Chapter Ten
“Darrell Cooperman? Isn’t he that kid ski phenom on the local racing team?” Brian shoved aside the remains of the ramen he and Chloe had shared in the back room of her shop Thursday evening. Chloe had just finished telling him about her encounter with Jay Kleinman that afternoon.
“Sharee beat him in a race down Double Trees earlier this year,” Chloe said.
Brian paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Leann told me about that. Sorry I didn’t pass that on to you.”
“Apparently Darrell is a sore loser,” Chloe said. “And they dated a couple of times but Kleinman says his source reports that didn’t end well.”
“Leann didn’t say anything about that. She didn’t think Sharee had dated any guys their age.”
“I don’t know how much I trust Kleinman and his mysterious sources,” she said.
“That’s why we need to investigate Cooperman on our own.”
“What do you want to do?” Brian asked. “We can’t exactly call him up and ask if he killed Sharee.”
“I thought maybe you could chat him up at the ski resort. Admire his skiing prowess. Maybe ask if he’s ever thought about becoming a ski patroller one day. Say you heard he knew Sharee Anderson, what a shame about her death, etcetera. See what he has to say.”
“Sounds like you’ve scripted this whole conversation,” he said.
She flushed. “I ran through a few possible scenarios. But you can handle it however you want. The main thing is to find out what Darrell was doing the night of Sharee’s murder. Then we check to see if his alibi holds up.”
“Or we could give Darrell’s name and our suspicions to the sheriff’s department and let them question him.”
“I’d do that if I thought they would follow up,” she said. “But how much effort do you think they’ll make when their focus is on building the case against you?”
The knot in his chest that never went away these days tightened. “All right. I’ll talk to Darrell. See what I can find out.”
BUT BEFORE brIAN could talk to Darrell, he was summoned once again to the sheriff’s department.
“My client has nothing to add to his previous statement.” Pamela Barnes, attorney at law, addressed the sheriff’s investigator and deputy who faced her and Brian across a table in a small gray room at the sheriff’s department Friday morning.
When the detective had contacted Brian the previous day and requested he come to the station to answer more questions, he had immediately contacted her and she had arranged this meeting.
So far, Ms. Barnes, a slender fortysomething woman with long dark hair, dressed in a purple wool dress, had done all the talking.
“It is no surprise that you would find his DNA on the glove in evidence,” she continued.
“He has never denied it is his glove, which he misplaced on Friday.” She fixed the lawmen with a stern gaze. “Is Ms. Anderson’s DNA on the glove?”
“We’re awaiting more test results,” Detective Renfro, a man with an equally stern expression and bags under his eyes, said.
“You won’t find her DNA on that glove,” Ms. Barnes asserted.
“Then what was the glove doing near her body?” Renfro asked.
“I don’t know,” Ms. Barnes said. “But it doesn’t make sense that the killer strangled her while wearing ski gloves.”
“Your client dropped it while fleeing the scene.”
“You think he dropped a glove we’ve already established he didn’t have the previous day?”
“He could have found it again. Or he made up the story about having lost the gloves.”
“Because he knew he was going to drop it at a murder scene the next day?” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “We also have the evidence from Mr. Weeks’s computer that he was playing Fortnite at the time Ms. Anderson was killed.”
“We find that evidence suspect.”
“Why? My client is not a computer expert.”
Brian could remain silent no longer. “Have you found anyone who had a reason to want to kill Sharee?” he asked.
Ms. Barnes frowned at him, but said nothing.
“We’re still talking to everyone who knew Ms. Anderson,” Renfro said.
“Her friends told me she liked to flirt with older men. Tourists. She might have arranged to meet one of them the night she was killed.”
“What are you doing talking to Ms. Anderson’s friends?” the detective asked.
“They were at the ski resort. They were petting my dog and recognized me. I wanted to know if they knew of any enemies she might have had.”
“Or maybe you were trying to influence what they told us,” Renfro said.
“No!”
Ms. Barnes put a hand on his wrist. “Are you looking at other suspects?” she asked.
“We haven’t identified any other suspects at this time.”
“What about Darrell Cooperman?” Brian asked.
Everyone, including his attorney, stared at him. “I heard Sharee and Cooperman went out a couple of times but it didn’t end well,” he said. “And Sharee beat him in a race in front of all their friends and he was upset about that.”
