Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

“I’ll save us both some time here, Mrs. Speakman. Griff Burkett’s fingerprints were all over the letter opener that killed your husband.”

LAURA COVERED HER MOUTH WITH HER HAND, AFRAID SHE would be ill in front of the two detectives.

“Are you okay?” Rodarte asked.

She shook her head, surged to her feet, and ran from the room. She barely made it into the powder room in time to retch into the toilet. Because she hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the evening before, there wasn’t much to empty. But the bile was bitter and continued to make her gag for several minutes. When the spasms finally ceased, her clothing was drenched with sweat. Her ears buzzed, her extremities tingled, and she was trembling uncontrollably.

She covered her face with her hands. From the moment she saw the police chaplains in the Jetway, she’d known that what they were about to tell her was catastrophic and that, whatever it was, Griff Burkett was involved. That overwhelming intuition had now been confirmed, and she wasn’t sure she could survive it. Knowing that he’d killed Foster might very well be the death of her, the death of the child she carried.

But she couldn’t think of the baby now or she truly would go mad.

“Laura?” Kay was knocking on the door. “Laura?”

“Just a moment.” She rinsed her mouth out and splashed cold water over her face, which was as pale as chalk. She ran her fingers through her hair, then, forcibly composing herself, opened the powder room door.

Kay was there, Rodarte just behind her. His expression was more inquisitive than concerned. Kay said, “I’m taking you upstairs and putting you to bed.”

“No. I’m better now. But could you please bring me a glass of Coke, Sprite, something fizzy?”

Kay was reluctant to leave her, but she went to fix the drink. Laura brushed past Rodarte and led him back into the library. Her knees were rubbery. Her damp clothes made her chilled in the air-conditioning. She wrapped herself in a throw before returning to the chair she had so quickly vacated.

The other detective hadn’t left his post, or even moved as far as Laura could tell. The three remained in silence until Kay delivered her the requested drink. “Call me if you need me,” she said, shot Rodarte a baleful look, and gave Laura’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you, Kay. Please close the doors as you leave.”

Laura sipped her glass of soda, hoping it would settle her stomach and not come right back up.

Again Rodarte began without preamble. “Did you know him before he went to prison?”

She shook her head.

“Only since he got out?”

She nodded.

“How did you meet? Where?”

“In this room.” She could tell that surprised him. “Foster was interested in him. He’d heard on the news that he was being released. He wrote to him, asked him to meet with him here.”

“Interested in him, how? What was it about a criminal football player that interested your husband?”

Looking him right in the eye, she lied. “I don’t know.” Telling the truth wasn’t an option. She had to protect her child’s future. She also had to protect the secrecy that Foster had insisted upon. “Mr. Burkett was only here that one time. By the time I was asked to join them for an introduction, they had concluded the business part of their meeting and were having a drink together.”

“It was friendly?”

“Very. At least it seemed so.”

He studied her a moment. She wasn’t sure he believed her. In fact, she was almost certain he didn’t. But there was no one to dispute her. “Was it during this friendly get-together that sparks ignited between you and Burkett?”

“Excuse me?”

“How soon after that did you two start hooking up at that house on Windsor?”

The glass of soda almost slipped from her unsteady hand.

He grinned. “I bet you’re wondering how I know about your romance. Well, see, I’ve had my eye on Burkett ever since the day he got out of Big Spring.”

“Why?”

“I investigated the murder of Bill Bandy. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Griff Burkett was implicated in his murder.”

“He committed the murder, Mrs. Speakman. No question in my mind. But he was clever, didn’t leave any hard evidence, not enough for me to get an indictment from the grand jury. But there’s no statute of limitations on homicide. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see justice done for the late Bill Bandy.”

Griff had known the detective was following him. It was clear now why he hadn’t wanted her talking to Rodarte, why he had used scare tactics to warn her against being alone with him. He hadn’t wanted her to hear the conviction in Rodarte’s voice when he said, He committed the murder.

“He was more careless this time,” Rodarte was saying. “Or more arrogant. Leaving behind the murder weapon. Fingerprints.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“First thing I intend to ask him when we find him.”

She raised her head and looked over at him. He read the question in her eyes.

“No, we haven’t located him yet. He’s gone underground. We’ve got cops staking out his apartment, but there’s been no sign of him. That old Honda he’s been driving? We found it in a strip center parking lot up in Addison. Lab guys are going over it now. I’ve got men watching the house on Windsor, too, but he hasn’t been there. By the way, the yard service came this morning and mowed the grass, edged the sidewalk. Who pays for the upkeep on that house?”

“I do. I lease it.”

He glanced around the luxurious surroundings, making a silent comparison between the two houses. When he came back to her, he said bluntly, “What for?”

She gave him a look full of meaning.

He studied her for a moment, then flashed that revolting grin. “I already knew you rented the house.”

“I know,” she said coldly.

He spread his hands wide. “Sorry. It was my duty to check it out, Mrs. Speakman. The lease isn’t in your name, but I traced it back through that corporate name to you.”

“It wouldn’t have been that difficult to do.” It was a subtle insult to his investigative skills, but if he caught the slight, he didn’t take issue with it.

“When’s the last time you saw Burkett?”

She dropped her gaze to her hands, moistly clenched in her lap. She knew the cagey detective would pick up on the body language, but she couldn’t help herself. “Almost six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks? That long?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

She gave him the exact date and saw that Carter wrote it down in his small spiral notebook.

“What made the date memorable?” Rodarte asked.

“I told him that I wouldn’t be coming back.”

He whistled softly. “How’d he take it?”

“He understood and accepted my decision.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically.

“Really.”

“Why did you end the affair?”

“I don’t see the relevance of that.”

“There may be none. Or it could be extremely relevant.”

She lost the staring contest. “What we were doing was wrong. I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him we couldn’t see each other again.”

“Before him, had you had other affairs?”

“No.”

“No one would blame you. In light of Mr. Speakman’s…”

“Mr. Speakman’s what?” she demanded frostily.

He backed down. “Burkett was your first and only affair since you married Speakman?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And when you broke it off, Burkett didn’t argue, put up a fuss, beg you to reconsider?”

“No.”

“Huh.” Thoughtfully, he scratched his acne-scarred cheek. “That doesn’t sound like the Griff Burkett I know.”