“It can’t come back with my fingerprints. I never touched it. I never saw it.”
O’Toole didn’t say anything. He just waited. And while he did, he slipped Miranda a glance that said, “We’ve almost got her.” Miranda wasn’t so sure.
Then the dam broke.
“Okay,” Suzie cried in a voice like a child. “I hated Ambrosia Dawn. She was a goddamn bitch and everyone knows I thought so. I couldn’t stand working for her. And maybe I would have liked to kill her at times, but I didn’t. That’s why I went to my sister’s. I wanted to quit my job and go back into business with her.”
O’Toole’s face fell. So much for that confession he knew was coming. “You know, Ms. Chan,” he said, summoning up all the patience in his being, “all this would be easier on you if you just tell us the truth.”
Eyes glaring, Chan looked like she was about to spit in his face. “I am telling you the truth.”
“The DA might be willing to make a deal. It could mean a lighter sentence.”
Miranda bristled. She hated that bullshit when cops used to shovel it at her. “Ms. Chan. Do you have anything that would prove your innocence? Anything at all?”
Suzie Chan looked around the room, as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. She began to blink. Tears formed in her eyes. Again they were real tears, not fake.
“I didn’t kill her,” she said again. “I didn’t kill anybody. I couldn’t do that.”
O’Toole slid his chair back and rose. “We’re going to have to book you, Ms. Chan.”
Panic flashed across her face. She put a hand to her head. “Wait. Wait. Maybe I do have something. I stopped in Primm for gas.”
“So?”
“I have the receipt. It’s got the date and time I was there. I keep it for taxes.”
“Where?”
“My wallet. It’s in my purse. Your detective has it.”
“A gas station receipt?”
“Yeah, yeah. Lucky Dog Gas. Right off Exit One. Get my purse. I’ll show it to you.”
O’Toole drummed his fingers on the table. “How do we even know the receipt is yours?”
“It’s got my credit card on it. You can run it.” She was sounding desperate now.
O’Toole lifted a brow. “The last four digits?”
Once again Suzie Chan looked like a lost and frightened little girl. Then her face brightened. “Security cameras.”
“What?”
“Security cameras,” she repeated. “Lucky Dog has to have them. I went inside for a Snickers bar. I should be on the video at the cash register.” Chan evidently watched crime shows.
Miranda waited for O’Toole’s expression to change.
It did, right on cue, his cheeks glowing almost fuchsia with frustration. But if he didn’t check it out, the DA would skewer him.
He got to his feet. “We’ll be right back.” Maybe, maybe not.
“Sergeant?” Chan said as O’Toole reached the door.
He turned back. “What is it, Ms. Chan?”
“In the meantime, I want a lawyer.”
###
Ralston had already gone to get Chan’s purse by the time Miranda and O’Toole were back in the two-way room. Parker was wearing a granite look that Miranda couldn’t read but she assumed he was angry at the sergeant for not listening to them.
Miranda didn’t think that mattered much. They would have had to go through the motions anyway.
A minute later Ralston appeared, the receipt in question in her hand. “Chan’s right. Look.” She handed the paper to O’Toole. He read it while Miranda and Parker peered over his shoulder.
“Tuesday’s date,” Parker said. “Time 10:34 p.m.”
“How far away is Primm?”
O’Toole shook his head, looking dazed. “A little over forty miles. It’s right on the border.”
“In decent traffic, it takes forty-five minutes to get there.” Ralston folded her arms and looked at Chan. She was sitting calmly, her hands folded. She knew she had won. “Even if she was zooming no way she could get there at ten-thirty. Earliest TOD estimate was eleven.”
Miranda couldn’t look at the woman any more. “Dr. Eaton told us it was probably closer to one.”
With a groan, O’Toole handed the receipt back to Ralston. “Don’t tell me you hot shot detectives are buying this?”
Miranda lifted her palms. “It’s an alibi, O’Toole.”
