prior bad acts. And no matter how they came at you, you stuck to the story. They couldn’t shake you off it.”
“Because it was the truth.”
“Added to it, the victim’s own behavior weighed on your side. She was the one lying, the one cheating, the one planning on a generous settlement while she carried on a secret affair. The media made that case, too.”
“It’s easy to smear a dead woman, and it’s not what I wanted.”
“But it helped, so did the phone calls logged between her and Justin Suskind after you confronted her that afternoon. Shined the light on him awhile.”
He couldn’t face coffee, he realized, and opened the refrigerator for water. “I wanted it to be him.”
“Problems there. One, motive. Unless you subscribe to the theory she decided to break it off or step back after her confrontation with you. The motive problem deepens because she was good at keeping him a secret. Friends, coworkers, neighbors—nobody knew about him. Some suspected there was someone, but she never talked about it. Too much at stake. She didn’t keep a diary, and the e-mails between them were careful. They both had a lot at stake. They met almost exclusively in hotels or out-of-town restaurants, B-and-Bs. Nothing the cops dug up pointed to any tension between them.”
“No.” He wished that didn’t continue to sting, even if the sting had gone dull. “I think she cared about him a great deal.”
“Maybe she did, or maybe she just liked the adventure. You’re probably never going to know for sure. But the biggest problem with Suskind as killer is he’s alibied by his wife. His betrayed wife. She comes across as mortified, even devastated, by this affair, but she tells the police he was home that night. They had dinner together, alone as both kids were at a school function. Then the kids get home about eight-fifteen and confirm Mom and Dad are hanging out at home.”
She opened her briefcase, took out a file. “As you know, the Suskinds recently separated. I figured she might change her tune now that the marriage is going under. I talked to her yesterday. She’s bitter, she’s tired, she’s done with the husband and the marriage, but she doesn’t change her story.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Well, if you cheat with one, maybe you cheat with others. Maybe another lover isn’t happy about her and Suskind, or maybe another wife confronts her. I haven’t found anybody yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Mind?” Sherrilyn asked, and gestured to the coffeemaker.
“No, sure.”
“I’d make it myself, but that machine looks like I’d need a training manual.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. So you’ll see—and I believe your previous investigator reported—she didn’t always use a credit card for rooms. Sometimes she used cash, and that’s hard to track.
“At this point we have witnesses who’ve identified Justin Suskind as her companion in several locations. Now we look for some that identify someone else.”
He brought the fresh coffee back, sat again to skim through the files while Sherrilyn talked.
“She let her killer into the house. Turned her back on him. She knew who killed her, so we look at who she knew. BPD was thorough, but they liked you for it, and the lead investigator was dug in hard on that.”
“Wolfe.”
“He’s a bulldog. You fit the bill for him. I can see where he’s coming from. And you’re a criminal defense attorney. That’s the enemy. He busts his ass to take bad guys off the street, you line your pockets getting them back out.”
“Black and white.”
“I was a cop for five years before I went private.” Cupping the coffee in both hands, she leaned back to enjoy it. “I see plenty of gray, but it’s a pisser when some hotshot suit gets an asshole a pass on some technicality or because he’s got good style with some fancy tap dance. Wolfe looks at you, he sees rich, privileged, spoiled, conniving and guilty. He built a damn good circumstantial case, but he couldn’t shoot it home. Now here you are in Whiskey Beach, and before you know it, there’s another murder on your doorstep.”
“Now you’re not sounding like my lawyer. You sound like a cop.”
“I have many voices,” she said easily.
She took out another file, set it on the counter. “Kirby Duncan. He was basically a one-man operation, kept it low-key, and low-tech. He wasn’t bargain basement, but you’d find him on the sale rack. Cops liked him. He’d been one of them and he played things pretty straight.