Tuesday, 9:28 am
“Do I need to remind you to tread carefully, Aspen?” Captain Thompson’s deep voice crackled through her Jeep’s speakers, pulling her attention back to their conversation. “The mayor and Richard Bell play golf every other Sunday. He’s going to be all over me on this one.”
“That’s going to be very uncomfortable, Cap,” Kinsley replied absently as she rubbed her thumb against a worn spot on the steering wheel. Through the windshield, she caught sight of the forensics van parked in the driveway of the old Bell mansion, its rear doors standing open. She’d put in a specific request for Simon Matus to lead the forensics sweep, and she was still waiting for confirmation that it had been approved. “I couldn’t resist. Sorry. But in all seriousness, I’ll make sure every i is dotted and every t is crossed.”
She’d been gun-shy about new hires within the forensics department ever since the Goff debacle. For a measly fivehundred dollars, a technician had compromised the crime scene and handed the defense the ammunition it needed to dismantle the prosecution’s case. His greed had allowed a serial killer to walk free. Kinsley refused to let something like that happen a second time, which was why she’d asked for Simon by name. He was meticulous, incorruptible, and had been with the department long enough that she trusted him with evidence that could upend a thirty-year-old conviction.
“Just keep in the back of your mind that the Bells have connections,” Thompson continued, his tone carrying a weariness of a man who had to balance investigation with politics on a daily basis. “His architectural firm designed half the prominent buildings in town, and they’re regarded as?—”
“I got it, Cap.” Kinsley did her best not to take offense at his need for reassurance. Alex was the one who usually handled this type of thing. A part of her wished he had been with her that night, the night she’d pulled the trigger, but that wasn’t how it had gone down. She’d been alone on that road, and she’d made her choice alone. “I’ll play nice.”
“I’m not saying back off,” Thompson clarified, and she could hear the familiar creak of his office chair as he leaned back. He was a man who played by the rules, even when the rules made the work harder. “I’m saying be thorough, be professional, and for God’s sake, be discreet. The last thing we need is a media circus stirring up the past before we know what we’ve got.”
The mention of media made Kinsley’s stomach tighten. She thought of Beck Serra, and his persistent interest in Gantz. She had no desire to step back into that spotlight, and she’d do everything in her power to keep the investigation quiet for as long as possible.
A sleek black Mercedes pulled up behind her Jeep, catching her attention in the rearview mirror. Richard Bell was behind the wheel, though it was clear from the movement of his lips andthe slight tilt of his head that he was speaking with someone over his Bluetooth system. She would have bet her retirement it was his lawyer. The conversation at his kitchen counter that morning had rattled him more than he’d wanted to show, and the blackmail question had been the crack that finally broke through his composure. He’d agreed to meet her at the old mansion, but the agreement had come through tight lips and with a look in his eyes that told her he intended to control this situation by any means available to him.
“Captain, I need to go.”
“Keep me posted, Aspen. And remember?—”
“Tread carefully. Got it.”
Kinsley disconnected the call before Thompson could add anything else. She took a deep breath, centering herself before stepping out of her vehicle. The morning air was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to skin and fabric alike, and she’d heard on the news that morning that a storm front was supposed to move in over the next couple of days. Since her lawn resembled a parched desert after Saturday’s half-finished weeding session, she wouldn’t be opposed to some rain.
She didn’t have to wait long for Richard to finish his call. He emerged from the Mercedes dressed in a crisp gray suit, the jacket added since their earlier meeting at his home. His posture was rigid, his jaw set, and the practiced social ease he’d displayed at his kitchen counter was nowhere in evidence.
Before either of them could speak, the same two women from last week appeared around the corner. Kinsley recognized them immediately as the power-walkers on Friday, though today they wore casual summer clothes instead of matching workout gear. Their heads swiveled in unison when they spotted Richard, and they immediately altered their course, crossing the street with the determined stride of people who weren’t about to miss an opportunity for firsthand neighborhood gossip.
“Richard!” called the taller of the two, her honey-blonde ponytail swinging with each purposeful step. “We reached out to Eden on Friday, but we haven’t heard back. What on earth is going on?”
Kinsley observed Richard’s expression shift from irritation to a practiced social smile that was clearly fake. He didn’t like these women, and his shoulders tensed visibly at their approach.
“Ginny, Darlene,” Richard greeted them with a stiff nod. “Nothing to concern yourselves with, and I’m sure that Eden?—”
The women reached him before he could finish the sentence, let alone escape. Each took a turn embracing him, and Richard returned the gestures with awkward pats on their backs, clearly uncomfortable with the forced familiarity. He extricated himself as quickly as politeness would allow, taking a half-step backward to re-establish the distance they’d closed.
“We’ve been so worried,” said the shorter woman. Her jet-black bob framed a face that carried the telltale smoothness of too much Botox, the skin around her eyes and forehead unnaturally still, while the rest of her features moved normally. “The whole neighborhood is buzzing this morning about the forensics van. We weren’t sure if it had to do with the family who foreclosed on the property, or...”
She trailed off with a meaningful expression that left the alternative unspoken but perfectly clear.
“I’m Detective Kinsley Aspen.” She stepped forward before the woman could wedge her foot any further into her mouth. “The forensics team is on the property at my request. We’re following up on something that’s come to our attention, but there’s no cause for concern.”
“Detective, these women are my old neighbors,” Richard said, seizing the opportunity to make introductions and, Kinsley suspected, to steer the conversation onto ground he couldcontrol. “Ginny Kusman and Darlene Barrett. Both from across the street.”
Darlene Barrett. The name triggered an instant connection to the court transcripts Kinsley had taken home the previous night. Darlene had been a witness for the prosecution. She’d testified to finding Grant Tatlock leaning over Iris’s motionless body on the foyer floor. She was the person who’d called 911. She was the first set of eyes on the scene, and in a case with no other witnesses, that made her one of the most important people in the investigation.
“Mrs. Barrett,” Kinsley said, extending her hand. “Are you planning to be home later this afternoon?”
Darlene’s eyes widened slightly at the question. She shook Kinsley’s hand almost reflexively while exchanging a startled glance with her friend. Her grip was loose, distracted, as though the handshake was happening to someone else while the rest of her processed the implications.
“Um, yes. I’m not married, though.” Darlene’s gaze moved from Ginny to Richard to Kinsley, a triangle of uncertainty playing across her features. “Does this have to do with Iris?”
“She used to babysit for Darlene, you know,” Ginny interjected, shifting her position so she could rest a hand on Richard’s forearm. The gesture was territorial, proprietary, and Richard’s jaw tightened at the contact. “Iris was taken from us too soon. I have to say that I wasn’t sorry to hear about Grant Tatlock dying behind bars.”
The comment landed with a bluntness that made even Darlene flinch. Kinsley filed away the detail about Iris babysitting for Darlene. It was a connection that meant Iris had been inside the woman’s home, possibly with access to private conversations and personal information. Given what Kinsley already knew about Iris’s recording habits, the babysittingarrangement took on a different dimension than simple neighborly trust.
“As I mentioned, I’m following up on something that’s come to our attention,” Kinsley said evenly, noting how Richard’s irritation flared at Ginny’s grip on his arm. He didn’t care for her in the least, and the effort of tolerating her touch was visible in the rigid set of his shoulders. “Mrs. Kusman, I take it you’ll also be available later today?”
