“But—”
“I’ll call you back.”
He hung up, enjoying her anxiety. He remembered the way her mama used to sashay around, like she owned the world. Many a summer day, he’d ogled her lustfully while she frolicked in the swimming pool with Junior and Reede. They’d put their hands all over her and call it roughhousing. But she was too good to even cast an eye in Pasty’s direction. He hadn’t minded that she got herself killed. He sure as hell hadn’t interfered and stopped it when he could have.
He remembered that night and everything that had happened like it was yesterday. It was a secret that he’d kept all this time. Now it would be divulged. And it was gonna tickle him to death to tell that prosecutor all about it.
Chapter 11
“Are you waiting to give me a parking ticket?” Alex asked as she got out of her car and locked it. She was feeling chipper this morning, due to the unexpected telephone call she had received the night before. Maybe the caller was the eyewitness she’d been praying for. But it could have been a crank call, too, she realistically reminded herself.
If he was genuine, it would be a tragedy if he named Reede Lambert as Celina’s murderer. He looked extremely attractive leaning against the parking meter. Actually, since the meter was listing to the right, it might have been leaning on Reede.
“I should change my mind since you’re being a smart-ass, but I’m such a nice guy…” He slipped a canvas hood over the meter. In blue letters it was labeled, CITY OF PURCELL—OFFICIAL CAR. “Take this with you when you leave and use it from now on. It’ll save you some change.”
He turned and started up the sidewalk toward the courthouse. Alex fell into step beside him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” They climbed the stairs and went inside. “Come down to my office,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Curious, she followed his lead. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms the night before. Yet this morning, he was going out of his way to be hospitable. Deciding that was out of character, Alex couldn’t help but be suspicious of his motives.
When they reached the lower level, everyone in the squad room stopped what he was doing to stare. The scene became as still as a photograph.
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Reede gave the room one slow, meaningful sweep of his eyes. Activity was immediately resumed. He hadn’t spoken a single word, but it was apparent that he wielded tremendous authority over his staff. They either feared or respected him. Alex suspected the former.
Reede stepped around her, swung open a door to the left of the staircase, and moved aside so she could go in. She stepped into a small, square, windowless, cheerless office. It was as cold as a meat locker. There was a desk so dented and scarred it looked like it had been made from scrap metal. The particleboard top was ink-stained, and holes had been chipped out of it. Sitting on it were an overflowing ashtray and a black, no-frills telephone. Behind it was a swivel chair she had little confidence in.
“It’s yours to use if you want it,” Reede told her. “I’m sure you’re accustomed to fancier office space.”
“No. Actually, my cubicle in Austin is not much larger than this. Whom should I thank?”
“The city of Purcell.”
“But it was somebody’s idea. Yours, Reede?”
“So what if it was?”
“So,” she said, drawing out the word in an effort to ignore the chip he carried on his shoulder, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Trying to temper the animosity between them, she smiled and said teasingly, “Now that we’re in the same building, I can keep a closer eye on you.”
He pulled the door shut as he backed out. “You’ve got it backwards, Counselor. I can keep a closer eye on you.”
Alex tossed down her ballpoint pen and vigorously rubbed her chilled arms. The electric space heater she had bought at the hardware store was on full blast, but it wasn’t helping much. The square little office was frigid and seemed to be the only dank, damp spot in this otherwise arid climate.
Earlier she had bought office supplies: paper, pencils, pens, paper clips. The office was hardly comfortable, but at least it was functional. It was also much more centrally located than her room at the Westerner Motel.
After checking to see that the heater was indeed working at its maximum, she bent over her notes again. It had taken all afternoon to compile and arrange them according to the individuals involved.
Beginning with her profile on Angus, she reread the briefs. Unfortunately, they were no more concrete or factually based than they had been the first dozen times she’d read them.
What she had was conjecture and hearsay. What few facts she had, she had known when she left Austin. So far, this trip had been a waste of taxpayers’ money, and almost a week of Greg’s deadline had elapsed.
For the time being, she decided to let the question of opportunity wait. She had to establish motives. All she had learned so far was that the three men had adored Celina. Adoration was hardly motivation for murder.