Part 25 (2/2)
”It's not possible, you know,” Dirk told her. ”There's always something you miss. And then you get caught.”
Chief La Cross threw the papers down and glared at them. ”I asked you what you want. You'd better say and then leave. I've had quite enough of you two, especially after that fiasco in the restaurant. I should have arrested you both then and there for disturbing the peace.”
”Yeah. You probably should have,” Dirk said. ”Then we wouldn't have found out what we did.”
”Though we did suspect it already,” Savannah added.
Although La Cross hadn't invited them to sit down, they each took a chair on either side of her desk. Dirk leaned back in his, put his hands behind his head, and laced his fingers together. Savannah casually crossed one leg over the other, resting her ankle on her knee.
”So you been knockin' boots with ol' William for how long now?” Savannah asked. ”And poor Amelia found out about it. We hear she didn't take it very well.”
Under her tropical tan, the chief turned a few shades paler. ”William and I are old friends. Nothing more.”
Savannah dropped the fake smile and fixed her with her strongest blue-laser stare. ”Don't insult us by lying to us,” she said. ”We've been put through the mill on this case of yours, trying to do the right thing by the victim. The case you should be solving, except that . . . Oh, right, you may not want to solve it, because as it turns out, you're one of the princ.i.p.als involved.”
The wind seemed to go out of the chief's sails. She sighed, put her elbows on her desk, and rested her head in her hands. ”You talked to Opal Parson,” she said with a tone that sounded to Savannah like exhausted resignation.
”Yes, we did,” Dirk said.
Savannah added, ”You had to know we would, sooner or later.”
”I was hoping for later.”
”Why?” Savannah asked. ”Why stall? What's the advantage of buying time?”
”I was hoping to solve Amelia's murder.”
”Solve it or get away with it?” Savannah shot back.
La Cross lifted her head. ”Watch yourself. No matter what you think you've found out, you're still in my office, my jurisdiction. You'd better never forget that.”
”Are you telling us you didn't kill your boyfriend's wife?” Dirk asked, his tone as testy as hers.
”I most certainly am telling you that. I'm trying to find out who did.”
”If you're telling the truth, and you really didn't do it,” Savannah said, ”I don't think you have to look far to find the culprit. Just roll over in your sleep and you'll run flat dab into him.”
Chief La Cross jumped up from her chair. For a second, Savannah thought the police chief was going to attack her.
The thought also occurred to her that she had never-even during the darkest days of her law enforcement career-had the bullpucky beaten out of her two days in a row. It wasn't a new record that she cared to set.
Instead, La Cross walked over to her window and stood, her back to them for a long time.
Finally, still looking out, she said, ”William didn't kill Amelia. If you'll recall, he was shot himself. Badly. He very nearly died.”
”Who says it was the same shooter?” Dirk asked. ”Could've been two different guys.”
”Same gun,” La Cross said. ”I recovered casings at both scenes. They were the same. We were also able to compare the slugs removed from William and from Amelia. We examined them under a microscope, and the lans and grooves line up. They were a perfect match. They were fired from the same weapon.”
The chief turned around to face them, a bitterly smug look on her face. ”Yeah, yeah, we aren't complete schmucks around here. We know a few cop tricks. We watch CSI, too.”
”Well,” Savannah said, ”we have three people in this little love triangle. You're telling me it wasn't William or Amelia, because they both got shot by the same gun. I guess that leaves you. Did you pop William because-when push came to shove-he refused to leave his wife for you? Then, when you screwed up the hit on him and he recovered, you reconsidered and decided to take her out instead?”
”You think you have it all figured out, don't you?” La Cross said, her tone acidic, her dark eyes fathomless. ”Well, figure this out. Someone took a shot at me, too. Only, fortunately for me, they missed.”
Dirk sat up straight in his chair. ”When?”
”The same day William was. .h.i.t. I was walking out of my house and a shot came from a pa.s.sing car. Missed me by inches. It struck the palm tree next to my front door. If you don't believe me, I'll take you to my house right now and you can examine the hole it left.”
”Did you recover the slug and casing?” Savannah asked.
”Not the casing. I searched the road for it, but it probably landed in the shooter's car. I managed to dig the slug out of the tree without damaging it too badly.”
”And?” Savannah could feel her pulse rate quickening. ”Was it a match for the others?”
”Absolutely. No doubt about it.”
Savannah stared into those black eyes, weighing the sincerity she saw there. Or lack of it. Of course, Savannah knew the woman could be lying.
Contrary to popular belief, with some people it was really hard to tell, even for a seasoned professional.
”Did you get a look at the driver?” Dirk asked.
”No. The vehicle had dark, tinted windows.”
”Description?” Savannah said.
”A black Jeep, maybe ten years old. Rusty. In bad shape.”
Dirk dug out his notepad and started to scribble. ”Plate?”
”California, blue on white. First four-4NPC. I didn't get the rest. I was too busy pulling my own weapon and hiding behind my shrubs.”
”Do you have any lead on that tag?” Savannah asked. ”Any idea at all whose vehicle it is?”
”Obviously not, or I'd have the owner in my jail cell.”
”There can't be too many vehicles on this island, let alone a lot of Jeeps,” she said. ”How hard can it be to find it?”
”With cars going back and forth on the ferries every day, you'd be surprised how hard it is. Besides, the shooter wouldn't be the first criminal to use stolen plates when they commit a crime.”
”True.” Savannah stood, and Dirk rose with her.
He tucked his notebook back inside his jacket pocket.
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