“Bullshit. This has got to be fake. Maybe doctored with Wite-Out or something. Hell, maybe she Photoshopped it and printed it on her sister’s printer.”
Ralston rubbed her face. It was getting late and she’d put in a lot of hours. “Why bother? Why not leave the country? Why come back on her own?”
“Maybe because she believed she had a rock solid alibi.”
Miranda had had enough. “She did tell you to check out the videos. Would be pretty hard to doctor those.”
“Probably thinks we won’t bother. We’ll see about that. I know someone in the sheriff’s office down in Primm who owes me a favor.” O’Toole headed out the door and down the hall. Miranda followed with Parker at her side.
Ralston shook her head and turned in the other direction. “I’ve got paperwork to file. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Back they went to O’Toole’s crappy little office.
Parker got an extra chair, and he and Miranda made themselves semi-comfortable while they listened to the sergeant dial his buddy and call in his marker.
O’Toole hung up and said his buddy had a buddy at the gas station, and they might have video results in about an hour since they knew the time in question. He looked down at the watermelon going warm on his desk. “Either of you want any of this?”
“No, thank you, Sid.”
Miranda just scowled at him.
He got some paper towels, picked up the mess and carried it down the hall. Probably was going to leave in the break room for his coworkers. Real thoughtful.
“I hate that Chan has to sit in the interview room while we do this.”
“The alternative is for Sid to book her.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your feeling about Chan?” Parker asked after O’Toole was well out of earshot.
Miranda got up and took a few steps. It was hard to pace in the small area. She scratched at her hair. “I didn’t see any subtle signs of lying. Her story is plausible.”
“And so?”
Might as well just say it. “I think she’s innocent, Parker.”
“She seemed to be telling the truth.”
“Which means we’re back to square one.”
O’Toole came back and they waited around and paced the floor and drank coffee for over an hour. It was getting pretty late by then and Miranda wondered if the officer with the gas station buddy had overpromised. He could have gotten another call. Maybe his friend wasn’t at the store or he couldn’t get hold of him. Maybe the clerk on duty was uncooperative.
Maybe they weren’t finding anything.
She was wondering if Suzie Chan was going to have to spend the night in the pokey when O’Toole’s phone rang.
He picked it up and put it to his ear. “O’Toole. Yeah?…Yeah?…Is that so?” His expression was as flat as a dusty desert plain. “Can you shoot a screenshot or something over to me?” Pause. “That’ll do. Thanks.”
He hung up and stared at his cell.
“Bad news?” Miranda asked.
“We’ll see in about ten minutes.” With a jerky motion he got up from his desk and left.
Miranda gave Parker a shrug. “Guess he needs some fresh air.”
Parker rose and put his hands in his pockets. He stood staring at the blank wall, since there was no showgirl calendar now. Miranda couldn’t tell if he was pondering the case or whether to punch Sid in the nose when he returned.
Must have been the former. Parker didn’t move when O’Toole returned with a cup of coffee in his hand. He settled him
self into his chair and turned to the computer. He did a few clicks, stared at the screen and gave a low grunt.
“What is it, Sid?” Parker’s voice was that smooth magnolia that right now was camouflaging a powder keg of irritation.
O’Toole wagged his fingers over his shoulder. “Come over here and see.” He sounded like a little boy who’d just struck out in his first little league game.
Miranda was tired of the testosterone match. A woman who might be innocent was sitting alone in a room wondering what her fate would be. She got up, marched up behind the sergeant and peered at the screen.
“Wow. That’s a good shot.”
“Good resolution. Maybe too good.”
Parker’s voice was heavy behind her. “That’s her all right.”
“Sure is.”
Suzie Chan stood at the gas station counter, making her purchase and looking like she was in a hurry. But it couldn’t have been because she wanted to escape a crime scene. The time on the photo read 10:42 p.m. Eight minutes after she’d purchased the gas.
Miranda blew out a breath. “She’s innocent.”
O’Toole stiffened. “This doesn’t prove it.”
