by Debra Webb
Fernandez swiped at her nose and cleared her throat. “Of course.” She frowned for a moment. “I actually have all their contact information in my phone. Would you like me to share those five contacts with you? Their addresses are in the notes section. All of them are at work this morning.”
“That would be great.” Technology was an amazing thing. “Do you recall an employee, past or present, having trouble with Sylvia? Pay disputes or assignment issues?”
Fernandez’s chin lifted in defiance of any suggestion of discord. “Never. She paid us all well. Used our personalities and strong points to choose assignments.” Her expression hardened in challenge. “Maybe you don’t know this, but Sylvia made it a point to hire people who might not have a chance at a good life otherwise. She sought out those less fortunate. She was an angel.”
Laney had a reasonably clear idea what she meant, but she wanted her conclusions confirmed. “How do you mean less fortunate?”
“We were all undocumented when we were hired. Most of us didn’t have a real home or food on a regular basis. Sylvia helped us with the paperwork for citizenship. She helped us find better places to live. I’m the only one who lives in Shutter Lake. The others commute in together from the Grass Valley area, but they have nice places. Two even own their own homes.”
“So all of you owe Sylvia a great deal?” Fernandez nodded in answer to Laney’s question. “Do you have any idea who might want to harm her? Did she ever have trouble with anyone outside the business? Maybe she mentioned someone who was bothering her.”
Obviously someone had. Of course there was always the chance the murder had been an act of impulse or of opportunity if the robber hadn’t known Sylvia was at home when he chose her place to burgle.
Except that Laney had a feeling this was not about a few pieces of jewelry or a handful of cash and plastic.
Her investigative skills might be a little rusty but not that out of shape.
Fernandez shook her head adamantly. “Everyone loved Sylvie. I never knew her to have a harsh exchange with anyone.”
Laney thought of the rumpled sheets. “What about a boyfriend? Was Sylvia seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think so.” The other woman considered the question for a minute. “Sylvie—that’s what her friends called her—was very independent. She didn’t want anyone telling her what to do, not even her parents. She made up her own mind and did what she pleased. She didn’t want to be tied down with a husband or children.” She smiled, the expression not quite so sad this time. “I told her one of these days that clock of hers would start ticking and she would marry the first man who looked her way.”
“Sylvia was young and beautiful and,” Laney began, highlighting all that the witness had said about the victim, “as you said very independent, but she would still have needs.”
Another flush crept up Fernandez’s cheeks. “This is true, yes. But if there was anyone special she never talked about it with me. She was very private about that aspect of her personal life. She liked keeping her home life and work life separate.”
So much for her friend having a clue about the victim’s lover. With any luck, DNA would give them a place to start. But that was only if the semen on those sheets led back to someone in one of the databases at their disposal. Prints would be useful as well. The problem was, all those things took time. Even in a small town like Shutter Lake, determining who might have been involved with the victim would take time—particularly if that someone didn’t want to be discovered.
Chief of Police Griff McCabe was also their forensic tech. He’d been the official evidence collector in Shutter Lake for nearly two decades. Most of the time that duty encompassed nothing more than gathering prints and sending them to the lab in Sacramento. But this was different.
Way different.
Inside, the front door opened and the chief walked in, Trask, carrying a drink tray with four coffees, followed right on his heels. Laney flashed a smile for Fernandez. “Officer Trask brought you a coffee to warm you up. I’ll send him out.”
Fernandez thanked her and Laney gave her a reassuring smile. Hopefully she would eventually recall any disagreements the victim had with coworkers or any potential romantic interests. No one went through life without roadblocks or obstacles and certainly not without heartbreak.
No one was that perfect. Not even the people who lived in Shutter Lake.
Laney and McCabe met near the victim. One look at his unshaven face and blood shot eyes and she knew her original deduction was correct, he’d had a bad night. Not that he ever looked much different at nine in the morning. It was usually noon before he resembled anything fit for human interaction. Not that she was judging. For months after she left L.A. she had been a mess. Her drug of choice had been endorphins. She’d run morning, noon and night, pushing her body beyond its limits.
She still ran five miles or so every night. Kept her sane. Kept the memories out of her dreams.
McCabe shook his head, exhaled a big breath. “What do we have?”
“Missing credit cards and any cash that was in her wallet. Jewelry box has been searched. Few things knocked around and this.” Laney stared down at the victim. “Looks like she was strangled. Maybe she interrupted the burglary in progress. Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense since the perp dumped her purse. The fact that it was here should have signaled that the owner was as well. I’m surprised he didn’t cut and run. Her cell phone is on the bedside table. No calls or texts since around six last evening until her friend,” Laney gestured to the woman outside, “started calling her this morning.”
McCabe set his hands on his hips. “I called the coroner. He’ll be here within the hour.” He shook his head. “I’ve known this girl my whole life. I’m calling in the county crime scene unit. This is out of my league.”
Laney agreed. “So far nothing from any of the neighbors.” Another of their officers was canvassing the people who lived on this street but neighbors were few and far between. The chances that anyone saw or heard one damned thing were about nil. “The robbery scenario doesn’t feel right. Too many easy to move items left behind. After he killed her, why not grab the laptop and the game console?”
McCabe forked his fingers through his hair. “Doesn’t make sense. This,” he gestured to the dead girl on the floor, “doesn’t make sense. I gotta talk to her parents.”
Laney didn’t envy him that task. “You want me to stay on things here?”
His bleary gaze met hers. “The truth? I’d rather you come with me.”
Great. “I should take Renata Fernandez home on the way. She’s been here for hours. She’s already given her statement. I don’t think there’s anything else she can tell us right now. Maybe when she’s had a chance to get past the shock, she’ll recall more.”
“I don’t want her talking to anyone,” McCabe said. “Not until we know how the hell this happened. Make sure she understands.”
“I’ll make sure.” Laney took one last look around. Things like this didn’t happen in Shutter Lake.
Until now.
About the Author:
DEBRA WEBB is the USA Today bestselling author of more than 150 novels, including reader favorites the Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and the Shades of Death series. She is the recipient of the prestigious Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense as well as numerous Reviewers Choice Awards. In 2012 Debra was honored as the first recipient of the esteemed L. A. Banks Warrior Woman Award for her courage, strength, and grace in the face of adversity. Recently Debra was awarded the distinguished Centennial Award for having achieved publication of her 100th novel. With this award Debra joined the ranks of a handful of authors like Nora Roberts and Carole Mortimer.
With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to her childhood when her mother bought her an old typewriter in a tag sale. Born in Alabama, Debra grew up on a farm and spent every available hour exploring the wor
ld around her and creating her stories. She wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the Commanding General of the US Army in Berlin behind the Iron Curtain and a five-year stint in NASA’s Shuttle Program that she realized her true calling. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Since then she has expanded her work into some of the darkest places the human psyche dares to go.
Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.
