Chapter Thirteen
Scottsboro Police Department
South Broad Street
Chance had said all the right things to shore up her confidence to the degree possible on the drive over. Still, Rory was so nervous. They waited in the lobby atrium. Seated together. Chance looking all calm and composed and Rory’s foot tapping nervously, her hands knotted in her lap.
She felt like a ticking bomb ready to explode at any moment.
What if Detective Fowler was about to tell her they’d found some previously overlooked evidence that confirmed she was the murderer?
Rory closed her eyes. That was not possible because she was not a murderer.
She had not hurt her husband, much less killed him.
The only overlooked evidence that existed so far was some sort of green and blue fibers they still knew exactly nothing about.
She didn’t see how that would help. For that matter, would anything?
She looked to the man beside her and reminded herself she still had every reason to be hopeful.
Fowler exited the corridor on the other side of the lobby and headed their way. Rory sat up straighter, dread swelling in her chest.
“We’ve got this,” Chance said quietly with a glance in her direction.
God, she hoped he was right.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Fowler said. He looked to Chance.
He stood, thrust out his hand. “Chance Rader from the Colby Agency. I’m a private investigator working with Ms. Harris. Our agency is also handling her defense going forward.”
Fowler blinked as if his brain hadn’t decided what to spit out in response to the information.
After another second or two of hesitation, he shook Chance’s hand.
The man looked at least a decade older than the last time Rory had seen him.
Maybe her case had taken a toll on him. Or maybe the fact that he hadn’t done the job as he should have was hanging over his head like a black cloud.
“If you’ll follow me,” he said without tacking on the please.
Rory rose to her feet, only just realizing she was still seated, and walked alongside Chance.
She supposed having to reinvestigate a case was never fun.
Never looked good for the detective in charge either.
She considered the holes he’d left unaccounted for.
The claim that no other prints were found when her brother had been in the cottage and left the food basket.
The obliviousness to the fact that it had rained that night.
Did they even bother looking for footprints around the house?
Certainly none were submitted as evidence.
And what about the Taser? Pete had been tased, and no one seemed to have noticed.
Anger bolstered her determination. It was time someone actually tried to find the truth. She and Chance shouldn’t have to do it alone. The police had an obligation to at least attempt to do so.
Fowler led them to a room she recognized instantly—the interview room where he had first raked her over the coals.
She stalled at the door. Chance leaned closer. “You okay?”
Big breath. Focus. “Sure.” She forced herself to follow the path the detective had taken.
He, of course, sat on the side of the table with his back to the large mirror on the wall.
There was a brown folder lying on the table in front of him.
As she and Chance took seats on the other side, she wondered who was watching and listening in that observation booth.
At the ceiling in the corner beyond that mirror was a camera for the purpose of recording interviews.
The red dot indicated it was recording right now.
Didn’t matter. She was telling the truth, and she had Chance. As well as the Colby Agency.
Fowler opened the folder, and Rory strained her eyes in an attempt to see what was written on the pages. No luck. The angle prevented her from seeing clearly enough to read the words.
“I just have a few things I want to go over with you, Ms. Harris,” Fowler announced.
“All right.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She could just imagine how this was going to go.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re going back through our previous investigation and looking for anything we may have missed.” He gave her a pointed look. “Not that we expect to find anything, but we will do what’s required of us.”
She said nothing. Hadn’t been a question anyway.
He pursed his lips for a moment, studied her closely. “You’ve had a good deal of vandalism at your house on Tupelo Pike since your release.”
That one wasn’t a question either. More confusing, she had no idea what his statements so far had to do with her being here.
“It seems to have calmed down now,” Chance said when she didn’t respond.
His answer was so much better than anything she could have thought to say. Like that’s right, and why aren’t you doing something about it?
“As for the fibers found and not entered into evidence,” Fowler said, making Rory sit up and take closer notice, “we’re prepared to hand-deliver a sample to the lab of your choice.”
“The agency will contact you right away with a location,” Chance cut in.
Fowler nodded his understanding. Chance was already texting someone on his phone. Likely Jamie Colby to let her know about this news.
