Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 5

"Big deal," I said. "So they found some bloody clothing and a knife next door from where he died. How does this prove anything against Jamila?"

Mulrooney turned toward me and raised his finger—his index finger, for the record—again. "Patience."

I bit my tongue and exercised all the patience I could muster.

"Now," Mulrooney stated with irritating repetition. "Naturally, they're testing to make sure the blood matches that of the victim. Those results may take a couple of days. Assuming the blood matches, they may want hair samples for DNA testing. That kind of testing doesn't come cheap. However, in this case, they may find the cost justified. It'll depend on how strong the other evidence is. For instance, when the police searched the condo you're renting, they noticed a knife missing from the butcher block." His look bored into Jamila. "Did you realize that?"

Jamila shook her head. "I never noticed. Sam?"

I spread my hands, feeling helpless. "Are you kidding? I barely noticed the kitchen." As Jamila knew, I'm hardly the domestic sort. My idea of cooking is heating frozen entrees or leftover Chinese.

"Unfortunately, the knife appears to be part of the set in your kitchen."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I cleared my throat. "Do you know how many similar sets of cutlery could be out there? How do they know it's from our set?"

"The fact that the knife is missing doesn't help."

"Oh, come on." I lost it at this point. "The killer could have broken in and stolen it. If it was one of the victim's friends, they saw what happened between Jamila and that racist son of a bitch. In fact, the victim's stepfather owns the place. The killer could have filched a key from him."

I paused to gather my thoughts. My words were making me sound like a conspiracy theorist and I wasn't sure if Mulrooney was buying.

"Apart from speculating about the knife and clothes, is there anything linking the murder directly to Jamila?" I asked. "Any forensic evidence?"

"Here's where it gets a little interesting."

As if it weren't already.

"The police not only found her comb near the body, but they found traces of blood on the front porch of your condo. Again, they're awaiting the test results, but if it's the victim's blood ..."

Jamila and I both fell quiet.

"Wait a second," I said. "If Jamila threw out the bloody clothing, how could she leave traces of blood on the porch? Someone is obviously setting her up."

Mulrooney sighed. "I, for one, am willing to believe you. However, others will be more difficult to convince. They will likely argue that blood got on her hands as she was removing her clothes."

"Sure, they will probably argue that, but she could be looking at first-degree murder. Now what would be her motive? And don't say racism. Jamila wouldn't go to such lengths to kill a man simply because he was a racist, would she?"

Mulrooney fixed me with a thoughtful look. He leaned toward Jamila. "Can you think of a motive?"

Jamila started to speak, then stopped. She avoided eye contact.

"Yes." Mulrooney agreed, but I had no idea what he was agreeing to.

"What is it?" I asked.

Mulrooney looked at our client—my friend. Jamila didn't answer.

*****

Before we finished, Mulrooney said he'd arrange to hire a local investigator. He said he knew just the man: Ellis Conroy. If anyone could find evidence to poke holes in the prosecution's case, it would be Conroy. Before we left, I made sure to get Conroy's number. I couldn't help but feel panicked. I had to do something. I couldn't simply sit back and wait for Conroy to work his magic. On top of that, Jamila had never answered my question. What could she be withholding?

"Let's keep in touch." Mulrooney tossed the suggestion out as he strolled to his car, a blue Caddy with all the trimmings. He threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side. "I'm heading to a meeting, but I'll get on the phone with her father right now and arrange for her bail. I'm sure he can cover it."

"I'll call Conroy," I said. "Perhaps I can help." Meanwhile, could you please tell me what the hell just happened?

"Fine," Mulrooney stated as he pulled a cell phone from its holster and slid into the car. "Not to discourage you, but Conroy is a fine investigator. I'm sure he's capable of handling this on his own."

I wracked my brain for a response. It felt like fishing in barren waters.

"I ... just hate sitting back and doing nothing," I said, for lack of a better thought.

"Hmm." Mulrooney hummed like a pipe organ. "I understand. Just be sure to coordinate whatever you do with Ellis."

"Um, it might help if I knew what motivation you were talking about in there. Or, actually, not talking about."

Mulrooney got that thoughtful look again. "I'd ... like the client to make the call on revealing that."

Oh, great. "Are you sure that won't make my job harder?"

"It won't," he assured me. "In a sense, it should make it easier." With that, he shut the door.

I nodded and turned toward Jamila's car, thinking I hope to hell you're right.

*****

I drove toward Ocean City with thoughts of the Maryland State Bar Association's convention worming their way into my consciousness. I assumed Jamila's parents wouldn't have a problem with the bail bond. Even so, the bond on $5 million bail wasn't chump change. On top of that, she was supposed to give a presentation on ethics in four days.

How ironic was that? How would it look if news of her arrest came out? For that matter, had it already?

I pulled into the lot of a convenience store and bought a local paper. As I walked, I flipped through the pages, nearly tripping over a toddler. His mother glared at me.

"I ... I'm sorry," I sputtered.

She shook her head. "People should pay more attention. They read when they drive, they talk on phones and text. What could be so all-fired important in that paper?"

"My best friend's been accused of murder. Excuse me, ma'am."

I beat a hasty retreat, feeling her stare boring into my back.

*****

Once I'd gotten to the car, I riffled through the paper. Nothing in the first few pages. Good. I flipped to an inside section and my heart sank. A headline screamed across the top of the page: "Visiting Attorney Arrested for Murder of Local Magnate's Stepson."

While the lead described her only as "an attorney in town for the annual Maryland State BarAssociation convention," her name and age were revealed farther down. Along with the fact that she'd filed a report with the police about the decedent, whoas it turned out was the stepson of Marshall Bower, a local entrepreneur with a finger in every pie in town.

*****

I'll probably post one more chapter after this. Hope you'll consider checking out my website for more information about all my books! Thanks!