Ghost of a Chance

“Simple,” he said. “There’s a copy of today’s Midnight Sun in the kitchen trash,” he ticked that off on his finger. “Second, the wife is almost fifteen years younger than her husband.”

“So?” Alex asked.

“She obviously married him for his money.”

“But why kill him?”

“He was only sixty,” Detweiler said. “He might have lived another twenty years. She obviously got tired of waiting.”

“Does she have a man on the side?” Alex asked.

“Who cares?” Detweiler said.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Alex said with a smile. “If there’s no boyfriend then why bump off the husband? Was he blowing through their money? Did he have a girlfriend? Did he threaten to cut her out of the will?”

Detweiler glared at Alex.

“Let me clarify,” he said. “When I said, who cares, what I meant was, why do you care?”

Alex pulled one of his business cards out of his shirt pocket hand handed it over. Detweiler’s face soured when he read it.

“Mrs. Watson asked the Lieutenant here to find her someone to investigate her husband’s death,” Alex said with the biggest smile he could manage. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my client now.”

Detweiler threw the card back in Alex’s lap and stormed away. Callahan chuckled as he and Alex both got out of the car.

“You’re right, Lockerby,” he said. “Right now I’m really glad you don’t work for me.”

* * *

Anne Watson sat at her kitchen table rubbing her hands together absently. She was in her mid-thirties but looked even younger with high cheekbones, a perky nose, and full lips. Chestnut brown hair flowed down over her shoulders and framed her face perfectly. Alex thought she would have looked quite pretty had her makeup not run down her face from crying — and if her shirt weren’t stained with blood.

In addition to the blood, her clothes were grimy and dirty. Alex remembered Callahan saying she’d crawled through a vent to get into the locked room where her husband’s body had been found.

“Mrs. Watson?” Alex said, sitting down at the table opposite her. “My name is Alex Lockerby.”

“I’ve answered your questions,” she said, her voice ragged and weary. “I want to call my lawyer now.”

“I’m not a policeman,” Alex said, handing her his card. “You asked a Lieutenant Callahan to find someone to help you find out who killed your husband. He sent me.”

Her hands stated trembling as Alex spoke. She was holding in so much and Alex represented a lifeline. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her face.

“Can you really help me, Mr. Lockerby?” she asked, struggling to stay in control.

Alex put on his most reassuring smile and nodded.

“Call me Alex, and I do this kind of thing all the time,” he said. “But I’m going to need something from you first.”

“Of course,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll get my handbag.”

“No,” Alex said with a genuine smile this time. “Let me look around first, and make sure I can help.”

She looked confused then sat back down. “What do you need from me then?”

“Permission,” Alex said. “The police are pretty much done, but they won’t let me look around unless you insist.”

She met his eyes, searching them for signs of deception. Alex recognized the look: she wanted to believe him, to believe in him, but so much had happened in the last few hours she simply didn’t know what to believe.

“Let me look around, Mrs. Watson,” Alex began.

“Anne,” she said.

“Let me look around, Anne,” he amended. “If I can’t help you, I’ll tell you and you’ll owe me nothing. If I think I can help, I’ll tell you what the next step is, and we can go from there.”

She closed her eyes and after a minute, she nodded. Alex pulled out his notebook and pen and passed them across the table.

“Write a note that says I can look around as much as I want,” he said.

She flipped to a blank page and began writing.

“What do I do if they arrest me?” she asked, clearly getting to the topic she’d been avoiding.

“Don’t worry about that,” Alex said. “Do you have a lawyer?”

She passed the book and pen back.

“I’ve never needed one,” she said, “but James did.”

“Call him,” Alex said. “Tell him to get over here right away. He’ll make sure you’re okay if the cops decide to arrest you.”

At the word ‘arrest’ Anne’s hands started shaking again, but she nodded.

“It’s going to be all right,” Alex said, putting his hand on hers. “I’ll go look around; you sit tight.”

* * *

David Watson’s body had already been taken away by the time the police let Alex into the room where he’d been killed. It was a study that would have made Iggy proud. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books of every description. A glass cabinet on the opposite wall held curios and knick-knacks of all kinds. A polished oak desk stood in front of a large window, loaded down with papers and files, and a green carpet covered the wood floor. In the center of the carpet an oddly shaped red stain showed where the dead man’s body had laid.