Hazardous Duty (20 page)

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to
make sure we got these,” Riley said. “They must be significant.”

“They’re also one beaut of a motive for
murder. Cunningham killed his wife because she found out he had an affair. She
threatened to go public about it before the election. He couldn’t let that
happen because it would blow his chance at winning.”

Riley shook his head. “I don’t know.
There have been a lot of stand-by-your-man women out there in recent years.
It’s the popular thing to do when you’re in the limelight. Who wants to air
dirty laundry to the world? If she went public about it, that’s exactly what
she’d be doing.”

“Maybe she’d reached her limit.”

“Do you think she had these pictures
taken?”

“I have no idea.”

“If she didn’t, who did?”

“Turn one over.”

I did as instructed. The back was blank,
a national  film company paper name the only marking. “Nothing.”

Riley started the engine. “You know you
have to turn this over to the police. You could be charged with obstructing
justice if you don’t.”

“But according to the police, Cunningham
isn’t even a suspect.”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to at least
show them.”

I leaned back in the seat. “Or I’ll go
to jail.”

“Or you’ll go to jail.”

I sighed. “I’ll take them in first thing
in the morning then.”

Riley cranked the engine and a few
seconds later the car puttered down the road. I continued to stare at the
pictures. “Take a left at the next light, Riley.”

He didn’t ask any questions. A few turns
later we pulled up to Cunningham’s office building. My eyes scanned the
landscaping around it.

“There! There’s the mermaid.” I held up
the picture. It was a perfect match. “So he was having an affair with someone
at work. The plot thickens.”

“It still doesn’t make him a killer.”

I glanced at Riley and frowned. “He’s
got means, motive and opportunity.”

“It won’t hold up in court without more
evidence. A lot of people have affairs today. Not all of them kill their
wives.”

I closed my eyes, tired of meeting
resistance everywhere I went. Why was this so hard?

Riley’s hand covered mine. “I’m not
saying I don’t believe you, Gabby. I just want to let you know what you’re up
against.”

“Most people would have given up by
now.”

“And that’s just one thing I like about
you—you haven’t.”

I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Riley.
You’ve been a lifesaver.” I meant it, too. I wouldn’t be here if not for him.

“There’s nothing else we can do now. We
should head back and get some sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

***

I couldn’t get the pictures out of my
mind all night. I tossed and turned under my comforter, trying to come up with
a usable theory. Trying to come up with a way to convince Detective Parker I
was right. If I turned those pictures in, like I had the gun, I’d be handing
over my only piece of evidence.

What if usable prints were on them,
though? I’d be ruining my chance to find out.

Finally, at 5:30 I ended my misery and
crawled from beneath the warm covers. The wood floor was cold on my bare feet,
so I scampered across the room and slipped on my pink bunny slippers. After
pulling on a bathrobe, I plopped at my computer and watched as its blue screen
lit the room.

Time to do some research. I pulled up
Google and typed in “Gloria Cunningham.” The page filled with search results.
The first several were about her murder. I clicked on an article and it
appeared on the desktop.

“Gloria Cunningham, the daughter of
former U.S. Senator Brad Hall, was murdered in her home . . .”

Her father was a senator. Which meant
they probably had money. I tapped my fingers on the desk. He probably helped
fund Cunningham’s senate campaign. If Gloria threatened divorce when she found
out about the affair, it would have sent Cunningham into a panic. All his
financial backing would be gone.

It sounded like a motive to me.

Gloria’s picture smiled from the top of
the screen. No one deserved to die the way she did.

Gloria deserved justice. Harold deserved
justice. I had to get busy.

I hopped in the shower and scrubbed away
my worries with apple scented soap and shampoo. I went through the rest of my
morning routines, dressing in my “Brainy is Beautiful” T-shirt, and waiting for
time to pass so I could get started.

Someone knocked at my door.

I glanced at the oversized clock on my
wall. 7:30. Who would be knocking at my door at this hour?

