Page 44 of Accidental Murder
The guard responded in kind.
So much for catching bees with honey,Megan mused, but remained where she was because the medical examiner, a man in his late fifties with a prominent Adam’s apple, was hustling in their direction.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Some jerk drank rat poison for breakfast. What’ve we got?” He surveyed the jail cell. “A plastic spoon?” He turned to Megan expecting a response. “Is it broken or fibrous?”
“Intact. No fibers, no sharp edges.”
“Well, I guess sheer determination can make anything a weapon of destruction.”
Rodrigo spanked one hand against the other in front of the guard’s face. “Where the devil did our vic get a plastic spoon?”
“No se,”he responded in Spanish.
“You do know.”
“No.”
“Did you give it to him, man?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“What if this isn’t suicide?” Megan asked Rodrigo. “What if somebody on the inside killed him?” She pictured the invitationto the Policemen’s Ball found at Kayla Macintyre’s crime scene. One cop clue was a coincidence. Add a death in a police-sanctioned building, and the scenario changed. “Somebody could have slinked in, slit his wrists, and escaped through that door.”
Rodrigo nodded.
Megan eyed the guard. “And if the killer wasn’t a cop, then my bet’s on you. Did you give the killer access?”
“No!” he cried. “Soy inocente! Soy inocente!”
“We’d better look at the security footage,” Rodrigo suggested.
“Already asked for it.” Megan shrugged her shoulders, hearing the defeat in her voice. She knew as well as her partner a savvy insider could have dodged detection by timing his crosses. Looking at the tapes would prove fruitless.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Whenever Kayla drovealong Main Street in Sausalito, she felt like she was in an old western town. The buildings were narrow and painted in pastels. The apartments nestled above the shops had been decorated with hand-painted windows and colorful signs. She parked the Acura and climbed out. Seagulls hovered overhead, begging for morsels of shrimp from the many seafood restaurants. A crisp breeze gusting off the bay blew the yeasty aroma of fresh-baked goods in her direction. She ignored the growling in her stomach and quickened her pace as she neared Sausalito Photo Shoppe.
She glanced up. Inside the second floor apartment’s bay windows, which were partially obscured by drapes, she made out a tall redhead—Cindy Norton—rocking a baby. She took the stairs two at a time and rapped on the apartment door. The woman inside cooed to the infant to hush. Kayla knocked again. “Cindy!”
The floor creaked as Cindy approached the door. The slider for the peephole swung away and snapped back. After a moment’s pause, the latch clicked and the door opened.
Cindy retreated. Her left eye was a putrid shade of purple and yellow. Her cheek was scraped and swollen. “Kayla, you’re alive!”
“I’m Ashley, her sister.”
“But . . .” Cindy blinked. Tears formed. “Why are you?—”
“Kayla told me if anything happened to her, I was to look out for you.”
“How did you find me?”
“You bought some supplies at Babies R Us online and had them delivered to this address. My sister taught me how to access transactions.” Cindy had been the first of Kayla’s clients to give Kayla the network access to her home computer. “You disconnected your phone when you left your house, but you didn’t disconnect your Internet services, and you left your computer on. I retrieved your account history.”
“That means . . . oh, no. William can find me.” Cindy shoved the knuckles of her left hand into her mouth.
“No he can’t, not unless you use your credit cards going forward. I expunged the history.”
Kayla reached out to Cindy, but Cindy shrank away and hunched forward, as if she was a human cocoon ready to wrap the baby in protective sheathing. Kayla retreated and asked, “May I come in?”
