Page 89 of One Wrong Move
“If we were hit,” he continued, “the airbag would jam your knees into your chest. I’ve lectured Riley on the same thing. Granted, as kids we never buckled. For goodness’ sake, we’d sit on the floor of the backseat playing games or Riley—always the sun seeker—would lie up on the slim space by the rear window of the car, reading her book.”
“I remember those days,” she said, enjoying the slice of his childhood he’d just shared with her. “Okay,” she said, lowering her knees and sliding them at an angle.
“Let’s see, where were we?” she said. Or rather, where were her thoughts? “Okay, so we’ve run through what Andi did the night of Anne’s murder in the lab. What I did and saw at the crime scene. Simmons’s alibi and the fact his shirt went missing from the cleaners, which explains why none of his epithelial cells were in it—a seeming mistake on the killer’s part in trying to set Simmons up.”
“Very true. I hadn’t considered that angle before, but valid point. And remind me what epithelial cells are?”
“Epithelial just means the thin tissue forming the outer layer of a body’s surface.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“No problem. I know it is a scientific niche, and a lot of people don’t understand what all we do.”
“It sounds fascinating. Not my thing.” He smiled. “But fascinating.”
“It definitely can be.”
“So your earlier question...?” he asked.
“Right.” She just needed to say it. “I’ve been wondering... what if the person or people who set Andi up ... probably the same people in your office tonight or those working for them ... What if they did so to intentionally get Mitch Abrams off?”
FORTY-THREE
HE HADN’T SEENthat one coming. “Are you saying you think Mitch is guilty?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility. Whoever set Andi up did so with the evidence that convicted Mitch Abrams. Discrediting her, destroying the DNA sample, and losing the shirt ... or rather someone having stolen it is my guess. All of it exonerated Mitch ... or at the very least, vacated his sentence.”
“And if Andi made a mistake?” If he was considering her supposition, she needed to at least consider his.
“You still think she botched the job?” Disappointment filled her eyes and tone, which made him feel like a heel—questioning her friend. But they both had to stay open to the possibilities until definitive proof was found either way. After working for Mitch, he’d thought it had already been found. And it still might turn out that way, but given those in Andi’s life, given how his brother looked at her, given the smart, enjoyable woman Andi turned out to be, for the first time, he prayed he was wrong.
“Not botched on purpose,” he added, trying to cushion the blow. Why did Harper’s disappointment hit him so? “Ifshe botched the job, I believe it wasn’t on purpose, but her results and testimony were the evidence that convicted Mitch.” Even now, out of jail, Mitch had to live with that weight of stigma around his neck. Last time hesaw Mitch, he’d split with his wife, was living in a rental place, and was focusing on rebuilding his company. He was a shadow of a man.
“So, you’re saying you think Andi was negligent?” Harper pushed as they wove their way along the twisting road.
“No. I’m not. She has asked me to investigate whether or not she was set up. I can’t have any opinion until I thoroughly investigate. Which means, I need to come at this as neutral as possible.” And he was torn. If he proved Andi was set up, then the question became who’d done so and why. Which meant reevaluating everything he thought he knew.
“When you find Andi’s innocent—and I have full faith you will—you’ll have to ask yourself who stood to gain from setting her up. But even more so, why was she set up in the first place?”
That was a hard one to swallow, but Harper wasn’t wrong. He no longer worked for Mitch. He worked for Andi, and more so for his brother, who’d pleaded with him to take the case. He needed to shift his mindset. Start the entire investigation from scratch—for Andi’s sake and, even more importantly, to find the truth. “Good questions to ask, but remember Mitch had an alibi that night.”
“And his alibi ...” she said. “We should run through it.”
“Right.” He tapped the wheel, collecting his thoughts. “Mitch was down in Las Cruces at a conference when Anne was killed.”
“Okay. What kind of conference?” she asked.
“He’s a real estate developer, and the conference was about the development of public works and new planned communities.”
“And did anyone vouch for him being there?” she asked.
“Everyone. It was a small conference. Maybe fifty people at most.”
“So he was seen at the time of Anne’s murder?”
“No, he said he had an awful headache and went to his room at about eight thirty.”
“And you didn’t find that suspicious?”