Moving slowly, as to not give away my
presence, I leaned against the door and peered through the peephole.

Riley.

I slid the chain lock and pulled the
door open. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were awake and was afraid
you’d go off to another crime scene by yourself. I thought I’d stop by and
offer my services.”

“Your services?” I questioned, cocking
an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “I thought I could help. At
least give you some company.”

I eyed him. “This isn’t a job for the
fainthearted.”

I wondered what was behind his smile.

“I think I’ll be okay,” he said.

I considered it before nodding. “I have
to make a stop on my way there. I’m leaving in five minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.”

I closed the door and smiled. I was
getting used to having Riley Thomas around.

***

“You didn’t tell me we were going to
Cunningham’s house,” Riley said, grasping at the ceiling as I rumbled down the
road. He’d swung me by to pick up my van at the police station before heading
out. He’d never experienced my driving before, and I was quite entertained
watching him now.

“We’re not.”

Riley looked around the neighborhood.
“Isn’t this where he lived?”

“Yes, but we’re not going to his house.
We’re going to talk to his neighbor.”

“About?”

“Gloria Cunningham.”

The van’s rumbling grew louder as it ambled
down a gravel driveway toward the massive brick house at the end. As the
vehicle stopped, a cloud of dust formed a halo around us. Without waiting for
it to clear, I hopped out and started toward the house.

Riley quickly followed. “You did call
and say you were coming, right?”

“Who does that anymore?” I asked over my
shoulder.

“Everyone.”

I bounced up the steps and rang the
doorbell. Riley stood behind me. A moment later, the door opened and Barbara,
donned in a bright pink aerobics outfit, answered.

“Hi, again.” The woman wiped the sweat
from her face with a towel draped over her shoulders. “You’re the crime-scene
cleaner, right? What’s going on?”

“Barbara, I have a few questions I’m
hoping you can answer. Is this a bad time?” I asked.

Barbara looked over my shoulder. The
distant sounds of an exercise tape sounded. “I’m in the middle of zumba, but I
can spare a few minutes. What’s going on?”

“Have you had any more threats on your
life, Barbara?” I asked. “Anything since the pipe bomb was mailed to you?”

“No, why? I was told the bomb was just
random.” Her squeaky, high-pitched voice grated at my ears. Too bad plastic
surgery couldn’t cure that.

“My theory is that someone thinks you
know more than you do. They want to make sure you’re quiet.”

Her face froze, similar to my last
encounter with her when she was fresh with Botox. “Why would you think that?”

“Because someone tried to kill me a
couple nights ago.”

Barbara gasped, her red lips forming a
perfect “O.” Who wore lipstick when working out? “I don’t know why they’d want
to kill me. I don’t know anything. I’m still in shock over the entire episode.”

“What was Gloria like?” I continued.

“Gloria? She was very sweet, very
determined. It didn’t matter that her husband lived his career with every
waking breath. She worked hard at her own career, not about to be Michael’s
shadow.”

“How did Michael feel about that?”

Barbara shrugged. “I can only guess, but
it seemed like he would prefer she was his trophy. She was her own woman, you
know? Not just a quiet wife who did whatever he said.”

“You said when I talked to you before
that Michael and Gloria had their fair share of fights?”

The woman’s heavily made-up eyes drifted
across the lawn, to where the Cunningham’s house used to stand. “Yes, they
fought. I could hear them all the way over here when my windows were open.”

Riley stepped forward. “Any idea what
they fought about?”

She shook her head. “I assume just
normal married things. Money, children, housework. Who knows?”

“Did they seem happy?” I asked.

The woman fidgeted. “They were in a very
high stress situation. Running for office, balancing two
careers . . . It’s hard to say, really.”

“But you don’t think so?” Riley filled
in the blanks.

“They were doing the best they could.
Anything else would just be an assumption on my part.”

“Thanks for your help, Barbara.”

