LITMIR.BIZ

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      I think Arnie is getting a bit farfetched now, but I’m starting to get into it. Besides, he has a point. The clues have to be carefully and scientifically evaluated. I’m beginning to see how jumping to conclusions can be dangerous.

      “Well, there was a lot of blood,” I tell him. “If she was already dead when she was shot, her heart wouldn’t have been pumping and there wouldn’t have been so much blood. Plus, there were some sprays of blood, from arterial pressure. If she’d been dead already, she wouldn’t have had any arterial pressure.”

      Arnie gives me a look of surprised pleasure. “Very good,” he says. “That’s the type of observational skills that will serve you well around here.”

      I beam at him, feeling like a character in an Agatha Christie novel.

      “Now, let’s look at the other evidence we have on that case.” He turns toward the countertop and picks up a clipboard.

      “We have lots of trace evidence,” he says, scanning what appears to be a checklist on the clipboard. “We have the bullet that killed her—it’s from a .357 Magnum and we can match it to a specific gun if we find one. We also have some trace evidence Izzy found on the body that doesn’t appear to have come from the location where the victim was found: two blond hairs, each one about an inch or so in length, and three wool fibers in a teal blue color, most likely from a carpet.”

      I feel my skin grow cold. David’s hair is blond and the carpet in our living room is teal-colored wool.

      “Then there’s this,” Arnie says, showing me a picture. It’s the back of a shoulder, the white skin marred by three, oval-shaped bruises. In my mind I replay the scene where David leapt from the couch and grabbed Karen by her shoulders, shaking her. Somehow I know his fingers will fit those bruises perfectly.

      I must look as shaken as I feel because Arnie is staring at me kind of funny and asks, “Are you all right?”

      I nod.

      “You weren’t there during the autopsy this morning, were you?”

      I shake my head but offer no explanation.

      “Why not?”

      There is a long silence while I stare at the walls and Arnie stares at me. Then I have a brainstorm. “I’m sorta kinda too close to the case,” I tell him. “I know the victim.” I hope this will be explanation enough. At the hospital, it was always understood that no one would work on anyone they were related to if it could be avoided. I feel certain the same principles apply here.

      “Know her how?” Arnie persists.

      I let out a perturbed sigh, realizing that Arnie won’t give up until he knows it all. “I think I might be a suspect,” I admit.

      “A suspect?” I expect Arnie to throw me out of his lab immediately. Instead he says, “Wait, let me guess. Your almost ex was dipping his wick in the victim.”

      “Yeah,” I say, surprised and impressed by Arnie’s ability to ferret out the truth. Later I’d learn the dink had known the whole story all along and had, in fact, assisted Izzy on the autopsy in my absence.

      “So did you do it?” Arnie asks.

      “No! Of course not.”

      “Bet you would have liked to though, huh?”

      I start to utter another protest but quickly realize Arnie will see right through it. “The thought might have crossed my mind a time or two,” I admit sheepishly.

      “Good.”

      “Good? I admit to contemplating the homicide of a woman who is now dead and you say good?”

      “Absolutely. One of the most important things you’ll learn in this job is who you can trust. Had you told me you’d never thought about killing the woman who stole your husband, I’d know you were lying to me. It’s perfectly natural to hate the other woman, to wish all kinds of pestilence on her, and to dream up at least six miserable ways for her to die, preferably with you as the executioner.” He stops and gives me another long look. “Though I gotta say, if your husband was baking his cake in someone else’s oven when he had you at home, he must be a total idiot.”

      I’m flattered. And more impressed with Arnie each passing minute. “Thanks,” I say, bestowing him with my best smile.

      “So do you think your old man might have offed her?”

      My mood does an immediate nosedive. I don’t know what has me more upset, the thought that David might have killed Karen or the fact that I even care.

      “I don’t know. I don’t think he did it. But I saw—”

      I stop, realizing I’m about to tell Arnie about the argument I witnessed. Until I have a chance to evaluate things a little more I don’t want that information to get out. But Arnold Paranoianegger zeroes in right away. “What? What did you see?” he pushes. I know in my heart he’ll never let it go and I resign myself to spilling the beans. But then the phone rings and I realize that for once, the Fates are on my side. My salvation proves painfully short-lived, however.

      “Yeah, she was here,” Arnie says into the phone, widening his eyes at me. “But she just this second left. Want me to see if I can catch her?” He listens, says, “Hold on,” and then hits a button that sends the caller to Hold Hell. “It’s Detective Hurley,” he tells me. “You know him?”

      “Oh, yeah.” I roll my eyes and lick my lips. Talk about conflicted!

      “He wants to talk to you. Should I tell him I wasn’t able to catch you? There’s a back stairway to your left that will take you straight out to the parking lot. Go right now and by the time Hurley figures it out you’ll be long gone.”

      “You’d do that for me? How do you know you can trust me, that I’m not a killer?”

      “Because you didn’t lie to me. And because Izzy says so and his word’s good enough for me. Besides, I consider myself to be a good judge of character and I can tell you’re not the killing type.”

      I can’t help myself. I sandwich his face between my hands and plant a big kiss on his forehead. “Thanks, Arnie. I owe you one.”

      As I dash toward the stairs, I hear him say, “Hot damn! Can’t wait to collect on that one!”

      Chapter 8

      Thirty seconds later I’m in the parking lot sliding into the front seat of my car. I know Hurley is going to be pissed but frankly I don’t much care. I’m not ready to talk to him yet and still haven’t thought up a reasonable, face-saving excuse for my scarf being below David’s window. And unless Steve Hurley is the densest brick in the building, it won’t take him long to put two and two together. In fact, I’m pretty sure he already has except he’s come up with five and doesn’t know it.

      I’m not sure where to go. Once Hurley figures out I’m not at the office he’ll probably check the cottage, so going home is out of the question. I consider hiding out at Izzy’s house—it’s only two in the afternoon and Izzy won’t be home for several hours yet. That’s a good thing, because while I’m not sure I can count on Izzy to compromise himself by hiding me from the police just because I don’t feel like talking to them yet, I know Dom will do it. Dom hates cops, for reasons I’ve never been able to ferret out. Still, if I go to Izzy’s it won’t be hard for Hurley to find me there—it’s a little too close to home for comfort.

      I want to talk to David, but I know he’ll be tied up at the hospital for hours. The lack of sleep is catching up to me, so I make a short-term decision on where to go by pulling into a Quik-E-Mart for a cup of the sludge they try to pass off as coffee. I park on the far side of the store, away from the street and next to the garbage bins, just in case Hurley is cruising the streets looking for my car. As I climb out and shut the door, I hear something rustling around inside one of the Dumpsters. For an insane moment I seriously

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