Ryan held up a hand. “But do you think he was capable of killing his son? I know it’s tough to know what goes on behind closed doors, but it sure seems like the two of them were close.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “He wasn’t so close that he had a problem screwing his son’s wife.” Excitement coiled within me as possibilities fell in line. “Plus, the surveillance video from Brian Roth’s subdivision shows Davis Sharp’s car entering at about eleven-thirty that night and leaving about twenty minutes later. There was someone with him too. What if it was Harris Roth? What if Harris panicked after he realized Carol was dead and called his buddy—who also happened to be his biggest political supporter?”
Ryan looked disbelieving. “I’m still having a hard time buying that Harris would be willing to murder his own son—or have him murdered—to cover this up. Screwing your daughter-in-law is one thing, but Roth looked pretty devastated at the funeral. I’m not sure he could have faked that.”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to consider another possibility. “But what if Elena wasn’t having an affair with Harris Roth? What if it was Brian instead? Then perhaps Davis killed Brian for screwing his wife?”
Zack raised an eyebrow. “A crime of passion … where he kept his cool enough to go ahead and stage it as a suicide to cover up Carol’s murder?”
I grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t fit. And Elena was attracted to ‘powerful men.’ Brian didn’t really fit that bill.” I dropped my eyes to the paper. “Harris Roth is the connection to all of them. I still think Davis Sharp was somehow involved in Brian’s murder, but it doesn’t make sense yet.” Perhaps this was why Elena had been so afraid? Maybe she’d known who killed Brian. “But at least now we have something solid to work with,” I continued. I looked at Ryan. “I figure we can get a warrant for a DNA sample to run a proper comparison, plus a subpoena for Harris Roth’s cell-phone records.”
“With the partial DNA match, I’d say you’re right.”
I nodded. I wanted badly to nail Harris Roth for everything—tie all of the murders up into one nice and neat case—but we didn’t have enough proof yet. “I’ll start typing,” I said. First, nail him on Carol’s death. Then make him squeal on the rest.
THE SUBPOENA FOR THE PHONE RECORDS AND THE warrant to request a buccal swab from Harris Roth didn’t take long to type up, but it took me nearly as long to figure out what I was going to say to my sergeant. I dialed his number as I paced Tessa’s sitting room, grimacing when Crawford answered on the second ring. This would have been a lot easier to do on his voice mail. But it wouldn’t have been the best, my conscience reminded me.
“Sarge, it’s Kara Gillian.”
“What’s up?”
I quickly explained the DNA results and my theory. Crawford gave a low whistle when I finished. “Damn, Kara. You sure don’t think small, do you?”
I grimaced. “I know. But you gotta admit it makes sense.”
“I can see where you’re going with it, yes.” He paused. “Kara, I hate to point this out, but the Carol Roth murder isn’t your case anymore.”
I could feel myself stiffening. “Sarge, I know, but the detail with the surveillance video and the—”
Crawford cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Don’t sweat that shit. Fuck Pellini and Boudreaux. Lazy, useless fucks. I’ll take care of any heat that comes down about you horning in on the case. Especially since it started out as yours. Easy enough to deal with.”
I let my breath out, relieved. “Thanks, Cory.”
“But, Kara,” he continued, “if you’re wrong about this, you’re killing your career. Even a buccal-swab warrant is going to be a big slap in the face for a public figure of that stature. I’m not gonna tell you not to go ahead with this, but I want to be sure that you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I said, trying to fill my voice with as much confidence as possible.
I heard him sigh gustily. “All right. I can meet you in about half an hour at—”
“Sarge,” I interrupted him. “I … think it would be better if you, um, didn’t come.” I cringed at how that came out. But there was no easy way to put it. If Harris Roth could kill by ripping essence out, I didn’t want to risk having someone there who had no way to defend himself or even know if he was in danger.
“I’m your sergeant, Detective Gillian,” he reminded me, tone distinctly frosty.
I framed my words carefully. “Sarge, you once said that you’d seen a lot of shit in your career, and you were probably more willing than most to believe that some things defy explanation.”