“What is it?” she asked, her nerves going all jittery. “The fibers. I’m sure your lab results speculate as to what the fibers are and where it came from.”
“Carpet,” Fowler said. “A polyester carpet. Green and blue in color.”
Carpet. Rory sifted through the images in her mind for any rugs in the White Cottage. None were green or contained any green as far as she could remember.
“Did the fibers match any in the cottage?” Chance asked.
Fowler shook his head. “The rugs at the crime scene were a shorter nap, and they were wool, not a synthetic.”
Fury flamed in Rory’s belly. “We had no greenish carpet in our home,” she snapped. “Where else would it have come from if not the intruders?”
Fowler held her gaze for a long moment. “For the record, there still is no evidence of an intruder or intruders. And,” he held up a hand when she would have blasted him, “it’s very possible you picked it up on your clothing from some other location, which is the reason it was not entered into evidence. ”
Chance spoke before she could. “I’m sure you now understand that the sort of speculation that went into that decision was out of bounds.”
Fowler cleared his throat. “At any rate, we’re looking into it.”
Rory fought to maintain control of her temper. “It rained that night,” she snapped. The words popped out of her so unexpectedly and with such fervency, she could only stare at the detective afterward.
He stared right back at her, whether from anger or a lack of what to say next, she couldn’t be sure.
It was, she realized during the stare-off, astonishing how much older he looked.
Gray had completely overtaken his once brown hair.
His complexion had grown ruddier, his jowls sagged with visible weariness, and even his suit was rumpled as if worn one too many times between visits to the cleaners.
Then again, it was the end of the day. Maybe he was just particularly weary today. Ready for it to end.
Rory was ready for this damned case to end, only the right way this time.
“It did rain, yes.” He nodded, the words floating out on a sigh. “But it wasn’t enough to wet the ground, which made it irrelevant.”
“My feet got wet when I was running for help,” she argued.
“But the ground wasn’t wet enough to have footsteps make indentations,” he argued, “if that’s what you’re getting at. And—” he looked from her to Chance and back “—for the record, we did look. We just didn’t find anything.”
Chance spoke up. “Was that before or after the other officers and official personnel were on sight—poking around, obliterating any other tracks?”
If possible, his jowls sagged even lower with the frustration Chance prompted. “We do know how to run an investigation down here, Mr. Rader.”
“I’m sure you do,” Chance responded. “I am curious, however, as to the reports regarding fingerprints found at the scene. There appears to have been none other than those belonging to Ms. Harris and to the victim.”
Fowler rocked his head up and down, the move causing his fleshy neck to waddle. “That’s correct.”
Rory had to look away. How could he sit there and lie when he must realize they knew he was doing so?
“The basket used to bring the food to the cottage,” Chance went on. “Based on the crime scene photos I viewed, it was a natural woven basket with a white lacy cloth inside it. The champagne, a loaf of bread, a variety of cheeses and a few other items that were inside had been removed.”
Fowler gave another of those long, slow nods. “That’s right.”
Chance winced. “You see, that’s a problem.
Because the newlyweds didn’t have the basket with them at the wedding ceremony.
Ms. Harris’s brother, Austin, picked it up from The Feed Store—where it had been prepared—and took it to the cottage just before the ceremony.
He left it on the counter in the kitchen just as it was found when the crime scene photos were taken.
His prints as well as anyone at The Feed Store who arranged it should have been on the basket and its contents. ”
Now the detective’s reddish complexion had gone pale. “I’m confident everything in the cottage was checked—even the basket and its contents.”
“If the basket is still in evidence,” Chance suggested, “perhaps your forensic folks might need to have another look.”
The red rushed back into his cheeks with a vengeance.
“There’s also,” Chance went on when the detective said nothing, “the discrepancy in the autopsy report.”
Fowler’s forehead folded in bewilderment. “What discrepancy?”
Chance explained about the Taser mark in the photo of Pete’s neck. Rory bit her bottom lip. Each time she thought about someone doing that to Pete in addition to everything else, her heart hurt.