The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery (13 page)

“Emily,” Colin said.

“Do you two know each other?” Laraway sounded surprised, and looked a little deflated when she took notice of the warm smile Colin sent Emily’s way.

“Yes,” Colin answered, not turning his gaze away from Emily. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Detective,” Emily answered flatly. She wanted to be cordial, but she also wanted to be taken seriously. “However, I’m here to see Miss Laraway.” She turned her attention to the attractive and polished blonde. “I’m here to pick up the file on the Delia McCall case.”

“Sure, why don’t you step into my office and I’ll get it for you,” she said, then turned back to the detective. “And Colin, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Later, ladies.” Colin smirked as he walked out into the main hall.

ADA Laraway gestured to her open office door. “Now, Miss—what did you say your name was?”

“Parker, Emily Parker. I work for Alex Martinez. I need the file of evidence you have on Delia McCall.”

“Yes, I have it right here on my desk.” She stepped over and picked it up. “Here you are. So, how long have you known Detective Andrews?”

“Not long, he’s new in town,” Emily replied.

“Yes, he told me that,” Laraway stated, looking toward the open door as if she wished he was still standing there. “The new detective in Paradise Valley.”

The ADA suddenly reminded Emily of a hungry cat in a canary shop. “Well, thank you. This is all I need.”

“Okay,” Laraway replied, looking rather lost in thought.

Emily walked out into the main hallway and found a surprise standing there, leaning against the wall. He stood to attention when he saw her coming.

“Are you waiting for me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how you’d feel if I said yes.”

“I’m sorry, Colin. I don’t have time to play games.” She strode past him. “Alex is waiting for this file.”

He had to hustle to catch up with her. “I’m not playing games. I wanted to know if you’d thought any more about going to dinner with me.” She didn’t slow down a beat, and he picked up his pace to keep up with her.

Once they reached the sidewalk, Emily stopped abruptly and Colin had to pull up short. “Listen, I think you’re a nice guy and all, but—”

“But what?”

“I’m not sure us going out together is such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, you’re the police detective on the other side of the case I’m working on—my first case—and I don’t want to screw it up. My client’s freedom depends on it.”

“You really think you can help her? You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“And that’s the other reason, right there,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.

He shot a fleeting glance down at her finger, looking perplexed by her gesture. “Right where?”

“That,” she poked again, “that condescending attitude of yours.” She clenched her jaw, pulled her finger back, then marched briskly to her car, mumbling a few choice words under her breath.

“I’ll call you,” he shouted after her, and Emily didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning—she could hear it in his voice.

* * *

After returning the evidence file to Alex’s office, Emily drove down the tree-lined streets not far from the river’s shore. She passed the gathering of beautiful homes with manicured lawns on her way to Delia’s neighborhood so she could talk to the neighbors.

Armed with her pen and notepad, she went door to door questioning residents about the night of the murder. Most were happy to recount how shocked they were by the events of that night, and how they had seen the police cars and then the news reports on the television, but she was having no luck getting any real information.

Feeling disappointed but undeterred, Emily knocked on the door of Albert Osterman, an elderly gentleman with bowed legs, thin gray hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. He waddled as he stepped out onto the wide porch and seemed more than happy to tell her everything he knew.

He sat down on a crisp white rattan settee, motioning for her to take the matching chair next to him. Emily happily complied, eager to take down his statement. “I called the police on the evening of the murder, told them I’d seen something and they better come check it out. They sent a young detective out this way to interview me that very night.”

Albert beamed with pride. “I explained to the detective that I was out walking my dog—the little guy needs his walk, same time every evening, rain or shine, won’t quit barking until I get my shoes on—”

“Mr. Osterman?” Emily interjected to steer him back on track.

“Right, anyhow, that’s when I noticed movement in the front window of the Vega-McCall house. The living room faces the street, you know, so I stopped for just a moment to see what was going on—not because I’m nosy, just a concerned citizen.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed.

“The two were going at it like cats and dogs, screaming at each other,” he said. “Then she slapped him and he slapped her back.”

Emily scribbled everything he was saying into her notebook as fast as she could write. “Then what?”

“Then he turned and looked straight at me, so I skedaddled.”

“And you’re sure it was Ricardo Vega?”

“Yes, ma’am. Like I said, he looked straight at me.”

“And who was he arguing with?”

“His wife, of course.”

“So she looked at you too?”

“No, but it was a woman with dark hair down to her shoulders. That’s what his wife looks like. I’ve seen her many times.”

“Do you remember what she was wearing?”

“Is that important?”

“It could be. I want to get all the information I can.”

“Well, let me think.” His eyes searched upward as he scratched his whiskered chin. “Oh, yes, I think it was some light color, like white, or tan, or something like that.”

“Anything else, Mr. Osterman?”

“Oh heavens, dear girl, you can call me Albert.”

“Okay, Albert, do you remember anything else?” Emily questioned, her pen poised to write any new bit of information down.

“Well, now that I think of it, there was something else. Heck, I forgot to tell the nice police detective when he was here—it just came to me. It’s terrible getting old, you know.”

“Yes, Albert, I’ve heard that. Now, tell me, what else do you remember?”

“Well, there was a car parked across the street—a dark sedan—maybe black. No, no, dark blue. Oh, heck, I’m not sure. And I couldn’t tell you what make or model, they all kind of look the same these days.”

