Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,9
up a sugar envelope and snapped it a couple of times to move the sugar to one end.
“He wouldn’t do that,” Casey said.
Watts stirred the sugar and several packs of cream into his coffee, and looked at Casey from under his brows. “Seems to me you’ve gotten your own self into some trouble these past few weeks.”
Right. Her stuff before Ricky’s. “It was self-defense.”
Watts nodded, still stirring. “That’s what I hear.” He jerked his chin toward the officer, who laid a piece of paper on the table. Watts pushed at it with the tip of his pen. “We used your friend Eric’s statement and came up with this one for you. Take a look and see what you think.”
Casey glanced at the paper, and then at the detective. “You’ve just had this sitting around, waiting for me?”
Watts sucked on his teeth. “You want to tell her, Don?”
Don cleared his throat. “I kind of called him last night.”
“Kind of? Him?” Casey frowned. “I thought we were worried about the cops hunting me down?”
“No. You were worried about that. I decided it would be better to be prepared. And there was no way they could find you last night, if you decided to stay hidden.”
Casey looked at Watts, and at the officer, who’d gone back to staring at her like she was an exotic animal.
Watts took another sip of coffee, pursed his lips, and shrugged. “Still terrible. But why don’t you take a look? See if the statement is something you can sign off on?”
“And if I can?”
Watts smiled. “Then I don’t have to arrest you. Which I really don’t want to do, anyway. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork.”
Casey hesitated.
“They’re offering you an out, darlin’,” Death said. “At least look at it. I’m scanning it right now on my reader, and it’s looking pretty good.”
Casey read the paper without touching it. Eric’s recounting of the event was clear and concise. Casey came off as the victim of an attack, who was just trying to save herself. It was close enough.
“It’s good,” she said.
Watts nodded. “Nothing you want to change?”
“Not about the statement.”
Watts studied her for a few moments, then handed her his pen. Casey signed. Watts handed the paper to the young cop. “You know what to do with that.”
The officer nodded, took one last look at Casey, and left.
Casey watched him go. “What exactly is he doing?”
“Setting you free, my dear.” Watts looked at her over the rim of his mug. “You do realize we’re not the only police department interested in your whereabouts.”
“Clymer?” Where she’d killed the guy.
“Among others. But this should satisfy them. Nobody—and I really mean nobody—wants anyone looking into this any further. The guy you killed wasn’t exactly a boon to society, and the other side, well, let’s just say they’re happy to have us spending our time elsewhere.”
She looked at Don, and back at Watts. “You mean that’s it? We’re done?”
“With that,” Watts said. “Sure.”
“But not with my brother.”
He set down his mug. “Look, Mrs. Maldonado—”
“Casey.”
“Casey. It’s not good.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Yes, you said that before.”
“Obviously, he got involved with this woman—”
“Alicia McManus.”
“Alicia. Okay. But this has to be because of her, not him. He had nothing to do with it.”
“And your reasoning for that is?”
Because the woman was using a fake name? Because Casey knew there were three murderers who came to get her in the dead of night? No way could she say either of those things, when her source was the King of the Dead.
“Because he’s a sweet guy who stays out of trouble. Always has. What do we even know about the girl?”
Watts sat back. “Alicia McManus. Early thirties. Lived in the apartment where she was found. Came to town three months ago.”
“That’s it?”
“We have her rental agreement and job application at the restaurant. The information is…patchy.”
“How?”
“The Social Security Number and birthdate were fake, so we don’t know her exact age, and there was no phone number at which she could be reached. We didn’t find out about her cell phone until later. Your brother gave the number to us, actually. She included no references on the apps, no next of kin, no former landlords or employers, and there was nothing about education, place of birth, or insurance. Or even a middle name. We can’t find her anywhere in the federal databases.”
“I see. So this Alicia, if that really is her name—” she glanced at Death, who pointed a finger at her like a gun “—was full of secrets, and her life