Chapter 12
David laughed. "Let me tell you boys something. I love my wife. We have a great relationship. I keep her happy and satisfied in every way. She has no reason to run around on me, least of all with the tennis pro.”
I bit my tongue.
“Now, I'm well aware of Liam’s reputation with some of the ladies at the club. But Blair is not one of those kinds of women. I don't expect you to take my word for it. I know you've already spoken with her, and I'm sure she told you as much.”
JD and I tried to keep a straight face.
“As far as my whereabouts at the time of the murder, I was at a business dinner with several colleagues. All of whom will vouch for my presence. I can give you their numbers.”
"Please. That would be fantastic," I said.
I handed him a card. Then I stroked his ego a bit.
"I'm sure you're dialed into the gossip around the club and privy to exclusive information.
Can you think of anybody who didn't have a good relationship with their wife? Someone who might have violent tendencies?”
"You really think this was someone at the club?"
"I think that's the obvious direction to look.”
"You might need to look for less than obvious suspects.”
"You might be right. Do any less obvious suspects come to mind?”
David thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I'm no detective. But if that guy was banging my daughter, he wouldn’t be breathing for long.”
"You're talking about Stephanie Wescott.”
David shrugged. "You do your homework. I don't like to gossip, but…”
“You're saying we should talk to her father.”
“That's a pretty obvious suspect to me. Might want to look at Stephanie's boyfriend, too. Maybe he found out and didn't like it so much.”
It was certainly something to consider.
I couldn’t tell if David was in complete denial about his wife's dalliances, or if he truly believed they were a happily married couple. Maybe he knew and just didn't want to admit it. It's not always an easy thing to acknowledge.
I thanked him for the information, and we left the office. We walked back down the hallway and showed ourselves out. When we stepped into the elevator bay, Jack said, "You can't tell me that guy doesn't know his wife's fooling around.”
"He's probably fooling around too and doesn't want to stir the pot.”
“Those people have everything in the world, and none of them seem happy,” Jack said and shook his head.
We took the elevator down to the lobby and walked back to the Porsche. I started dialing the numbers of David's business associates. One by one, they each confirmed his alibi. On the phone, driving stick, multitasking, talking to these guys, I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been.
Before I knew it, a silver 4-door was on our tail, riding our bumper.
I downshifted, put my foot to the floor, and put some distance between us.
The sedan sped up.
I took a hard right, downshifted into second, and the shifter popped out of gear.
The synchros were still messed up. Jack hadn’t had time to take the car into the shop.
Bullet holes still scarred the door from our last encounter, and the driver's side window had been shattered.
We drove around most of the time with the windows down and the sunroof open.
The Porsche slowed, and I shifted into third and tried to get the RPMs up into the power band. Lacking a lot of torque, we weren't going to win any races.
The sedan squealed around the corner and caught up to us. It was embarrassing.
Out came a machine gun from the passenger window.
Muzzle flash flickered, and bullets streaked toward us.
The rear window webbed with cracks, and shards rained down.
We both made ourselves small, crouching low. I took a hard right at the next intersection and stood on the gas. Not much happened until the revs crept up.
Jack held on for dear life with his good arm as I took another left as fast as I could, trying to keep the revs up.
The sedan followed, tires screaming.
I drew my pistol as I barreled down the road.
My foot jammed the brakes, and I flung open the door when the car stopped.
I hopped out, took aim, and did a mag dump.
The pistol hammered my palm, and the tangy scent of gunpowder wafted.
My bullets cratered the windshield, and the sedan screeched to a halt.
I dropped the magazine and reloaded.
The driver jammed it into reverse, and the tires squealed as they retreated. White smoke billowed from the wheel wells.
They backed up to the previous intersection, spun around, then took off.
With my heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I hopped back into the Porsche.
Jack had radioed dispatch for backup and given a description of the vehicle.
I put it into gear and drove back to the station.
"I think I know what that was about," Jack said dryly. "Seems your girlfriend’s got it out for you."
I sneered at him. "Catalina is not my girlfriend.”
At the station, we surveyed the damage and cleaned the glass from the car. It didn’t look like the engine compartment got hit.
Jack was not pleased. Sourcing a replacement window could take a few weeks.
We filled out after-action reports, and I surrendered my duty weapon and was put on leave pending the outcome of the investigation.
The sheriff poked his head into the conference room as we finished up. "License plate on that vehicle came back stolen.”
"Not surprising.”
"Erickson and Faulkner found the car burned out in an abandoned parking lot in the warehouse district.”
"Figures.”
There would be no way to pull DNA or prints now. These guys were pros. It wasn’t their first rodeo.
Daniels looked at us with a worried face. "I'm a little concerned about you two. I think you got lucky today." He pointed at Jack. "He's got no business being on duty. Not in his condition.”
"I'm perfectly fine," Jack said.
Daniels gave him a look. “You are not fine. You're the walking wounded. I ought to have my head examined for letting you work these cases.”
Jack smiled. "You don't think you can really stop us, do you?"
An exasperated sigh escaped the sheriff's mouth. "Take a few days. Let things cool down around here. Maybe go on vacation.”
"Things are never gonna cool down around here," I said. "You know that.”
“You pissed off Diego Navarro. What did you think was going to happen?”
“The only way this stops is if we take down the cartel. And that sure isn't going to happen if we’re sitting on the sidelines.”
The sheriff didn't like it, but he knew we were right. He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what to do with you two.”
I shrugged.
Daniels sighed and said, “Just be careful out there.”
“Always,” Jack replied.
We wrapped up, chatted with Denise for a bit, then I drove the Porsche to Sparky’s. He could give the mechanicals a once-over, fix the bad synchro, then send it out for paint and bodywork. In a month or two, it would be back in pristine condition.
“It’s almost criminal what you guys do to cars,” Sparky said.
He wasn’t lying.
We shot the breeze for a bit, then caught a rideshare back to the marina at Diver Down. I took the opportunity to call Catalina. I had a few things on my mind.
She picked up after a few rings. “Deputy Wild, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”
“Two of your flunkies just tried to kill us.” There may have been a little venom in my voice.