The Black Widow. BEVERLY BARTON
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I told Steve…uh, Sheriff Corbett and he agreed with me.”
“Exactly what seemed ‘off’ to you?” Rick asked.
“For one thing, the autopsy report showed arthritis in the senator’s hands, including the fingers of his right hand, which might have made pulling the trigger painful.”
“Painful but not impossible,” Rick said. “The evidence clearly showed that his finger pulled the trigger, right?”
“Right. He could have pulled the trigger. But there was something else—the senator’s trigger finger was broken and there was bruising on the top of his hand.”
Son of a bitch!
“You think that somebody grabbed the senator’s hand, forced the gun into it, and squeezed their hand over his hard enough to bruise his hand. And this person pressed down so hard when they forced his finger against the trigger that it broke the bones.”
“It’s all speculation,” Sheriff Corbett said. “But coupled with Ryan’s sincere conviction that his brother would never have killed himself, it’s enough to question if the senator might have had a little assistance in shooting himself.”
“The senator wasn’t a small or weak man,” Lt. McLain said. “Either he would have had to have been drugged or the person who forced the gun into his hand had to be quite strong. The autopsy showed no evidence of drugs, but I found evidence at the scene that he’d been drinking.”
“Apparently the GBI didn’t think this info was significant proof of murder or they wouldn’t have ruled the death a suicide.”
“Apparently,” Lt. McLain said. “And you do realize that it’s highly unlikely that we can prove it was murder.”
“But if we work under the assumption that it was murder and not suicide, we can look for a killer. In order to prove our theory, we will have to find the murderer and if possible, get a confession.”
“Then you believe I might be right to question the GBI’s Medical Examiner?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think there’s a good possibility you’re right and he’s wrong.”
“I know what we’ve got isn’t much,” the sheriff said, “but it’s a start. Anything you need from us, just let us know. You can contact Haley day or night while you’re on this case. She’ll be available.”
When Corbett glanced at her, Haley McLain said, “Yes, sir.” Then she looked at Rick. “Our department doesn’t have the budget or the manpower—or for that matter, the authority—to investigate further. The M.E.’s official decision was suicide, but if Powell’s can prove otherwise, then we can reopen this case.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a list of possible suspects, do you, Lieutenant?”
Haley cleared her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Rick figured by the nervous way she cut her eyes toward Corbett and then cast her gaze to the floor that the deputy did have a list, even if it was just a mental tally of who might have had a reason to murder Senator Daniel Price.
“I’d like to take a look at the case files, including the autopsy report,” Rick said.
Corbett nodded. “Haley, why don’t you walk Mr. Carson out and see that he gets copies of whatever he needs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rick fell into step behind the curvy brunette, his gaze settling on the sway of her trim hips, noting how her slacks cupped her firm buttocks, not a panty line in sight. That meant one of two things: either she wasn’t wearing panties or she was wearing a thong. Either was damn sexy. And the thought intrigued him.
While they waited for the sheriff’s secretary to copy the files on the Price case, Haley offered Rick a cup of coffee, which he accepted.
“If Dan Price was murdered, who heads your suspects list?” Rick asked.
“I told you that I don’t have a—”
“A political adversary? A disgruntled constituent? The loyal assistant? The grieving widow?”
Haley eyed him over her half empty coffee cup and took a sip before responding. “The husband or wife is usually the chief suspect until he or she is ruled out. But from what I know about Mrs. Price, people believe she’s practically a saint.”
Rick grunted. “I guess I’ll find out for myself pretty soon. I’m going to be staying at Price Manor for the duration of this investigation.”
“And whose idea was that?”
“Mrs. Price invited me to stay.”
“And naturally you agreed.”
Rick shrugged.
“There’s something else I’ve heard about Mrs. Price.”
“What’s that?” Rick asked.
“That the lady can be very persuasive.”
She watched from the upstairs window while the Powell agent parked his Jeep in front of the house. They didn’t want him here. He was not welcome, but he mustn’t know that, just as no one must ever find out that Dan had told her about the Alzheimer’s diagnosis. How fortunate that he had trusted her so completely, enough so that she was able to plant the idea of suicide in his mind. If only he had followed through…Water under the bridge. She had to accept the reality of their situation and deal with it accordingly.
They would have to be polite to Mr. Carson; how ever, there was no reason for them to be friendly.
Ryan had done what he thought best and the rest of them had to live with his decision. She’d had no idea that Dan’s brother would refuse to believe he had killed himself, especially not after the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide. Why couldn’t he have accepted their findings? If he had, they could all move on and put the unfortunate incident behind them.
But now we have to be very careful not to give Mr. Car son any reason to suspect us. He has no proof that Dan did not commit suicide and unless we slip up and do or say something suspicious, Mr. Carson can investigate as long as he’d like and in the end, he’ll still have no proof. We didn’t make any mistakes that night.
Tobias met Mr. Carson in the middle of the drive way. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after only a few moments, Tobias took the man’s suitcase and he returned to his Jeep. Apparently he was taking the vehicle around to the garage at the side of the house.
She stepped away from the window, turned, and walked into the bathroom. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Dark circles under her eyes. She was a woman in mourning. That’s what she wanted Mr. Carson to see.
Jordan met Tobias as he entered the foyer, a black suitcase in his hand. He paused and said, “Mr. Carson has arrived, Miss Jordan. I had him park in the garage. I told him that you would be waiting for him in your study.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“In which room should I put his things?”
“I had Vadonna air out Mr. Ryan’s old room. It’s one of the larger bedrooms and is quite masculine. I believe it will suit Mr. Carson, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. It should.”
Jordan took a deep breath. She dreaded having a stranger living in her home almost as much as she hated the thought that he would be trying to prove that someone had murdered Dan. But by keeping Mr. Carson close, she would be able to oversee his investigation on a day-to-day basis and all information would come to her before it reached Ryan.
Instead of going directly to her study, she made a detour through the kitchen. Vadonna lifted her head and turned from where she was loading the dishwasher.
“Yes, ma’am, is there something you need?”
“I’d