was supposed to be mentally fragile, a “basket case” in some references, had proven to be tough as nails. They’d learned little more than they already knew. Despite hours of grilling, she’d stuck to her guns. She didn’t know how the knife had gotten into her room and had seemed shocked when confronted with it. Though they’d found one long strand of black hair from the wig that had been discovered on Jewel-Anne’s head (and probably like the hairs found at the other two crime scenes), she’d sworn she’d never seen it before.
Even though she’d been the last one to see Cheryl Reynolds alive, had accused Evelyn McPherson of having an affair with her husband, and had gotten into a physical altercation with her cousin the night before, the evidence they’d collected against her was still merely circumstantial.
Nothing solid connecting her to the crimes.
The knife that was probably the murder weapon that had been found in her room had no prints on it, and her alibis were still holding up. Snyder could only imagine what a field day any defense lawyer worth his salt would have if they ever went to trial. With so many people living in and around Neptune’s Gate, any number of individuals could have planted the knife and the strand of hair from the wig. Whoever had killed Jewel-Anne Church wanted that link made; they’d left her wearing the fake hair so that the police would connect the dots.
And then there was her wild-ass story about Jewel-Anne gaslighting her, making her think she was going out of her mind. When pressed about the fight with her cousin, Ava had insisted Jewel-Anne and Lester Reece were the biological parents of her child (a fact she’d conveniently forgotten with her hospitalization) and that her crippled cousin, though confined to a wheelchair, had somehow set up an elaborate scheme to make her think she was hearing and seeing her missing son and thereby sending her into fits of paranoia.
Craziest shit he’d ever heard. But she claimed to have video proof. He’d see. Even videos could be altered though he doubted Ava Garrison would go to all that trouble. But, who knew?
And the thought of Lester Reece fathering a kid gave him chills.
“You don’t think she did it?” Lyons asked, perturbed. Leaning one shoulder against the hallway wall, she looked as tired as he felt. It had been a long night that had bled into an even longer day.
“All I know is we can’t hold her,” Snyder answered.
“Sure we can. For a while.”
“To what? Break her? Save her from killing someone else?”
“Yes!” Lyons said vehemently.
“She could ask for a lawyer.”
“Let her.”
Snyder rubbed his chin, felt a bit of stubble and wished the case was more clear-cut. Then again, he always did.
“Motive, opportunity, and means,” she pointed out as an officer leading a prisoner in cuffs pushed past them, and the captive, a guy in jeans nearly falling off his skinny ass, a wet hoodie, and tattoos crawling up his neck slid an appreciative glance in Lyons’s direction. She didn’t seem to notice.
Snyder did.
But he ignored it and said, “The weapon has no fingerprints on it.”
“But maybe some blood transfer? Could be that when the blood on the blade is analyzed, we’ll come up with the DNA of the victim—or, I suspect victims—and the killer.”
“That’ll take time.”
She snorted and dug in the purse hanging from her shoulder. “I say we arrest her. Shake her up.”
“Not yet.”
“Why? Because she’s rich and can hire the best damned defense attorney around?” Lyons charged, frustrated. She located a rubber band and with the dexterity of years of practice began pulling her unruly hair into a ponytail.
“That’s something to think about, yeah. But the main thing is, we just don’t have enough to hold her.”
Lyons rolled her eyes as she snapped her hair into place, a couple of curls already escaping. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. After busting our hump trying to find out who killed these women, you’re going to let her walk. Hell, Snyder, I swear I have more balls than you sometimes!” And with that she marched off.
Ouch! His male ego stung a bit, but he couldn’t give it much thought. He had too much to do, and he was so caught up in the case he almost didn’t notice how Lyons’s jeans hugged her buttocks as she stormed off. Or the way the newly formed ponytail bounced against her back with each of her quick strides.
Almost.
Like it or not, it was