“No luck,” he said.
“So what else is new?” Doug grumbled.
In most cases, the murdered victims are killed by someone they know—a family member or a friend. It appeared that LeRoy Gilbert had neither.
As if Vic had read his mind, he said, “Guess when Gilbert killed his girlfriend he knocked off the only friend he had. You have any luck?”
“Nothing. Nobody claimed they saw him.”
“I’m having the same luck finding anyone connected to Cindy Fires. The girls she worked with all claim she never spoke of any family—but they’re threatening to start a defense fund for whoever did whack Gilbert. What about the autopsy report?”
“Couple days, but the M.E. said there’s no sign of a head contusion or any skin abrasions. And no neck bruises to indicate he was strangled.”
“Well, it’s for sure Gilbert didn’t tie that plastic bag around his head himself.”
“Maybe he wanted to keep his hair dry when he went swimming.”
“This job’s making you jaded, partner,” Vic said.
Yawning, Doug shoved back his chair. After the last few hours spent on the phone, he had begun to feel the effects of last night’s missed sleep. He walked over and refilled his cup. He sipped the hot brew as he stared out the window and thought about Jess.
Lord, what a night! In the twenty years he’d been having sex, he’d never gotten into it like he had with her. The two of them couldn’t get enough of each other.
Jess. His body responded to just the thought of her name. He’d never known a woman like her. She gave as much as she took. The thought of her flooded every one of his senses: the image of that long hair of hers fanned against the pillow as she reached for him, her eyes full with passion. He could still taste her, hear her throaty groans of pleasure and feel the satin and heat of her. And he could smell that hundred-dollar perfume she wore.
Sweat tickled his palms. He wanted more of her. God, he was screwing himself up royally. He had no business messing with a woman like her—she was no one-nighter. What had he gotten himself into?
Spinning on his heel, he tossed the paper cup into the waste can. “Let’s get out of here, Vic.”
“You forget we’re due in Judge Kirkland’s court in a couple of hours?”
Doug stifled a groan. He had forgotten. Just what he needed—to face her in court after last night. The way things were going, he’d get hard on the witness stand. He had to stop thinking about her.
“We’ve got time to go back to that dive where Gilbert hung out. Someone had to have seen him the day he died.”
“Yeah,” Vic said, slipping on his jacket. “The killer.”
Jessica saw Doug the moment he and Peterson entered the courtroom and sat down. She had to concentrate hard to keep her mind on what the assistant D.A. was saying, and fight the temptation to glance Doug’s way. He was watching her; she could feel the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. She had always felt it, from the first time he’d ever entered her court, and after last night, she wondered what was going through his mind.
“Objection, Your Honor!”
The sudden outburst jolted her back to the business at hand. She had lost her concentration. Flushed with embarrassment, she said, “Excuse me. Mr. Haley, will you read back the question?”
The young court reporter, Stanley Haley, looked up surprised, as did the testifying witness, and both the prosecuting and defense attorneys. Jessica never asked for a read-back.
“Mr. Haley?” she reiterated.
“Objection sustained,” she declared, after Stanley had read back the transcript. “You’re leading the witness, Counselor.”
The attorney continued, and Jessica leaned back with a silent sigh of relief that she hadn’t made a bigger mistake. She was reacting like an awestruck Doug McGuire groupie! She dared not even glance his way now. If she saw that knowing grin of his, she’d crawl beneath her bench and die.
Finally, the witness was excused and the prosecuting attorney called the first of the arresting officers—Detective Douglas McGuire—to the stand. Now free to assess him boldly, her steady gaze never wavered from his tall figure as he took the oath and sat down. He looked as good to her now as he had last night…and the day before…and the week before that.
As usual, his testimony was methodical and concise. He always came to court with every fact clear in his mind. That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him—that and those sensuous blue eyes…the broad shoulders…the tight buns. Damn! Her mind was wandering down dangerous channels again!
The evidence of the case was clear: the weapon had been found in the suspect’s house with his prints on it. The suspect had been found with powder residue on his hand and the victim’s blood on his shoes. And then there was the little matter of an eyewitness.
This time McGuire and Peterson had played by the rules and followed the proper procedure to the letter of the law. This murderer was not going to evade sentencing through a technicality. Justice would be served.
As McGuire was excused, he stepped down and paused in front of the bench. “You figure out yet how to let this perp go, Judge?” he said in a soft murmur.
The pound of her gavel reverberated throughout the courtroom. All heads turned in her direction as she bolted to her feet. “There’ll be a fifteen minute recess. My chambers, Detective McGuire,” she ordered curtly and stormed out of the room.
She was too angry to sit down. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared out the window until the door opened behind her and clicked shut. She turned and faced him. He was lounging against the door.
“I have no control over what you say outside the courtroom, Detective McGuire, but the next time you make a remark like that in my court, I’ll hold you in contempt and fine you accordingly. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor. It was intended for your ears only.”
“That’s no excuse. I won’t tolerate it—no matter what’s between us.”
“Well, are you?”
“Am I what?” she snapped.
“Going to figure out a way to let this bastard—who shot his wife in cold blood—walk?”
“Not unless the defense comes up with some illegal police misconduct by the investigating officers.”
He raised his hand in the three-fingered Boy Scout salute. “On my honor, I promise to do—”
“Don’t tell me you were a Boy Scout, McGuire?”
“God and country, ma’am.”
Anger forgotten, Jessica laughed. The man was irresistible when he wanted to be. Maybe she should reconsider her father’s advice. “Doug, do you own a tux?”
What was she thinking? She regretted the impetuous words the instant she said them. It was insanity to encourage any further relationship with him. Darn you, Dad! Why did you put such a crazy notion into my head?
He blinked at her sudden change of subject, then frowned. “God forbid! Why?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Why’d you ask, Jess?”
She might have known that she couldn’t pass an ambiguous reply past Bulldog McGuire. He was too good a detective for that.
“It was stupid of me to ask. You wouldn’t enjoy yourself anyway.”
This time he didn’t blink.