Kristen sat back and drew a deep breath. John was on Spinnelli’s list of sharpshooters. She knew that. She’d also dismissed it as soon as she’d seen his name on the list. Not once had she entertained the notion that John Alden could be involved in murder. John went to great lengths to follow procedure. To ensure all the statutes were followed, that every convicted man was convicted legally. He was a good prosecutor.
But apparently a bad husband.
„Oh, Sara.“ To her dismay Sara’s eyes filled with tears. „I wish I knew what to say.“
Sara dug into her purse for a handkerchief. „He actually expected me to lie for him.“
„Did you?“
„No.“ Sara glared through her tears. „Well, not exactly. I told Detective Murphy that John never came to bed that night, that I couldn’t say for sure where he was.“
„But you know where he was?“ Kristen asked gently.
Sara pulled her fur collar high on her neck, gathering her composure. „He’s talked in his sleep for years, Kristen. He says all kinds of things. Sometimes things I shouldn’t hear, but I’ve been a good wife all these years and haven’t shared any of his confidences.“
Kristen’s eyes widened at the implications. „He talks about cases in his sleep?“
„Among other things.“
„He said the other woman’s name in his sleep?“
„He did. Have you wondered how Zoe Richardson found out about the letters addressed to you, Kristen? About how he signs the letters ‘Your Humble Servant’?“ Kristen’s mouth fell open. „He muttered about it,“ Sara said softly, „in his sleep, a few nights after all this started, so I’ve known. So did Zoe Richardson.“
Kristen swallowed, connecting the dots but still unable to believe the picture. „He’s having an affair with Zoe Richardson? John? John Alden? My boss?“
„Your boss. My husband. Richardson’s not his first, Kristen. But this is different. You’re in danger and it’s because that woman plastered your face all over the news as some kind of link to this killer. I know about Friday night and Sunday night. You’ve been attacked twice.“
Kristen pressed her fingers to her lips, her brain reeling. „I…“ She met Sara’s eyes across the table. „Why didn’t you call him on the cheating before?“
Sara lifted a shoulder, misery in her eyes. „I was humiliated, so I let it go.“
„Until now.“ Kristen closed her eyes under the enormity of it all.
„I won’t lie for him, Kristen. And he should pay for what he’s done to you. The night you found the first letters, in your trunk? You tried to call him. Three times.“
„He didn’t have his phone on.“
„Because he was with her. He came home in the middle of the night, sneaking in like the dog he is. Took a shower, thinking I was sound asleep. I turned his phone back on, listened to his messages. Then I deleted them so he wouldn’t know what I’d done.“
„He was mad at the phone service for losing his messages,“ Kristen remembered, her mind still reeling. „He was mad at me for not calling him.“
Sara slid out of the booth. „Perhaps he’ll be taking a ‘vacation’ soon, too.“
Kristen watched her go, sighed, then took out her cell phone and dialed Spinnelli.
Tuesday, February 24,
5:30 P.M.
„Come in, sit down.“
Abe looked around the little apartment owned by Grayson James. There was a small fireplace with a mantel upon which rested several trophies, all for marksmanship. „Thank you for taking time to talk to us, Mr. James.“
„Diana said you’d be coming. She said you’re interested in maker’s marks.“ He put a small lamp on the kitchen table and flipped it on. „Let’s have the bullet.“
For the sixth and final time that day Mia drew out the plastic bag holding the bullet. No one else on Diana’s list had been able to help them.
„Can I touch it?“ James asked.
„By all means,“ Abe said and watched the old man handle the bullet with deft fingers. James held the bullet under the light.
Then sat down slowly. „Where did you get this?“ he asked.
Mia looked at Abe, a new energy in her eyes. „You’ve seen it?“
„I have. More years ago than I’d like to remember.“ For a long moment, James stared at the bullet, his face taking on a faraway expression. Then he blinked and gave the bullet back to Mia. „I had a friend when I was a boy, back before the War. He and I would shoot together at his father’s cabin.
His father made his own bullets, taught us to do it, too. That was his mark. I’d never seen it before and never seen it since. Where did you find it?“
„Your friend, Mr. James,“ Abe said as calmly as he could. „Can we talk to him?“
James’s lips thinned. „Not unless you’re into séances. Hank Worth died at Iwo Jima in 1944.“
Mia exhaled, her disappointment as palpable as his own. „Any surviving children?“
„Nope. He was only eighteen when we joined up. Look, I’ve helped you. The least you can do is tell me where you found this bullet. You’re detectives, so whatever it is, it can’t be good. I hate to see someone tarnishing Hank’s memory. He was my friend.“
Abe hesitated. „I can’t give you details, Mr. James, but we’re homicide detectives. This bullet was used in an attempted homicide.“
James’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. „You’re investigating that vigilante, the one killing criminals and lawyers.“
Mia’s back straightened at the implied accusation in James’s voice. „We are.“
„Seems like a quandary,“ James said. „He’s poppin’ off guys that deserve it, but still…“
„Still?“ Mia asked.
„Still, it’s killin’ all the same. I did it, in the war, because I had to. But it changes you. When you take the life outta somebody else’s body, it changes you.“
Mia looked lost for a moment and Abe knew she was remembering the firefight the night her old partner was killed. She’d shot a man that night, killing him. The punk’s pal shot both Mia and her partner. Mia was lucky to be alive. „Yes, Mr. James,“ she said, „it does. We need to find this guy. Please tell us anything else you remember.“
James was regarding her soberly. „My friend had a sweetheart before he shipped out to the Pacific. They’d planned to get married when he came back, but she up and married somebody else not two months after he left. Killed him, it did. Wait here.“
They waited in silence and a few minutes later James returned. „Here’s the letter he sent me. It’s dated December, 1943. Here’s her name, his sweetheart, that is. Genny O’Reilly. Said he’d just gotten her letter, but the mail took forever in those days. It could have been months before that she actually married the guy.“ He handed them the yellowed page. „I’d like it back when you’re done with it. Sometimes my memories are all I have left.“
Tuesday, February 24,
6:00 p.m.
Zoe’s boss, Alan Wainwright glared. „What were you thinking?“
Zoe glared back. „That if I got him drunk enough he’d let something slip.“
Wainwright sneered. „Like his zipper? My God, he’s the damn DA. Do you know how it feels to get reamed a new asshole by the mayor and the network execs?“
„Do you know how much our share has jumped since I broke the story?“ Zoe shot back. Today hadn’t been a picnic for her either, having to endure the catcalls and lewd ‘requests’ as she crossed the newsroom. It might as well have been a locker room. John Alden wasn’t the first man she’d used her body to get close to, but she picked men who would be discreet specifically because she didn’t want her story denigrated by sexual come-ons.
Wainwright paused, then smiled wolfishly. „Seven points.“