Page 50 of Accidental Murder
Using a ladle, Trask scooped thick green puree into a porcelain bowl, crumbled two saltine crackers on top, and shambled to the table. He set the food down, retrieved a napkin and spoon, and returned. He took a few bites and plunked the spoon into the bowl. “Ask away.”
“You were one of the most traveled, well-read men my sister knew.”
Trask sat taller. In his younger years, he must have been quite the lady’s man.
“She also said you were one of the brightest men she had ever met.”
“Except when it came to computers.” He shoved the soup to the center of the table, leaned forward, arms folded, and measured her with his gaze. “Your sister would have cut right to the chase. So I will, too. Here’s why you’ve come. The police have a suspect in custody. You think they’re wrong and you want my opinion.”
“How did you know about the suspect?”
“I keep up with the news.”
“He’s dead. He committed suicide in his cell.”
“I knew it!” Trask slapped the table. “The whole scenario stunk from the get-go. It was too easy. Too slick. The perp walks in and,wham, confesses? Plus he knew all the particulars? I cry B.S.” He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. “Come, let’s go to the lanai.”
He led the way to a glass-enclosed patio. Dozens of orchids were blooming. Kayla had never visited this part of his home before. Four lamps, mounted in each of the corners, radiated light. The smell of fertilized soil filled the air, reminding her of a time during college when she’d traveled to rain forests in Brazil on an ecological mission. For a year afterward, she’d contemplated a future in ecology but had abandoned the notion when she’d fallen in love with the language of computers.
“So the suspect is dead.” Trask cranked open an upper window and sank into the cushions on the rattan couch. “Was he homeless?”
“Yes.”
Trask motioned for her to sit, which she did, and he lit up. He puffed on the cigar until the tip turned red. The aroma of cedar and molasses wafted from the burning tobacco. “My doctor would like me to quit smoking, but I can’t. I’m hooked.”
Kayla had pleaded with her father to quit. She’d never dreamed a car accident would kill him instead of cancer.
“How’d he pull it off?” Trask asked. “Choke himself with bed sheets?”
“Slit his wrists with a plastic spoon.”
“Hard to do. Hmm.” He tented his fingers. “My two cents? He was hired to take the fall. Someone didn’t want him to talk. A police department insider helped him on his way to hell.”
Kayla’s thoughts flew to Dennis.
“You’ve got to ask yourself,” Trask continued, “who hired this guy and why? To cover up an indiscretion, a covert business? A secret life? I’d look at somebody close to your sister, like friendsor family.” He jutted the cigar in her direction. “I can see you’ve considered the possibility.”
“My sister didn’t have many friends, and most of our family is dead.” Sorrow ripped through her. She worked hard to find her voice. “But she had lots of clients.”
“Who toiled in a variety of industries,” he said. “Yeah, she told me. I’ve learned over the years no industry is sacrosanct. Why, I’ll even bet the Pope hires hit men.” He chuckled.
Something about the conversation disturbed Kayla. Had Trask engaged Ventano? Did he know someone inside the precinct and goad that person to attack Ventano? Or had he sneaked in and killed Ventano himself?
He aimed the cigar at her. “You’re wondering if I did it, aren’t you? To guard the secrets of my somewhat sordid career.”
“Sir, you worked undercover. You’re familiar with the ins and outs of murder.”
“Am I?”
Her skin itched with tension. “How could someone get a person like Ventano to confess to a murder he didn’t commit?”
“Money. Three square meals. A roof over his head. Of course, he could have been coerced to take the fall,” Trask added. “I mean, why pay him when he’ll spend the proceeds on booze or drugs? But coercion is cheap and comes in a million different forms.”
“Coercion, as in tortured him?”
“I’m talking mind control. Homeless people often volunteer for test programs. FYI, a person who hires another to kill a mark has a stake in the result.” He set the cigar in the ashtray on the side table. “So who profits most from your sister’s death? Follow the money.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
