Without further thought of her mother’s decorating habits, she searched the pantry for a paper bag. Finally, on the bottom shelf, she found one. She hurried back to the room she’d grown up in and handed it without comment to Hunter.
He took it and slid the knife inside. “I’ll take these to the lab. They could be totally unrelated to what happened with Devin.”
“But you don’t think so.”
He shook his head. “I . . . think that a man was killed in your mother’s basement with a knife. Up here, we have a bloody knife hidden away. Yeah. I think the two are related, but I’ll let the lab confirm it.”
“Why do you believe me?” She had to know.
He paused, then sighed. “A couple of reasons.”
She lifted her right brow to encourage him to share those with her.
“One, I’ve developed pretty good instincts over the years I’ve been in law enforcement. I’ve gotten to know you a little bit and I don’t see you as someone who could kill.”
She breathed a little easier. “Thank you for that, but I’m not buying it. In order for you to calmly say I didn’t do it, you’d have proof. So what is it?”
Admiration settled on his face, then he shrugged. “Yeah, true.” He gestured toward the knife. “When would you have put it there? You spent all night at Serena’s and were with me all morning.”
“I could have snuck back here during the night.”
He frowned, then flushed.
Knowledge hit her. “You had someone watching Serena’s house, didn’t you?”
The flush faded and his blue eyes bored into hers. “Yes.” He held up a hand to stall her protests. “And yes, partly because I wasn’t sure about you. And partly because I was worried whoever killed Devin would come back after you. After all, he knows you saw him. And even though he had a mask on, he’s not going to be comfortable that there’s a potential witness out there.”
Her protests died a sudden death. “Oh.”
He frowned. “I guess there is one time you could have done it.”
Her eyes widened. “When?”
“When you came to cut your mother’s grass.”
She deflated, then brightened. “Lori can vouch for me. She was here the minute I drove up to a couple minutes before the person started shooting darts at me.”
“Every minute? She can verify you never went into the house?”
Alexia frowned as she thought. “Yes, she can.”
“Okay, I’ll need to talk to her. But we have another problem.”
“What?”
“While I believe you didn’t put that knife there, I don’t know that everyone else is going to be so easy to convince.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” He sighed. “Due to the blood on the clasp, it looks like the knife was placed in the box shortly after the murder. The blood was still fresh, wet, when the killer put it there.”
Her brain processed what he was saying. “And the only person here right after the murder was me.” Dread settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach.
“Pretty much looks that way.” He touched her arm. “But I still believe you didn’t do it.”
“Okay.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Then who did and why?”
18
Wednesday, 9:37 a.m.
With those questions still ringing between them, Hunter finished processing the room. He figured he wouldn’t find anything new, but he did it anyway. When he finished, he took Alexia back to Serena’s house. She wanted to pick up her car and visit her mother. He wanted to get the box and the knife over to the lab.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt the knife had been placed in the upstairs bedroom while he and Alexia were in the basement. The idea didn’t sit well with him, but it nagged at him enough that he finally caved and gave it some merit.
However, if the box had been planted upstairs, that meant the perp had it in his possession. But how? And for how long?
Alexia said she’d hidden the box in the basement. Had the killer found it when he’d killed Devin?
Nothing was adding up and yet everything was.
The book on the floor.
The cat.
The cracked front door.
Someone had been in that house. The cat had just been a coincidence.
Or a well-thought-out plan in case something went wrong? Like knocking a book off the end table in a hurry to leave?
Had the person in that house been trying to frame Alexia? Possibly. In fact, with the appearance of the bloody knife, it’s the only thing that made sense. But why?
And why come in while Hunter was there? The person had to have seen his car out front.
Unless the person had already been in the house when they arrived. The thought chilled him.
If he hadn’t made the spur-of-the-moment decision to show up at Serena’s house, Alexia would have gone home alone. And he might very well be investigating two murders.
That bothered him.
A lot.
He turned into the parking lot of the crime lab and climbed out of the car, taking the brown bag containing the knife. While he figured he knew whose blood was on the blade, he needed it confirmed. He also needed to know if Alexia’s prints were on there.
Of course, if they were, would it mean much? She could come and go in that house as she pleased.
However, she said herself she hadn’t done anything but walk in the door before she heard something in the basement. She said she hadn’t touched the knives. If her prints were on it . . .
Pushing through the door, Hunter made his way to the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. When the doors opened, he stepped out into a hub of quiet, well-run activity. Conversations buzzed, techs rushed evidence from one end of the lab to the other. Two cops hovered over the coffee machine, no doubt hoping to press for faster service on an urgent case.
Probably wouldn’t happen. At least not for them.
Hunter hoped he would have a different outcome. Rounding the corner to the second office on the left, he saw Rick sitting at his desk, head bent over a stack of papers.
Hunter rapped his knuckles on the door. “Hey buddy, how you doing?”
