Chapter Thirteen #2
“No,” she said loudly, making the detectives turn to face her, questions in their eyes. They probably thought she’d changed her mind. Or lost it. Which was entirely possible. “You can’t just point at me and expect me to obey like a dog. You can’t take my boots, too.”
Because she’d worn those every day as well.
Ronan caught on quickly, pointing to her boots. “We can and we will. I’m sorry, Ms. Randolph. Please remove them. We need to see if your footprints match the ones we found at the crime scenes.”
“I’ll be in my sock feet!” Elle cried, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “It’s fucking cold out there.”
“We’ll find something to cover your feet so that you can make it to your attorney’s vehicle,” Ronan said. “We’re impounding your Chevy Tahoe as evidence.”
Well, that sucked. Sara would be livid.
“You can’t do that. Alexis, can they do that?”
“Detectives,” Alexis said, also having caught on, “is this really necessary?”
“Afraid so, ma’am,” Simpson said. “We have warrants for all of it, the vehicle included. I’d recommend the Walmart for shoes. They’re most likely to have something warm enough that’s in your size. Ms. Randolph? Your boots, please?”
“Alexis?” she asked plaintively.
“Sorry, Elle,” Alexis said. “You need to give them your boots.”
Muttering under her breath, she removed her boots. The muttering was both for effect and because she really didn’t want to give up her boots. She winced when her feet hit the floor, the tile freezing despite her alpaca socks.
“You gonna take my pants, too?” she challenged belligerently. She’d worn a different pair of pants each of the days in question, so she didn’t need to give them up. It wasn’t likely her whole wardrobe was bugged.
“No,” Simpson said easily. “You can keep the rest of your clothes. If you laundered them since shooting the growers, they’ll test negative, and your jacket and coat would have caught most of the GSR.”
“I did not shoot the growers,” she said, enunciating each word.
Simpson shrugged. “We’ll need your outer coat, too.”
She winced. She was going to freeze to death. Cursing the cold tile under her feet, she grabbed the coat from the chair where she’d left it and thrust it into Simpson’s hands. “Fine.”
Simpson’s expression was grave. “Thank you, Ms. Randolph. As soon as we get you some foot coverings, you’ll be free to go. For now. Don’t leave town.”
That was a given. She wasn’t leaving town until she’d completely cleared her name.
Ronan stopped at the door. “Better get some toiletries when you go to Walmart. Your room at the inn is still considered part of the crime scene.”
Elle nodded her understanding but said nothing.
When the detectives were gone, she sank into a chair and sighed. “This sucks.”
“It does,” Alexis agreed. “But you’ll power through this.
You always do. When they release you, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.
But first, the Walmart. Write down your sizes and I’ll get you some shoes and another coat.
You can stay in the car with the heater running while I go in.
Write down the brands of toiletries you want, too.
Also the sizes of jeans and shirts. Your room at the inn may be closed off to you for a few days, so you’ll need a change of clothes or two.
” She wrinkled her nose. “You kind of stink, Ellie.”
Elle sniffed at her sweater and grimaced. “The body in the well was very decomposed. I bet the smell’s in my hair, too.” Then her words hit her and she dragged in a breath, letting it out as a quiet sob. “Kasey is dead because of us. And Dianne. Garfield, too.”
“They’re all dead because someone is trying to frame you,” Alexis said firmly. “You’re going to be completely cleared. Have no fear.”
But Elle had fear. She had a lot of fear. They’d come after people she’d talked to. Would they come after her next? The people she cared about? Sara and Felicia? Her family back in Florida?
A knock on the door stopped her mental spiral.
Ronan came in, a hoodie in one hand and paper footies in the other.
“Your stuff is in the lab,” he said. “We don’t have any shoes your size, but these footies can at least keep your socks clean while you’re walking to your lawyer’s car.
Oh, and I brought you my hoodie so you won’t become an icicle. ”
Elle immediately put the hoodie on and zipped it up, exhaling in relief. It didn’t smell like death. It smelled like him.
She managed not to sniff the jacket like a dog.
“Thank you,” Elle said, absurdly touched and wanting to call him by name, but unsure who’d be listening. His boss might not like it if they were overly familiar with each other, and she didn’t want to lose Ronan as lead on her case. She trusted him to do the right things.
“I called Judith. She’s prepared another room for you at the inn. She knows there was an unauthorized entry into your room today. She says the new room is free since your privacy was breached.”
“That’s kind of her,” Elle murmured. “But I won’t take advantage of her like that. What happened at the inn wasn’t her doing. I’ll pay her for my room.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I told her you’d probably say that.”
She regarded him steadily, aware that Alexis was avidly watching. “I don’t want to stay with anyone I know. People keep dying and I can’t have that on my conscience. Maybe I can reserve a cottage somewhere nearby. An Airbnb or something.”
He shook his head, glancing at Alexis before returning his attention to her. “You need to be somewhere that people can see you.”
“He means,” Alexis said, “that you need an alibi.”
Oh. Damn. She hated that they were right. “Judith has good security?”
Ronan nodded. “She does. She just had new cameras installed at the inn last year. A new alarm system, too.”
“And I’ll be staying with you,” Alexis added. “At least for tonight. For moral support. And for your alibi.”
Elle was more grateful than she could say. “Then I’ll go back to the inn.”
Ukiah, California
Monday, February 2, 7:45 p.m.
Ronan hated this. He hated all of it. Hated the death, hated the drawn, pinched look on Elle’s face.
Hated having to pretend he didn’t care if she was innocent or guilty. Because he cared. Too much.
He walked her and her attorney to the front door, retrieving her cell phone from his desk where he’d put it when he’d first brought her in for questioning.
She could keep her cell phone, but her firearm had to remain in evidence.
Ballistics would need to test it against whatever bullets were taken from the growers’ skulls.
She hadn’t fought him, even a little bit. She’d followed every instruction with a numbness that was visible in her face, in the set of her shoulders.
He’d wanted to pull her in for a hug. She’d looked like she really needed one. But that way lay folly and disaster.
“Be careful,” he said as she braced herself to go out into the cold night. “Ms. Hellier, call me if you need anything.”