Chapter Four
“It was Congressman Ashton Howe,” Sam said clearly, so there would be no confusion. She was sure of her answer, even when the detective frowned and looked up at the stained ceiling.
“Congressman Howe?” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Last night you said you didn’t remember his face. Certainly, you would have recognized him then.”
“I didn’t realize it was him until I saw his picture on the side of a bus on the way home. Then I put it together.”
Richards pressed his lips into a tight line and laced his fingers together on top of his desk. “It’s not uncommon to see someone in the same clothing, and put their face into the slot your mind is trying to fill,” he said softly. “You saw a man in a suit. Then you saw Congressman Howe, and it fit.”
It made sense, but she knew it hadn’t happened like that. “No. It fit because it was him. I’m sure of it.”
“You’re sure of it? Last night, you couldn’t even remember his hair color.”
“You told me to go home and relax so it would come to me. It did. It’s him. I’m certain.”
“Okay. Calm down.”
She hadn’t realized she’d leaned over his desk and was halfway out of her seat. She backed off.
“Let me check on a few things,” he said. “Stay here.”
He walked to the first desk outside his office and leaned down to talk to a lady in a sweater that was too tight. The woman nodded and picked up the phone on her desk.
The detective continued down the line of desks and stopped at a cubicle near the back wall. He gestured while he talked, and then left, disappearing into another room.
He returned to his office and set a cup in front of her. “Coffee?” He dropped a pile of creamers and sugar packets on the desk. She picked up the cup and sipped it black. He seemed to approve of her choice.
“So, the girl last night—”
“Heather Riddell,” Sam said in a shaky voice.
“Yes. Heather.” He set his cup down. “She was a twenty-six-year-old paralegal and a single mother. She dropped her son off with her mother and went to meet this man last night.” He pulled a photo from a manila folder. “She was introduced to him through an online dating site. His name is Kenneth Holden. Does he look familiar?”
Other than the fact he resembled the congressman, he didn’t look familiar. Her stomach felt a little queasy. She shook her head. “No.”
“We went to Holden’s house to talk to him. It doesn’t look like he came home last night, nor did he show up at work today. He’s in the wind.”
She didn’t realize real detectives used that term. She thought it was just on television.
“He drives a black Mercury, and his assistant said he was wearing a black suit yesterday,” Richards said hopefully. She guessed he was sharing all this so she would see the writing on the wall and tell him she was wrong. But she couldn’t do that.
“It wasn’t this man. It was Ashton Howe.” She realized how desperate she sounded. But she wasn’t going to back down. The truth was the truth.
Detective Richards sighed as if he hadn’t slept in ages. “Heather had plans to meet Kenneth Holden last night. He has a car that matches the description you gave, and he was wearing a dark suit. He also owns a handgun. Now, he’s missing.”
She met the detective’s steady gaze. If he was going to try to push her into an alternate version of the truth, she was going to push back. “Did he pack his things?”
“No. But if he shot Heather in the heat of the moment, he might not risk showing up at his house to get his belongings.”
She asked what she thought was the next logical question. “Did he withdraw any money?”
“He hasn’t removed anything from his main account or used any cards. We’re looking into other accounts.” The detective rubbed his head, looking slightly annoyed. Maybe he wasn’t used to having his skills questioned.
But she was just as annoyed that he was questioning her recollection of the facts.
“Phone records?” She crossed her arms on the edge of his desk and leaned forward.
“We’re looking into that, too. Trust me, we’re doing everything we can to make sure the pieces fit.”
“Except, it’s not him. I know it.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been doing this for twelve years, Ms. Hutchinson, and the pieces are fitting together pretty well.”
“Other than the fact that you’re wrong. Maybe the congressman did something to this Holden guy to set him up. Maybe—” She was interrupted by the receptionist who tapped on the open door.
“Yes, Renee?”
“Excuse me, sir. I checked with the congressman’s office, and his aide says he was at a dinner meeting last evening in Silver Springs until nine and then went home.”
“Thank you.”
The woman nodded happily and went back out to her desk after giving Sam a pitying smile.
“Your 911 call came in at 9:23.”
Sam thought over how long it would have taken to drive that distance at that time of night. “He could have gotten to the alley by then.” It would have been close, but possible.
“He wouldn’t have had time to pick her up.”
“Maybe she was with him at the dinner,” she countered. “Or in the trunk of his car.”
“And no one heard her in a parking lot at the restaurant?”
“Sedated?”
“You said she was awake when you saw her, and we didn’t find any sedatives in her system.”
Sam realized the detective was losing his patience with her, and she shouldn’t be asking so many questions. But she couldn’t let go of the truth. “Maybe—”
“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Richards interrupted. “The congressman would have a driver. He wouldn’t be driving around with a beat-up paralegal in his car all by himself without someone noticing.”
“Unless they work for him.”
“I appreciate you coming back in, Ms. Hutchinson. When we find Mr. Holden, we’ll call you in for a lineup.” He stood and gestured toward the door.
She’d been dismissed.
And clearly, he didn’t believe her.
As she walked to her car, doubt crept in. As he’d said, the pieces he laid out were fitting together pretty well. All clues pointed to Kenneth Holden. She was rational enough to see that. It was an awfully big coincidence he had run off the night the victim had ended up dead.
And the congressman would have security and people with him all the time. If it was him in the alley, where were they?
She needed to get ready for her shift. Taking pizza orders would keep her mind off things. By the time she got back to the apartment, she still had a tiny, nagging feeling in her stomach. Much like the feeling she got when she realized she’d been wrong about something.
As she pulled on her Santiago’s Pizza T-shirt, she called Nik.
“So?” Nikki pounced as soon as she answered. “How did it go?”
“It’s not the congressman,” Sam said, still trying to convince herself. And failing miserably.
“Told you,” Nik said.
“I have to go.”
“Call me when you leave and I’ll come over.”
“Okay. See you later.”
She sat in her car for a few minutes, not starting it. Just sitting and watching the people come and go in the parking lot. Something so simple. Life moved on. And eventually she did as well.
“It’s over,” she repeated like a mantra as she drove to work. There was nothing more she could do. She’d told the truth as best as she knew it. She needed to find some way to let it go.