“If the morgue visit doesn’t produce anything, I will. Anything on the gun?”
“Far as we can tell, it was virgin except for the missing serial number. We’re checking local dealers for recent purchases, but it could’ve been bought anywhere.”
“The painter’s get-up?”
“Sold at nearly every hardware, paint, and big box store in the country. You can also order that brand from various online outlets. Shipments to Texas in the last six months amount to thousands, and that’s after being narrowed down by size, style, and lot number from the manufacturer. Also, he could’ve bought it in any one of the other forty-nine states and brought it here.”
“Gloves?”
“Same thing. We’ve got them by the boxful over there in that cabinet.”
“Readily available to any cop.”
“Also to any medical worker, housewife, food handler, hairdresser, germophobe. Let’s see…”
“Okay, I get it,” Crawford said with irritation. “The mask?”
“Not as widely distributed as the other items, but available in party and costume shops, as well as off the Internet. We’re still trying to track sales to this area. And, before you ask, we’ve conducted eighty-something interviews of people who were in the building.”
“Judging by the look on your face…”
“Everyone questioned has a logical, easily confirmed explanation of what their courthouse business was, and can account for themselves when the shooting took place.”
“Still leaves a lot of folks not yet questioned.”
“True, but so far nothing even mildly sinister or suspicious has come to light. No ties to Judge Spencer except for one woman. Judge Spencer granted her a divorce six months ago. No kids involved. It was settled to each party’s satisfaction. Her ex moved to Seattle. On Monday afternoon he was at his job at a fish-packing plant. She was in the courthouse because she was summoned to jury duty.”
“People lie, Neal.”
“People also tell the truth. This lady still had her summons.”
“Nothing new on Rodriguez?”
“Nobody’s missed him. At least, no one has come forward to claim the body.”
“Doc Anderson confirmed there was no bruise on his knee?”
“No bruise.”
“Told you.”
“But no one can substantiate that you kicked the guy.” He sat forward, propping his forearms on his desk. “Our main person of interest remains you.”
Without inflection, Crawford said, “I don’t fit the gunman’s description, and I have an alibi.”
Neal was still holding his stare when Crawford’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He read the caller ID and clicked on. “Hello, Grace.”
“You’re not alone,” Holly said.
“Neal Lester and I are comparing notes on the case.”
“You’re in the building?”
“That’s right. What’s going on? Georgia good?”
“I need to see you.”
“Okay.”
“In private.”
His heart hitched. “I can do that. When and where?”
“I’m in my office, but wait until the building clears out before you come up.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be there.”
Disconnecting, he said to Neal, “Grace invited me over for lunch tomorrow.”
“One of the policewomen offered to go after food, and she brought back about fifteen pounds of barbecue plus a half dozen sides.”
The thought of food made Holly ill. “Start without me,” she said to Marilyn, who had already called numerous times, asking when she could expect Holly at home. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”
“You said that hours ago.”
“I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. It’s been a busy afternoon.”
“Greg Sanders has had a busy one, too. He was on the six o’clock news.”
“So was I.”
“Yes, but your appearance was a rerun of the press conference. That’s old news. We need something fresh.” On a burst of inspiration, she said, “I’ll bring the feast to your office. We’ll talk turkey over ribs.”
“Absolutely not,” Holly said. “Mrs. Briggs left me with a stack of documents and correspondence to sign. Besides, how many vodkas have you had?”
“Who’s counting?”
A soft knock sounded on Holly’s door. “My last appointment is here, Marilyn. I have to go. Don’t you dare get behind the wheel of a car.”
She hung up just as Crawford came through the door and closed it behind him. Since his clean-shaven court appearance, he’d grown a scruff. His jacket was wrinkled, his necktie loose and askew, his dark blond hair completely ungoverned.
He looked wonderful. She wanted to climb him and hang on.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She followed his gaze down to the cell phone still in her hand. Setting it on her desk, she said, “Marilyn.”
“Who’s high on my shit list.”
“For calling the press conference? I never would have agreed to it if I hadn’t thought it was important to defend your actions.”
“So you’ve said. But you took an unnecessary risk.”