Rick’s head lifted. When he saw Hunter with the paper bag held in plain sight, he raised a brow. “I take it you didn’t stop by to set up a tennis date.”
“We can do that too.”
Rick snorted and waved him in. “What do you need?”
“I’m working the Wickham case.”
“Ah.” Rick nodded. “Yeah, that one came through last night.” He frowned and motioned to the bag. “But what’s that? I thought we had all the evidence.”
“I found this a little while ago. In one of the bedrooms at the crime scene.”
Rick’s frown morphed into tight-jawed anger and his eyes narrowed. “Something CSU missed?”
“I don’t think so. At least I hope not.” He paused. “I honestly don’t know but suspect this was planted after they left.” Hunter explained the incident in the Allens’ house, then threw in his theories for good measure.
“That’s not good, my friend.”
Hunter snorted. “Tell me about it. I’m just glad I was there.”
“So, and this is just a wild guess, you want me to process this while you wait.”
Hunter smiled.
Rick sighed. “Right.”
“Just DNA and fingerprints.”
“The DNA will take awhile, you know that. Fingerprints I can do. Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” He walked to the door, then paused and turned back to Hunter. “Actually, you want to see something cool?”
Five minutes later, Hunter watched as Rick reverently pulled a machine from its box. “We just got this last week. They’re relatively new but have proven effective at lifting prints. It’s an EDAX Eagle II XPL MXRF instrument with a 40 W rhodium anode and a liquid nitrogen cooled Si—”
“Rick.”
Rick looked up. “Huh?”
“English? Please?”
“Oh right. Sorry. Basically, it’s a newfangled way to lift prints. It uses a laser instead of powder. The laser detects sodium, potassium, and chlorine present on the ridges . . .”
An image appeared on the screen in front of them as Rick continued his lecture. “The fingerprints show up thanks to the chemical markers, displaying ridge patterns of prints, allowing a visible image to be seen. Like there.”
The fingerprint stared up at him. “Awesome. Now can you match it?”
A heavy sigh blew through Rick’s lips. “You really don’t care at all about the techie stuff, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Thirty-two years old and you act like you’re one of the old fogies ready for retirement,” his buddy mumbled—loud enough for Hunter to hear.
It was a long-standing argument between the two. Hunter just wanted the job done and he didn’t much care how it happened. Rick wanted everyone to understand the technical side of forensics—whether they wanted to understand it or not.
Rick moved on to the next print. And the next. Finally, he said, “That’s all that’s on there. It’ll take me awhile to match them up. I may have to call in our analyst.”
“How long?”
“I can give you a list of possible matches before you leave, but until I—or an analyst—sit down and go over them point by point . . . well, you know the deal. It’ll be awhile.”
Hunter reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “All right. Give me the list and I’ll see if I recognize any of the names.”
19
Wednesday, 11:14 a.m.
Alexia made the trip to the hospital and parked in the same area in the garage. She’d have parked in the same spot if it had been available. Almost as though she wanted to dare her attacker to try again.
Almost.
She couldn’t believe someone had been in her mother’s house—again. And planting evidence in an attempt to frame her? Really?
The thought scared her and she had to admit she was doubly glad to be staying at Serena’s home. The one with the nice fancy alarm system.
As she climbed out of the car, she stood and listened. Cars passing on the street below.
A conversation one aisle over.
Footsteps.
Behind her.
In disbelief, she turned and saw a young mother carrying her toddler as she clipped her way to the elevator.
Stomach churning, Alexia hurried to the elevator behind the young woman and made her way to her mother’s room. Just as she was about to knock, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.
Hunter.
Her stomach flipped. Once again, she was surprised by her desire to talk to the man, see him, be around him. After all, his father thought she was guilty of setting the fire.
Guilty of causing her sister to commit suicide.
Guilty, guilty, guilty . . .
“Hello?” His voice tickled her ear.
Flushing—and grateful he couldn’t see that she’d been standing there staring at the wall like an idiot—she said, “Hi.”
“Just wanted to let you know that I talked to your mom’s neighbor, Lori Tabor.”
“And?”
“She verified you never went in the house the day you went over to mow.”
Relief washed over her. She knew she hadn’t put the knife there, but thank goodness she had a witness.
“What are you doing for lunch?”
His question made her blink. “Um . . . eating?”
His chuckle came through loud and clear. “Alone or with someone?”
Alexia looked at the door to her mother’s room. Would she be eating with her mother? Should she eat with her mother? “I’m not sure yet. Do you mind if I call you back?”
Silence. Then, “That’s fine. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“Give me about an hour.”
“Deal.”
“Hey, Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking about that box in my room. I think that could’ve been what the killer had in his hand. It’s the right size. He could’ve put the knife in there right after he killed Devin, then returned today to set me up by putting the evidence in my bedroom.”
He was quiet. She could picture him thinking. “It’s a good theory. I’ll give it some thought. Talk to you soon.”
