enormous backlog of evidence so that DNA can be used to
solve
cases, not just prosecute cases that have already been solved.” She paused. “It’s important work. It saves lives.”

“I’m sure it does.”

Some hammering started up down the hall, and Allison studied the woman’s face. The pleasant hostess was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp woman with a glint in her eyes. Far from the ditzy blonde Allison had expected, Sophie Barrett was smart. And she knew exactly how much credibility the task force had given her story.

The banging ceased, and the phone sang out from the reception desk.

“Is there anything else?” Sophie asked pleasantly.

“Not for now.”

She reached for her headset and gave another perfect smile. “Thanks for coming, Detective Doyle. Let me know if there’s anything more I can do to help.”

Gretchen’s heart ached as she watched her daughters silently playing on the living-room floor.

“I appreciate the offer, Marianne. I really do. I just… I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” her sister demanded over the phone. “How could it be any worse than what you’re dealing with now?”

Her sister had a point. Between the reporters camped out in front of their apartment complex, the dirty looks from neighbors, and the incessant phone calls, she was on the verge of a meltdown.

“Gretch?”

“You don’t have room for us,” she said, navigating a minefield of toys so she could peek out the window. “And if anyone finds out we’re there … Trust me, you don’t want these vultures discovering where you live.” Gretchen parted the curtains and surveyed the vultures in question. Some of them had given up since she’d come home from work and given another round of “No comment.” But there were still a few stragglers, and she wouldn’t be surprised if they came pounding on her door with one last request for an interview before the ten o’clock news.

“Gretch? Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Just
come
, okay? You need to get out of there. It isn’t good for the girls.”

Gretchen looked at Amy and Angela amid the sea of Legos—a ridiculously belated birthday gift from the father they hardly knew. When the package had come in the mail last week, Gretchen had been annoyed. Angry, even. But now she saw it for what it was—some sort of pathetic last effort by a desperate man.

God, Jim, how could you do this to us?

“Gretch?”

“I just … I can’t afford to leave my job, Mar. What on earth could I do in Houston?”

“We’ll figure that out when you get here.”

“Marianne—”

“Just think about it, okay? Promise me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Gretchen got off the phone and sank onto the rug. Angela looked up from her Legos.

“Do you like my house, Mommy?”

“I do.”

Angela’s house had a bright red roof and yellow shutters and looked nothing like any of the low-rent apartments where she’d lived during her six years.

Gretchen studied her daughter’s face, looking for signs of grief. She hadn’t cried yet. Neither had Amy. She wondered if they ever would. Gretchen wasn’t sure how much they remembered about the man who’d come in and out of their lives so sporadically. Did they remember him in uniform, when he’d looked so handsome? Did they remember him taking them to the zoo when they were three or playing airplane with them on the living-room floor?

Or did they remember him yelling and breaking things and reeking of gin?

“You want to play, Mommy?” Amy looked up at her somberly.

Gretchen realized she was crying. She wiped her tears away and forced a smile. “Sure, honey.”

“You can be whites.” Amy pushed a pile of plastic bricks across the carpet. “I’m yellows and Angie’s blues.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gretchen said, dragging the bin closer to cull through it.

A plan. For the twins’ sake, she
needed
to pull herself together and come up with a plan. She couldn’t take another day of clutching her daughters’ little hands in hers as they dodged the mob of reporters.

Did you know your ex-husband was homicidal?

Had you seen any warning signs?

Did you know he was about to snap?

Gretchen poked through the Legos. Maybe Houston would be the best thing for all of them. Gretchen’s job was nothing special, and she no longer had a reason to live near the base. Maybe it was time to start over.

Something white peeked out from beneath the sea of color. She cleared away the Legos. An envelope, taped to the bottom of the bin. Her stomach tightened with dread.

Scrawled across it, in Jim’s familiar handwriting, was her name.

Jonah spotted Sophie Saturday afternoon at the Squeaky Clean Car Wash on Riverview, and he almost kept driving. But a glimpse in his rearview mirror changed his mind. He had some questions for Sophie related to the investigation, and the sooner he got answers, the sooner he could move forward.

Yeah.
That
was the reason he was pulling an illegal U-turn and whipping into a steamy car wash while dressed in a suit and tie.

She was up on tiptoes spraying down her Tahoe, singing along to whatever music was playing on her iPod. Cutoff shorts again, a Cowboys T-shirt, and for once she was wearing flip-flops instead of heels.

He got out and shrugged off of his jacket, then tossed it over the passenger seat. As he rolled up his sleeves, Sophie stopped what she was doing and gazed at him over the tops of her trendy sunglasses.

“Well, look at you.” She plucked out her earbuds as he approached. “You clean up nicely, Detective Macon.”

He took the hose from her, annoyed to be reminded that he was the detective and she was the witness here,
a fact that made the wet-T-shirt-and-soapsuds fantasies swirling through his head pretty inappropriate.

“Careful,” she warned, “you’ll ruin your good shoes.”

He didn’t comment as he doused the roof with water. She picked up another hose and started spraying the foam.

“Ric saw you at the funeral,” he said.

“I saw him, too.”

Jonah was surprised she’d been there. Walter Graham and Jodi Kincaid’s funerals had overlapped, and he would have figured she’d go to the woman’s, especially after bonding with her kid the way she had.