The Lawyer's Lawyer

CHAPTER Five



The young man’s name was Thomas Felton and he lived in an apartment on Arthur Road. Luckily, he happened to be home when they came to visit.

“I talked to a police officer the other day,” he told them after inviting them in. “What’s this about?”

Although he was pushing back a little, he didn’t appear angry or defensive. Anybody would ask that question, Danni told herself as she studied the details of his face and compared them to the sketch that Stacey had helped them come up with. He was slim, his nose was straight, and his lips were thin, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His eyes were green, his brown hair was short and straight, and he was clean-shaven. It could have been a disguise, Danni surmised, not ready to let him go on appearances alone. After all, the perp was wearing a fake cast.

“What do you think it’s about?” Peterson asked.

“I don’t know. The other two guys who were here asked me questions about Utah, so I assume it has something to do with Utah and here.”

“Anything else?” Danni persisted.

“Well, the only thing I can think of was that there were some female students murdered in Utah when I was there, and the same thing is now happening here.”

He said it nonchalantly, not a bit ill at ease. A guilty person would probably not make such an honest and open analysis to the police, she thought, although it would have had to be a calculation in anybody’s mind. Maybe he’s smart enough to know that. Maybe he’s a little too relaxed.

“Well?” Peterson asked.

“Well what? It’s true I was in both places. But I went to undergraduate school in Utah and law school here. That’s not unusual, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Peterson replied. “Why did you go all the way across the country?”

“Money, mostly. I came here a year ago and established residency. In-state tuition is a lot cheaper here. Besides, the law school is good and I like the climate.”

“Ever been arrested?” Allan asked. It was a good question to just throw out there to test Felton’s reaction. He didn’t react at all.

“I was arrested once when I was fifteen. They took me down to the station, booked me and everything, and then they found out it was a mistake and let me go.”

“Where was this?”

“Idaho, where I grew up.”

“That it?”

“That’s it.”

Danni made a mental note to check on the arrest record and to compare the in-state tuition rates as she scanned the apartment. It was very clean and orderly and tastefully furnished in autumn tones—browns, oranges, reds—that gave the place a warm feeling. Several framed Monet prints hung on the wall—not a typical student’s apartment or even a typical Florida home.

“You live here alone?” she asked, her eyes noting that there appeared to be two bedrooms. One door was open, the other shut.

“Yeah,” he said, offering no explanation for the second bedroom.

“You wear contacts?” Peterson asked. Danni cringed at the question. Why did he ask that? She forgot about it, however, when her eyes spied a knife on display on a bookshelf in the living room. It was ornate with a curved black pearl handle and a long thin blade, perhaps from the Middle East. Danni picked it up and studied it.

“It’s a nice piece, isn’t it?” Felton asked as he walked toward her.

“It’s unique. Are you a collector?”

“No. That was my father’s. He died when I was young. It’s one of the few things of his that I have.”

As he started to walk away, Danni reached into the small purse she carried with her. A cigarette case fell from the purse right at Felton’s feet. He politely picked it up and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

They left minutes later. Danni had wanted to look around the entire apartment but Felton denied the request. He did it pleasantly and politely just as the two detectives probably would have done themselves if it had been their home. As a law student, he probably knew they had no basis for a search warrant.

“I didn’t know you carried a purse,” Peterson said as they walked toward the car.

“I don’t,” she replied.

Peterson was confused. “And I didn’t know you smoked either.”

“I don’t.”

Peterson was so confused now, his face was visibly contorted. Danni relieved his stress by reaching into the purse and pulling out a plastic baggie. The cigarette case was inside the baggie.

“Now we have a fresh set of prints in case we ever need them,” she said.

Peterson gave her an understanding smile even though he didn’t approve of her tactics.

“What was the contacts question about?” she asked when they were in the car and driving away.

“Well, the girl said the killer had blue eyes. His were green. The only possible explanation for the change in color would be contacts. Why?”

“Just what you said,” Danni replied. “The only possible explanation for a change in eye color would be contacts. You may have tipped him to the fact that we have a description.”

“Come on, will you, Danni? Give me a break. Whoever our killer is knows that his most recent victim got away. Therefore, he knows, or at least he has to assume, that we have some type of a description. Asking Mr. Felton, who, by the way, I believe had nothing to do with these murders, if he wore contacts does not give away anything.”

“You’re probably right about that, but I’m not ready to abandon this guy as a suspect. Did you see that knife?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing like the knife we’re looking for.”

“Maybe he’s a knife collector. Maybe he’s got other knives in that second bedroom.”

“That’s a long shot.”

“I know, but if we’re ever going to catch this guy, we’re going to have to start making some educated guesses and going with hunches because he’s not leaving any evidence behind.”

“Hunches get you nowhere,” Peterson said. “Somewhere along the way he’ll make a mistake. You watch.”

“I hope you’re right.”