“Was there anyone in the car?”

“Yes, a man. Dark hair, I think. Middle aged, maybe.” He squinted as he tried to recollect. “I don’t know. It was hard to see inside the car and he slid down a bit in the seat when he saw that I noticed him. So, I turned and looked at the license plate number once I was out from under the light of the street lamp. I didn’t want him catching me staring at his car. I said the numbers out loud over and over again until I got home. Then I wrote them down.”

“You could see the license plate numbers in the dark?”

“My mind may be fading, girl, but my eyesight is still pretty sharp, especially when I’m wearing my glasses, which I was. Besides, it wasn’t that dark with everyone’s front house lights on and the car was parked near the street lamp.”

“And you said you wrote down the license number?”

“Yep.”

“Can I see it?”

“Well, now, let me think where I put that little note pad,” Albert muttered as he stepped back into his house. Emily stood at the open door, not having been invited in. She could hear him rummaging through things in the kitchen.

“Here it is,” he said, waving the note pad in the air as he walked back toward the open front door.

She copied down the license plate numbers in her notebook and stuck it in her oversized purse. “Thank you, Albert, you’ve been a big help.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, young lady. Now, you make sure you tell the nice detective about that car, all right? That’ll save me a phone call.”

“You can count on it.”

Chapter 11

“Hello?” Emily stood in the open doorway of Alex’s office. His secretary had already gone home for the day.

“Hey, Emily, come on in.” Alex waved her in then finished typing something into his computer. “Did you learn anything from the neighbors?”

“Actually, I did. One of them, an elderly man, told me he had called the police that night to report he’d seen something. The man said a detective had already questioned him. I’m assuming it was Colin.”

“Yeah, I read that in the file you dropped off.” Alex opened the file and flipped to the report the detective took from the neighbor. “It says he saw Ricardo and Delia arguing loudly and then they slapped each other. The time would have been shortly before he was killed. That’s not helpful for Delia.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t make Delia look good. But, what if I told you that wasn’t all he saw?”

“What do you mean?” Alex looked up from the file papers.

“If that’s the same neighbor, Albert Osterman—”

“It is.”

“Well, he told me he never saw the woman’s face, so I was thinking it’s impossible to prove it was Delia.”

“Yes, but it makes sense that a woman with long dark hair, medium height, and slender build in that house would be Delia, doesn’t it?” Alex asked. “Although, now that you bring that up, I believe the housekeeper said there was another woman that came to the house and she saw her arguing with Ricardo before he died.”

Alex looked in the file again, finding Marcela’s statement. “Yes, that’s what she said. So, it could have been her and not Delia. Any idea who the other woman might be?”

“Not yet, but I’ll keep digging,” she assured him. “Oh, and another thing—I think you’ll find
this
very interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Mr. Osterman told me something he says he forgot to tell the nice detective—his words, not mine.”

“What?” Alex said, leaning forward in his chair.

“He said he noticed a dark car parked across the street from Delia’s house with a man sitting in it at the same time he saw the fight in the living room window.”

“Really? What else did he say?”

“He said he memorized the plate numbers on the way home and wrote them down when he got there. He showed me his note pad and I copied the numbers down.”

Alex’s eyes lit up and Emily could see he was getting excited by these new facts. “You don’t think that was a coincidence, do you? I mean, that guy sitting in the car across the street the very night Ricardo was killed?”

“Not likely, Em. And you said the police and the DA don’t know about this?”

“No. Mr. Osterman is elderly and his memory isn’t what it used to be, but the fact he wrote it down on a note pad and wasn’t just telling me about it should give him more credibility as a witness, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but we need to find out who the car belongs to—” Alex started to say.

“And who was watching the house, and why.” Emily finished his thought.

Alex nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

“I’m getting the hang of this thing.”

“I hoped you would,” he said.

“Aren’t you obligated to share this information with the DA’s office?” Emily asked.

“No, the defense has no obligation for discovery.”

“But if Colin knew to investigate the man in the parked car, wouldn’t that help to get the charges dropped against Delia sooner?”

“Listen, Em, we need to sit on this information until we know what it means. What if we found out who he was and it was bad for our client?” Alex said. “We need to know the answers to these questions before we pass this information along.”

“Bad for our client? Like how?”

“Like what if Delia isn’t telling us everything?”

“Oh, Alex. How can you say that?”

“Take your rose-colored glasses off, Emily. People lie.” He raised his voice a bit, catching her off guard.

“I know people lie—believe me, I know.” She fidgeted restlessly with her empty ring finger.

“Think about it for a minute,” he said. “If Delia did do it, would she tell us?”

“I guess not.”

“Or what if she hired that man in the car to kill her husband, and she took the long bath with her music blaring, claiming she didn’t hear anything, so she would have an alibi? With her housekeeper to back up her story?” Alex proposed.

“I guess anything’s possible,” Emily replied, a little deflated in her trust in Delia. “So let me ask you then, what do we do if I can’t find out who the man was?”

“Then you’d be off the case and I’d have to call in one of my experienced investigators,” he said. “I’m sorry, Em.”

She looked him in the eye as her jaw clenched and her stomach tightened. That was the last thing she wanted. She needed to prove herself on this case or go back to trying to sell real estate.