Renfro made a note, then said, “Tell us about your friendship with Chloe Anderson, the victim’s sister.”
Brian stared. His first impulse was to ask how they knew about him and Chloe. But of course, they had been following him. He was, after all, still their chief suspect.
“You’ve been seen together on several occasions,” Renfro said. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing is going on. We’re friends.”
“Maybe you want to be more than friends. Maybe the sister was in your way. Maybe the two of you planned to get rid of her.”
“No! It’s not like that.”
Ms. Barnes put a hand on his arm again, and lightly squeezed this time. “My client has nothing more to say,” she said, and stood.
Brian expected the detective to object, but he only nodded and gathered his paperwork. “We may have more questions in the future.”
After the stuffiness of the sheriff’s department, the cold outside felt bracing.
Brian took deep breaths of the fresh air and tried to calm his racing heart.
They were halfway across the parking lot when Ms. Barnes turned to him.
“What are you doing going anywhere near the victim’s sister? ” she asked.
“She came to me,” he protested. “She had questions about what happened. And she believes I didn’t kill Sharee.”
“That wasn’t smart of her to seek you out. What if you really had murdered her sister?”
He wanted to protest that Chloe was smart, and she must have seen right away that he wasn’t a murderer. But he kept silent. He was fast learning that was the best approach when people started firing accusations at him.
Ms. Barnes shook her head. “So you answered her questions and then you saw her again? More than once?”
“We’ve become friends.”
“That’s not a good idea. The prosecution will play up the idea of the two of you working together. And juries won’t like it.”
“We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Facts don’t matter as much as appearances sometimes. You need to stay away from her until this case is settled.”
“She’s asked me to help her find out what happened to her sister.”
“That’s the job of the sheriff’s department, not you. You need to stay out of this. And you need to stay away from Sharee’s friends, too.”
“You heard the sergeant. They aren’t even looking at other suspects. I have a right to defend myself.”
“That’s my job. If you know anyone we should talk to, you tell me and I’ll have someone investigate. If you talk to them, it could look like you’re trying to influence witnesses.”
He set his jaw.
“Promise me.” She touched his arm. “It’s important.”
He remained silent. “Are you and Chloe Anderson involved?” she asked.
“Involved?”
“Romantically? Sexually?”
He thought of that moment when he had wanted to kiss her. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of someone who was grieving. “We’re just friends.”
“Then you can be friends when this is over. Don’t give your accusers anything else to use against you. And it’s not good for her, either. You must see that.”
He didn’t think of himself as a potential murderer, so he had avoided admitting that others might see him that way. But if people did think of him that way, he could see how that might tarnish Chloe’s reputation as well. “I can’t ghost her.”
“Tell her you can’t see her until this is resolved. If she’s really a good friend, she’ll understand.”
“All right.” That was the right thing to say. The nice thing. Though he was beginning to hate that word.
“HELLO? CHLOE ANDERSON? This is Cameron Douglas.”
Chloe had answered the unfamiliar number Friday morning fully expecting to fend off a scammer. Instead, his call left her momentarily speechless. “Hello?” he repeated.
“One moment, Mr. Douglas.” She signaled to Nadia that she needed to step away from the front desk and ducked into her office. “Thank you for returning my call,” she said.
“I’ve already spoken with the police,” he said. “I can’t tell you anything more about your sister. It’s not a topic I want to discuss.”
“I understand that,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but in going through my sister’s belongings, I found some photographs of you and your family.”
Silence. For a moment, she thought he had hung up on her. “Mr. Douglas?”
“Photos of me and my family? What kind of photos?”
“They were taken with one of those cameras where the picture develops before your eyes. Polaroids? They show you and a woman and two small children, in front of a ranch-style home.”
He swore. “She must have been spying on us. Were these taken before or after the restraining order?”
“I don’t know. You’ve never seen these photographs before?”
“Never. If I had I would have told the police. They were more evidence of the way she harassed me and my family. Why would she have kept them?”
“I was hoping you’d know.”
“I don’t.”
“She didn’t…well, she didn’t try to blackmail you, did she?”
“No. That’s one thing she didn’t do.”
“She told a friend the two of you were still in touch. Was that true?”
“Absolutely not. I’m sorry, Ms. Anderson, but I believe your sister was a disturbed young woman. I never returned her advances. I am a happily married man and she was a child. One of my students. When she tried to force me into some kind of relationship it almost ruined my life.”