“It gives her a solid alibi, Sid. You can’t hold her.”
“Yeah, I guess not.”
Miranda waited for O’Toole to go tell Suzie Chan she was free to go but he didn’t move. She was about to tell him to move his butt when Ralston knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for an answer.
Her eyes looked a little wild. “I’ve got Cameron Forest on the phone, sir. The media hounds were arriving in a TV van just as I left Chan’s place. The story must be all over the news.”
“I’ll talk to him. Wait. Put him on speaker.”
She nodded and pressed a button. “Mr. Forest? I’ve got you on speaker. My sergeant and the Parker Agency investigators are here.”
The Elvis-like voice scratched through the air. “They are? Good. I just want to know what’s going on. I heard someone was arrested regarding my wife’s case.”
“We’ve brought someone in for questioning yes, but—”
“Suzie Chan? Our personal chef?”
Ralston rolled her eyes, obviously irritated at how much detail the press had already spread. A sentiment Miranda could relate to. “Yes sir. But it’s an ongoing investigation, as you’re well aware. There’s nothing we can say about it now. I’m sorry but—”
“Can you at least confirm that she’s been charged?”
“Mr. Forest, I’m not at liberty to—”
“What are you saying? Are you going to let her go free?” There was panic in his voice.
“That’s undetermined as of this time, Mr. Forest.” True for Ralston. She hadn’t seen the screenshot.
“But what if she isn’t safe? What if she wants to come back here? She must be insane. Can you guarantee my safety? My son’s safety? My staff?”
“Sir, we’re doing ev—”
“Oh, my God. I’m meeting with everyone involved in the show tomorrow afternoon at the casino to make a statement. What do I tell them?” Forest was going berserk and Miranda couldn’t blame him.
She watched the muscles of Ralston’s neck strain with tension. “Please, sir. Calm down. We’re being as thorough as we possibly can. I assure you—”
“How can I calm down? My wife is dead. You think you found her killer. What am I supposed to do?”
O’Toole snatched the phone out of the detective’s hand. “Mr. Forest. This is Sergeant Sid O’Toole. I’m in charge of the case. Let me assure you that we will do everything in our power to find your wife’s killer. I’ll see to it myself personally.”
Oh, yeah?
There was a long pause, some heavy breathing. At last Forest spoke again. Somehow O’Toole’s words had done the trick. “All right, Sergeant. Please work as quickly as you can.”
“We will.” O’Toole disconnected. He turned and glared at the computer screen as if he were about to smash it in. “Jiminy Cricket on a hot pile of steaming shit. Now I’ve got the husband on my ass as well as my boss and the publicist and the casino owners and the media.”
Ralston snatched her phone back. “Don’t forget the mayor.”
O’Toole opened his mouth just as Ralston caught sight of his computer screen. “That’s Suzie Chan, all right.”
“Yep,” Miranda said.
Ralston looked rattled. “We’ve got the wrong person.”
The sergeant raised a finger as if he were about to chew her out for that.
Before he could Miranda pointed to the folder on his desk. “There are plenty of people left to talk to in that file. Didn’t Elvis say they were meeting tomorrow?”
“A perfect time to set up interviews,” Parker said. “They’ll all be together, probably backstage at the casino.”
“The killer could be one of them,” Miranda agreed. “Just hiding in plain sight. If we surprise them, maybe they won’t have time to make up much of a story.” At least they’d be bound to pick up some more clues.
His normal color returning, O’Toole rubbed his chin. “You could be right. If Forest was talking about the whole crew, they’ll probably be fifty or more people there. It will take a while to talk to them all.”
“I’m sure Lieutenant Wells will be happy to spare some personnel, sir,” Ralston offered.
“Okay.” O’Toole pointed at his detective. “Talk to him. Get those extra officers pulled in for tomorrow. And find out exactly when that meeting is.”
“Yes, sir.” Ralston turned and marched out of the room.
“You and Ms. Steele up for this Parker?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know the details.”
