As most homeless people did. But it was worth a try. Even homeless people left traces in cyberspace from time to time—arrest records, usually, but sometimes admissions information in hospitals or homeless shelters.
“Is there anything else?” Raleigh asked. “Because if not, we have things to do.”
Addlestein pursed his lips and ran his palm over his silver crew cut. He didn’t want to let Mitch go, but it seemed pretty obvious he didn’t have enough to hold him. Score one for the good guys. Mitch couldn’t wait to get out of this place and breathe some fresh air.
He would take Raleigh and Beth out for a late lunch, and they could be home by nightfall. It was nice of them to work so hard to exonerate him. He was lucky to work for a company that appreciated not just the contributions he made to the bottom line, but valued him as a person.
If the Conch & Crab was still open, he’d take them there. Freshest seafood in all of South Louisiana and a jukebox filled with 1970s—
“Excuse me, Lieutenant Addlestein?” A young female uniformed cop was at the door. “Could you step out here a moment?”
Looking impatient, Addlestein did as the woman asked. He was gone several minutes.
“I don’t like this,” Raleigh said after a long, uncomfortable silence among the three of them. “He was about to cut you loose.”
Mitch didn’t like it, either. A persistent itch had started at the base of his spine, a visceral, instinctual cue that told him something wasn’t right.
When the door opened and Addlestein returned, he wore a smug grin. Bad news was coming.
“Seems that stolen Monte Carlo was located. Sunk in the bayou about a hunnert yards from where Robby’s body was buried. And guess what was found in the glove box?”
“We’re not here to play guessing games,” Raleigh said tartly. “What?”
“A .22 handgun.”
“What caliber bullet killed Robby?” Beth immediately asked.
“That’s unknown. Cause of death couldn’t be determined. But a hole in the skull suggested a gunshot wound. A jury won’t care about that. The gun was rusted to hell, but they got a serial number off it and ran it through the database. Guess whose name came up?”
Mitch shrugged. “I never owned a gun in my life, so it can’t be mine.”
“Not yours. It belonged to Willard C. Bell.”
It took a moment for the shock to sink in. Oh, Lord, he was so screwed. He could hear the prison doors clanging shut and the key tinkling as it fell down a gutter.
“Who’s that?” Beth asked.
“You want to tell them,” Addlestein said, “or should I?”
“Willard C. Bell was my father.”
BETHFELTHELPLESS and clueless as she watched two police officers put handcuffs on Mitch and take him away. If this was a nightmare for her, how must he be feeling?
He hadn’t been able to offer any explanation for his father’s gun ending up in the stolen car’s glove box. He recalled that his dad had owned a couple of handguns along with a selection of shotguns and rifles for hunting, but he claimed not to have seen or even thought about his dad’s guns in years.
“I never touched my dad’s guns,” Mitch had insisted. “Talk to my mom. She might know what happened to the guns. But my dad sure as hell never gave me a firearm. He always said I didn’t have the temperament to own a gun.”
Mitch’s denial didn’t hold much weight with the cops. They typed up a warrant immediately, and in a matter of minutes Mitch had been in custody.
“What now?” Beth had almost wailed when she and Raleigh had been left alone in the room. “Daniel will get him out, right? He can’t stay in jail, he used to work for the police. It might not be safe—”
Raleigh cut her off with a glare, and Beth clamped her mouth closed. They were still in an interrogation room; anyone could be listening, and probably was.
“Let’s go,” Raleigh said. “We have work to do.”
She said nothing more until they were in the car. She started the engine and rolled down the windows of her Volvo. Though it was still early spring, the weather was already warm and muggy, the air fragrant with a mixture of magnolia, ocean and oil refinery like nowhere else in the world.
“Beth, how well do you really know Mitch?”
That was a very good question. “Until yesterday, I’d have said I knew him pretty well. I mean, we’ve worked together for five or six years, and the past few months we’ve even hung out after hours a few times. But I didn’t know he had a half brother or an arrest record. I didn’t know his parents were never married, which I guess they weren’t if Mitch and his dad have different last names. I didn’t know about the history of f-fighting.”
“What do you talk about?” Raleigh asked.
“Well…nothing very personal, I guess. We talk shop. Computers and science and evidence, and true-crime books and TV shows. And pizza—we both have a thing for pizza. I knew he had family in Louisiana, but he never got specific.”
Raleigh put the car in Reverse, but she didn’t back out of the parking place. Beth could see the gears in her brain were turning.
“What are you getting at?” But Beth had an uncomfortable feeling she already knew.
“People can compartmentalize their lives. A guy can be funny and kind at work, then go home and beat the crap out of his wife and kids every night. I’ve seen it.”
“Oh, Raleigh.” Beth was horrified at the direction of Raleigh’s conversation. “You think he did it.”
“I don’t know what to think, except the evidence suddenly got pretty compelling. Think about it. Who had reason to sink that car in the bayou?”
“Someone who thought he could be tied to the car.”
“Mitch might have known, or suspected, he’d been caught on video in the parking lot.”
“But anyone trying to cover up the murder would have sunk the car, hoping everyone would believe Robby had left town,” Beth pointed out, trying not to sound pathetically desperate. Just because she’d been crushing on Mitch for months, was she grasping at straws? Failing to see the obvious?
“I’m just trying to think like a prosecutor,” Raleigh said. “I haven’t written him off yet.”
“But you think it’s possible he did it.”
“You don’t?”
She took a deep breath. “No, Raleigh. Call it women’s intuition or gut instinct—”
“—or wishful thinking?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. He rejected me. If anybody has an ax to grind, it’s me. Whether Mitch is guilty or innocent, in jail or out, we’ll never be together in…in that way. But I don’t think he did it. I don’t.”
“Okay. Just checking. His arraignment and bail hearing are tomorrow morning. I’m sure Daniel will post the bond.”
“Even when he hears about the gun?”
“Yes. Remember, Daniel is the man arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, with his fingerprints all over the murder weapon. He knows physical evidence isn’t the end of the story.”
“I sure hope it isn’t. What if they won’t let him out on bond? Sometimes they don’t, for a serious crime.”