The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [102]
Bledsoe took the papers, then mumbled, “You’re definitely prepared.”
“Hey Blood,” Manette interrupted, “I got a theory on Linwood. Don’t know if it’s got anything to do with Dead Eyes, because it could just be a copycat, but I was thinking.”
“Spill it,” Bledsoe said. It was an invitation for everyone to join the discussion.
“Well, I figure that if the husband’s alibi holds up, the first thing we should look at is the senator’s private life. You know, was she doing a stud on the side.”
Bledsoe turned to Hancock. This was Bledsoe’s interrogation. He would ask most of the questions directed at their prime suspect. “What do you think, Hancock? You were her security chief. Did she have anything going with anyone?”
Hancock twisted his neck a bit, freeing it from his tight collar. “Senator Linwood having an affair? Absolutely not. She was happily married, far as I could tell.”
“Yeah, but hubby wasn’t around much. Maybe that presented an opportunity. Or a need.”
Hancock shook his head. “Not that I saw. She had her reputation to protect.”
He had made a good point. Why would Linwood risk it? “What if someone had something on her, some deep secret, and this was her way of keeping him quiet.”
Hancock shrugged, looked away. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Guess it’s possible.”
Bledsoe nodded slowly. “So nothing happened between the two of you.”
“Me?” Hancock leaned back in his chair, as if he were trying to fend off the accusation by putting distance between himself and Bledsoe. “Absolutely not. My job was to guard her, not bone her.”
“Well, you failed, then, didn’t you? I mean, your job was to guard her, but she ended up dead. And you happened to leave just when she needed you the most.”
Hancock sat up straight. “What the hell is this about? What are you saying?”
“We’re just talking. It’s not about anything.” Bledsoe shrugged. “Just trying to get at what happened last night.”
“Some deranged maniac killed her, that’s what happened.”
“You said she and Vail had had an argument, and that the senator was upset afterwards. She told you she needed some space, and you just drove off and left her alone.”
Hancock relaxed a bit, pulled out a cigarette. “That’s right.”
“Well, you’re her security guard. Was that a smart thing to do? You could’ve just gone outside for a smoke. But you left, drove away.”
“I drove away. And if I hadn’t. . . .” He looked away and shook his head. “She’d probably still be alive.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Manette winced as the cigarette ignited.
“You know,” Robby said, “the lab faxed us a report this morning.” Hancock puffed on his cigarette and seemed to ignore the comment. “The techs are pretty good. We had the best of the best combing Linwood’s place. And they found something interesting.” Still no response from Hancock.
“What’d they find?” Sinclair asked.
“Something I’ve never seen. Some Turkish cigarette tobacco in the senator’s bedroom.” Robby paused, looked at Hancock. The others turned to him as well.
Hancock lifted his head and noticed their gazes. “Look, you want to lean on someone, what about Vail? She had big time motive, means, and opportunity. Not to mention a violent history.”
Everyone was silent.
“I’d rather talk about the tobacco,” Bledsoe said. He kept his voice calm, his eyes riveted on Hancock.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I spent a lot of time around the house. I smoked here and there. Hell, you’ll probably even find clothing fibers and DNA around the place, too. I worked there, for Christ’s sake.”
“You’re right,” Robby said, looking at the report. “There were hair and fibers there, too.”
“See?”
Robby nodded. “Simple transfer.”
“Exactly.”
“Except that the tobacco fibers were found embedded in the bed sheets. Linwood’s bed sheets.” Robby tilted his head back and waited for a response.
“Like you said, simple transfer.”
“I want to accept that,” Bledsoe said, standing and starting to pace, circling Hancock. “I really do, because