Miranda stared at the sergeant and could almost feel Parker’s shock. Rude as he was being, O’Toole was finally taking some initiative on this case. But they simply nodded and left the room.
As they made their way down the hall, she muttered to Parker under her breath. “Guess I’m not in charge any more.”
“High time Sid took some responsibility.”
They went back to the hotel room, hit the showers and sank into bed. It had been such a long, discouraging day, it was all Miranda could do to wrap her arms around her husband and fall into a deep sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Miranda woke up and blinked at the clock. “That can’t be right,” she mumbled, her mouth feeling gummy. The stupid thing said nine-thirty.
Parker turned over beside her. “We didn’t get to bed until past one.”
She groaned, remembering they hadn’t found Ambrosia Dawn’s killer last night. And they were no closer to finding the culprit than when they’d arrived. A depressing thought to wake up to. “I need coffee before I can comment on that.”
“Not yet.” He reached for her, traced a finger over her lips.
She had to grin. “I know what you want.”
“Do you?” He drew her to him in a long, lazy kiss.
It was nice. Classic Parker seduction and she longed to give into it, but she pulled away.
He pulled her back. “Are you sure?”
Oh, she was tempted. Just the lure of those sexy gray eyes were enough to draw her in, not to mention the strength of his arms, the warmth of his body. But she managed to resist. “Too much to do. We’re so far behind.”
He gave her a look of mock disappointment, then chuckled. “Agreed.”
But he lay there and watched her greedily as she pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and raked her fingers through her unruly hair.
She came over and sank down on the bed to pull on sneakers. “You know who I’ve been thinking about?”
“Who?” He ran his fingers over her arm, making her a little dizzy.
She reached for his hand, waited a bit then said it cautiously. “Delta Langford.”
His hand dropped to the mattress. She watched the lines furrow in his brow. Delta Langfor
d had been mixed up with one of the most painful episodes in Parker’s life. The brutal murder of his first love when he was only eighteen.
But he shook off the unspoken emotion she’d aroused, rose, and pulled on a pair of jeans. He always wore the designer type, and Miranda loved the way they hugged his thigh muscles and backside.
“Sisters?” he asked as if the former case had had no effect on him as he crossed to her and extended an arm.
She let him pull her up, eyed his bare muscled chest and reconsidered his lovemaking idea for a moment as sort of a makeup for bringing back a past she knew he’d rather forget. Later, she promised herself, as she had promised him already. “Yeah. A jealous sister. Didn’t it sound like Blythe had a lot to be envious of? Ever since she and ‘Abbey’ were kids together?”
Parker was touched to watch his wife approach the subject of Delta Langford so delicately. Delta had crossed his mind earlier and as usual, he had ignored his buried feelings. He had pushed the death of his first love out of his mind long ago but he still carried the pain deep in his heart. Miranda understood that. She carried her own scars and knew what it was like to bear them for years. It was another bond they shared.
He had also enjoyed watching her drink him in with her eyes. He wanted to make love to her now, to express that deep bond between them. But she was right about getting to work. He wouldn’t tempt her any longer.
He went to the closet to pull on a knit shirt. “Ms. Star’s narrative struck me that way when we spoke to her. An older sibling everyone ‘worshipped,’ as she put it.” He moved into the living room area, picked up a phone and dialed room service. Eggs Benedict this morning. And strong coffee. That would bolster his wife’s strength and perhaps soothe her wounded ego after last night’s defeat.
Miranda sank down onto the thick couch, hoping the breakfast Parker had just ordered would get here soon. She wanted to move. “Ambrosia was popular and into everything. Blythe didn’t say so, but I got the impression she wasn’t.”
Parker nodded and pulled the curtains back to reveal another hot, bright sunny day. Vaguely Miranda wondered if it would get to a million degrees today.
“And she was a singer, too. Small time. She couldn’t get her career off the ground while Ambrosia went on to outrageous fame and fortune. And then she ends up having to work for her.”
All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1) Page 9