And then he was gone. Taking a deep breath, she placed her knuckles on the door and rapped.
“Come in.”
The weak voice barely made it through the wood. Frowning, Alexia entered the room.
This time her mother was alone. And she still looked frail. Weak and washed out. What was wrong with her? “Hi, Mom.”
Her stomach churned. She still had to break the news about Devin.
“Alexia.” The woman’s eyes smiled even as her mouth trembled with the effort. “So glad you came back.”
Alexia pulled the chair up beside the bed and sat down. “Sorry it took me so long.” Should she tell her about Devin or not? “Mom, there’s something I need to—”
“Did you go to the house?”
“Yes.”
Her mother’s eyes shut, then reopened after about half a minute. “I forgot to tell you that Devin Wickham is living there.” She frowned. “He’s had a really rough time of it and I offered him a place to stay. He’s in the little room off the basement. Shouldn’t bother you at all.”
Just those few sentences seemed to exhaust her. She closed her eyes once more. At that moment, Alexia decided not to say anything about Devin. Her mother was just too weak right now.
A knock sounded and the door opened in a soft whoosh. Alexia turned to see the doctor. Without waiting for him to introduce himself, she stood and offered her hand. “I’m Alexia, her daughter. Have you figured out what’s wrong with her yet?”
“I’m Doctor Howard Bales. We’re waiting for the results of two more tests. So, until then, we’re just trying to keep her as comfortable as possible.”
Alexia frowned. “When will you have the results?”
“Sometime tomorrow, I hope.”
She turned back to her mother. The woman had fallen asleep. “So, it’s not her heart?”
“No, we’ve ruled that out. Along with some other things.”
“Surely you have your suspicions as to what it could be.”
He nodded. “I do, and I’ve discussed a few of them with your mother. But I don’t know for sure. I’m not going to throw out any more diseases that’ll scare both of you without those test results. We’ll know what we know tomorrow.”
Alexia looked at her mother. “Is she going to sleep the rest of the day?”
“Probably. We gave her something for pain.”
Alexia chewed her lip, indecision warring within her. “All right. I’ll be back later.”
The doctor nodded and left. Alexia pulled out her phone and studied it. Did she want to eat with Hunter?
Definitely.
Should she eat with Hunter?
Probably not.
She dialed his number.
When Hunter saw Alexia’s name pop up, his heart tripped over itself.
Shaking his head at his unusual reaction, he answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Is the offer for lunch still on?”
“You bet.”
“Where can I meet you?”
Hunter suggested a local café and she promised to meet him there in fifteen minutes.
Fingering the page his buddy Rick had just printed out for him, he folded it and stuck it in his shirt pocket. It probably wouldn’t hurt to run it by Alexia. She might recognize some of the names.
Hunter arrived first and got a table in the corner. Through the window next to the booth, he could see the parking lot. The sun shone and the heat beat down, making the asphalt shimmer. Fall could arrive any time, as far as he was concerned.
He glanced at his watch, then back up. His toe tapped the
leg of the table. And he realized what he was doing. He wanted to see her again, talk to her, reassure himself his instincts were right and she had nothing to do with Devin’s death.
He was 99 percent sure. And her reasoning about how the box got into her bedroom was sound. Even he wouldn’t argue that someone hadn’t been in the house. He knew it as well as he knew himself.
Unfortunately, another scenario had occurred to him as he’d walked out of the lab. What if Alexia had a partner? One who was afraid she’d squeal on him so he’d decided to plant the evidence in her house. Then if Alexia gave him up, he would simply say he’d taken the knife, then given it to Alexia to get rid of. How was he supposed to know she’d do something stupid like keep it?
Only, Hunter and Alexia had arrived at the house before the real killer could get out. Right?
Hunter snorted. It was a little far-fetched, but he’d come across stranger things. He definitely didn’t want to believe it. Besides, his gut said she was innocent. And his gut was rarely wrong.
The scenario he’d just concocted wouldn’t hold up anyway, because Alexia had either been with him or under surveillance since the murder.
Certainty filled him. She’d had nothing to do with Devin’s murder.
A car pulled into the parking lot and Hunter sat up. She was here. He watched as she parked and got out of the vehicle.
Another car pulled in beside hers and Hunter jerked with recognition. What was he doing here?
20
Wednesday, 12:06 p.m.
Alexia spotted Hunter sitting next to the window. A great spot that allowed him to keep his back to a wall and his eyes on the street. Typical cop seating.
She waved and started to cross the street that ran between the café and the parking lot.
The squeal of tires caught her attention and she looked left.
A blue van rounded the corner, striking the stop sign. Alexia froze, trying to determine which way the vehicle was going to go. She had a flash of the driver hunched over the steering wheel. Her mind shouted at her to move. Her feet refused to obey the command.
When the Smoke Clears (Deadly Reunions) Page 10
