Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [18]
“I’d appreciate it. I hate that anyone would think I was capable of killing Derek—or anyone else, for that matter—but I understand why they need to consider the possibility.” She looked grim. Then, seeing one of Derek’s sisters in the crowd, she patted her brother on the arm. “There’s Jessica. I didn’t have time to speak with her earlier. . . .”
Evan watched his sister walk away, wondering if she realized how serious the situation really was.
The fact was, on paper, she just looked too damned good to ignore.
Then there was the matter of her clothing she’d voluntarily given up, and the fact that she’d submitted to a GSR swabbing at the hands of the local CSI team. He’d almost hit the ceiling when he’d found out about that, though it would definitely act in Amanda’s favor when the tests confirmed that no fragments of unburned gun powder were found on her hands or clothing.
Evan sighed deeply. He knew that Amanda was incapable of killing anyone. It was unthinkable.
They’ll railroad her over my dead body, Evan vowed as he accepted a glass of champagne from one of the waiters.
“So. Detective Crosby, was it?”
Evan turned to meet the eyes of the police chief.
“Chief Mercer.” Evan acknowledged him with a nod.
“Call me Sean,” he offered. “Evan, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it’s Detective.”
“Professional courtesy?” Mercer asked dryly.
“Sure,” Evan responded in kind. “So, you’re here lining up your suspects?”
“Looking over the crowd,” Mercer conceded.
“Got anyone in particular in mind?”
Mercer’s eyes drifted to Amanda, who was holding the hand of Derek’s older sister.
“Oh, come on, Mercer. You know she didn’t do it,” Evan told him tersely.
“You’re her brother. I would expect nothing less from you.”
“You don’t understand. Amanda just isn’t capable of doing something like that.”
“You’ve been in law enforcement how many years now?” Mercer asked.
“Fifteen.”
“How many times, over the course of those fifteen years, have you heard someone say those words? Be honest, Crosby. How many times?”
Evan stared at him hard. Of course, he’d heard those words a thousand times. He’d been in Mercer’s shoes a thousand times himself.
“She didn’t do it,” Evan repeated.
“I hope you’re right. I really do.” Mercer paused to watch Amanda console the grieving family. “But I have to consider her a suspect until the evidence rules her out.”
“Well, I expect you’ll be able to do that real soon. We both know the GSR tests will confirm that she hasn’t fired a gun recently.” Evan nodded confidently. “And of course, you’re keeping an open mind. . . .”
“Of course.” Mercer’s eyes scanned the crowd in the same manner Evan’s had. “There’s way too much we don’t know yet. And there’s the matter of that pottery vase. Goblet. I still like the theft angle. And frankly, I don’t see your sister there. She told me she’d arranged to send it back, and that all checked out. The courier she hired confirmed that it was to go back to Dr. McGowan. So yes, we’re keeping the investigation totally open, following up every lead. Besides, it just seems . . .” Mercer shook his head the slightest bit.
“Seems what?”
“Oh, a little too . . .” He appeared unwilling to complete the thought.
“Too easy?” Evan replied.
“Yeah. Maybe. Your sister’s too easy a suspect. And that does bother me a bit. Things rarely turn out to be that pat.” Mercer watched Clark Lehmann throw back yet another martini. His third, by Mercer’s count. “Though Lehmann there stands to inherit financially. The house here in town as well as a summer place. The boat. And I understand that England carried a hefty life insurance policy.”
“Clark doesn’t need the money. There’s a lot of money behind him.”
“Where’d it come from, do you know?”
“Lehmann’s Candy. He’s a grandson of the founder, owns a big chunk of stock. And he’s done well—very well—with his investments.” Evan drained his glass. “But I’m sure you’ll find that all out for yourself when you scrutinize