She smiled. “No problem. I just want to
see this case put to rest. It’s been extremely hard on all of us.”

Riley and I walked side by side to the
van. We didn’t speak until we were inside.

“Did you think it was strange she didn’t
ask why we were asking?” Riley asked.

I shrugged. “No, why?”

“Say someone came to your door asking
about a neighbor’s murder. A murder that a known criminal is being investigated
for. Someone starts asking about your neighbor’s personal life. How do you
react?”

“With confusion.”

“Exactly.”

I let his implications sink in. “But she
didn’t act surprised at all. What does that mean?”

Riley shrugged. “It means she knows more
than she’s letting on.”

I nodded. It meant that Barbara O’Connor
knew Michael Cunningham was guilty.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I watched in amusement as Riley
inhaled once then quickly pulled the front of his T-shirt over his nose and
scrunched his eyes shut.

“What is that stench?” he asked.

“Dried blood. You should see it when
pools of it dry. It becomes this gel—”

“I don’t need to know anymore.” He
raised his hands in surrender. “Let’s just get to work.”

The scene was tame compared to many I’d
seen. Blood splattered across the tile by the front door. A few specks made
their way to the walls beside me. Otherwise, everything appeared untouched. The
job would probably only take an hour or two.

Riley climbed into a hazmat suit and
pulled on goggles. The sight made me smile as I put on my own protective wear,
before a tinge of sadness tugged at my heart.

Harold should be here.

If we worked hard, Harold would be
released from jail and could work again.

“I feel like I should be in a movie.”
Riley looked his outfit over before glancing at me. “What now?”

“I’ll start on the floor if you do the
walls.” I showed Riley how to spray the chemicals and scrub down the spots
until all evidence of the blood disappeared. Then I got busy.

“What happened here again?” Riley asked,
aiming the cleaner at the walls.

“An intruder was shot coming into the
house. Self-defense.” I let the chemicals soak on a stain and rocked back on my
feet. “You can tell by the direction of the blood that he was hit from a
distance—there’s a wider range in the spray when that occurs. The man was
standing a couple steps in front of me. The owner must have shot him from the
stairs.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s incredible how much you can tell
just from the crime scene. Science is amazing.”

“You should really think about finishing
your degree. I can tell all of this forensics stuff fascinates you.” Riley
scrubbed down the walls with a bristle brush.

“Maybe one day. Until then, this pays
the bills.”

I watched the chemicals go to work and
start thinning the red spot in front of me. A minute later, I began scrubbing.

“How did you develop your interest in
this?” Riley asked.

“I used to think being a detective would
be fun,” I said. “But the more I studied science in school, the more I realized
I would like to use my talents there. When I heard about forensics, it sounded
like the perfect match.”

“I agree. It does sound perfect.”

I wiped the blood with a cloth. “How are
those spots coming?”

“Almost gone.”

I watched him work, his arms making
purposeful circles on the white plaster wall. Part of his hair stood on end, as
if he’d run his hands through it and it stayed.

Now it was my turn to ask some
questions. “So, why did you decide to become a lawyer?”

Riley continued working, not missing a
beat. “To defend the innocent and send the bad guys to prison.”

“Sounds noble.”

His rag sloshed against the wall. “I
guess so.”

“Where did you go to law school?”

“D.C.”

I wanted to ask more, but accepted the
two answers he offered, grateful for them.

The rest of our work was done in
silence. When we finished, I couldn’t tell the blood was ever there. It was
spotless.

“Not bad work if I do say so myself.”
Riley stepped back.

“If you decide you don’t want to be a
lawyer anymore, give me a call. I’ll make sure to have a position open for
you.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Later, as we drove home, Riley brought
up the very subject I hoped he’d forgotten about.

“Have you taken the pictures to the
police yet?”

My hands gripped the steering wheel.
“Not yet.”

“But you’re going to?”

“I don’t see where it’s necessary.”

“Haven’t we been over this?”