I feel my stomach knot up. When I look over at Richmond, I’m hoping to see indifference on his face and a quick dismissal of Patricia’s idea. But instead I see keen interest.
“Do you know this neighbor’s name?” Richmond asks.
Patricia nods and with a flash of frightening clarity, I know what’s coming next. “I believe his name is Hurley,” she says. “Steve Hurley.”
Chapter 14
Though I expect Bob Richmond to discuss Patricia’s revelations during our short ride back to the station, he doesn’t get a chance. His cell phone rings and after answering the call and grunting a couple of times, he says, “Okay, be right there,” and hangs up.
He looks over at me and says, “They found Callie Dunkirk’s car.”
“Where?”
“It was left parked on a side street, ironically not far from where this Minniver guy lived. I’m heading over to check it out now and my guys have called Izzy to meet us there since the car might also be the murder site. Want to come along?”
I swallow hard, realizing that if Callie’s car is near Minniver’s house, it’s also near Hurley’s. “Sure,” I say.
A few minutes later we pull up on the scene, which is on a side street a couple of blocks down from Minniver’s house. There are two cop cars on site, one behind a silver sedan parked against the curb, and the other idling with its lights flashing in the traffic lane beside it. A police evidence tech, a guy named Jonas, is standing beside the silver sedan, waiting. Also standing nearby are two uniformed cops: Ron Colbert and Alan Nielsen.
Richmond slides his car in front of the lit-up cruiser and shifts it into park. He opens his door to get out but it takes several attempts and a lot of groaning before he makes it.
“Is it locked?” he asks the cops as we approach.
Colbert and Nielsen both nod and then Nielsen raises his hand, which is holding a Slim Jim. “We’re ready to open it whenever you say so. Looks like the keys are in it, along with her purse.”
Thank goodness we live in a small town where most of the people are honest. In a large city, I doubt a parked car containing visible keys and a purse would last very long.
“Did you dust the handles yet?” Richmond asks.
“Yep, looks like they were all wiped clean,” Jonas says.
“Okay, then, go ahead and open her up.”
Nielsen deftly slides the Slim Jim down inside the driver side door and after a few seconds of finagling, he pops the lock. Jonas hands around a box of gloves and I take a pair and put them on. Richmond pulls out a pair, too, but when he tries to pull one on over his huge hand, it tears. “Cheap crap,” he mutters, ripping the tattered glove off. He walks over to his own car, unlocks the trunk, and grabs some gloves from a box he has stashed inside.
I hear the rumble of a familiar car engine behind me and when I look I see Izzy’s Impala turn the corner. He pulls in along the curb behind the parked cruiser and gets out, carrying his scene kit.
“You’re just in time, Doc,” Richmond says.
Izzy walks up and sets his kit down on the street beside the just-unlocked door. He dons some gloves and then carefully opens the driver side door. We all peer inside, looking for signs of blood pools, drops, or splatter, anything that might indicate that this is where Callie Dunkirk was killed. But the car appears to be clean.
“I don’t see any evidence to indicate she was stabbed in here,” Izzy says. We all take a step back as Izzy removes his gloves, stuffs them in his pocket, and picks up his scene kit. “I’ll leave the rest to you fellows,” he says.
Jonas moves in with a small, battery-operated, hand-held vacuum and starts running it over the driver’s seat and floor.
Izzy looks over at Richmond and me. “How did it go with Minniver’s daughter?”
“Okay,” I say with a shrug. “She took it well, considering.”
“Did she have any ideas on who might have wanted to poison her father?”
Richmond snorts. “Yeah, she thinks it might have been Steve Hurley.” He says this with obvious derision, making it clear what he thinks of the idea.
“Hurley?” Izzy echoes. “Where did that come from?”
“Apparently Hurley is a neighbor,” I explain, “and there was some kind of property line dispute between him and this Minniver guy. Frankly, the whole idea of a cop or anyone, for that matter, killing someone over something so petty seems pretty absurd to me.”
“Yeah, I have to agree,” Richmond says. “Though Hurley is kind of an unknown quantity in these parts. He’s still pretty new here.”
“I’ve worked a few cases with him and he seems like a pretty straight-up guy to me,” I say.
Richmond snorts. “Yeah, like you’re an objective judge.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Mattie. Everyone knows there’s something going on between you two. Even I’ve heard the rumors, and I’m hardly in the regular loop.”
“There is nothing going on between me and Hurley.” I try to look offended by the suggestion but I can tell from Richmond’s amused expression that he isn’t buying it. Can’t say I blame him. But while my denial isn’t exactly the truth, it isn’t an all-out lie, either. Sure, Hurley and I have had a kiss or two, but that’s as far as things have gone.
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Richmond says. “Rumor has it your attraction to Hurley couldn’t be more obvious if you were humping his leg every time you’re together.”
Great. The last thing I need is to be the topic of more rumors in this town. It’s not bad enough that I’m already the object of pity, thanks to David’s indiscretions. Now I’m being labeled as the town hound dog as well. And given my current situation with Hurley, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“I don’t give a hoot what you’ve heard,” I tell Richmond. “I swear there is nothing going on between me and Hurley.”
“Whatever,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “Like I said, I don’t see this property line dispute as much of a motive anyway. I need to dig a little deeper into Minniver’s life, see what other motives and suspects pop up.”
Jonas turns off his vacuum, sets it aside, and dons some shoe covers. Then he gets his fingerprint kit and settles into the front seat of Callie’s car. He sits there a moment, frowning, and then he calls Richmond over.
“Do me a favor,” he says, offering Richmond the fingerprint powder and brush. “Check the seat lever down there for prints. I need to move the seat back but I don’t want to smudge anything that might be there and I can’t quite reach it from here.”
Richmond takes the kit, and when he bends over to brush the powder on the lever, his shirt rides up along his back, exposing a wide expanse of derriere and a butt crack that rivals the Grand Canyon.
Izzy, who is watching along with me, quickly turns away and says, “That’s my cue to leave. Need a ride back to your car?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
As soon as Izzy drops me off, I take out my cell phone and call Hurley to give him a heads-up. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a message letting him know about the car and what Patricia told us. Knowing I have a long drive ahead of me tomorrow, I stop off on my way home and top off my gas tank at the Kwik-E-Mart, which just happens to be located right next to the strip mall that serves as home to Mancini’s Pizzeria.