Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

Duffy's head snapped up, and Brooke squeezed Nat's arm. "Please don't say any more," he said firmly.

"A man in a black ski mask shot him. He shot once, then he told me to run, and I did."

"Could you see his face?"

"No."

"What could you see? Anything?" Behind Mundy, Trooper Duffy had stopped taking notes and was folding his arms.

"I don't… know," Nat stammered. Gruesome images flashed through her mind. The trooper's hat flying off. The ski mask.

"What do you remember about his build? Tall? Short?"

"Nat, please," Brooke interrupted, but she waved him off again.

"Average."

"What kind of coat did he have on?"

"I don't know. Dark." Nat tried to remember. The only recurrent image was a figure in the rain, behind a gun. "I don't remember.

"Was he white, black, Hispanic?"

"I don't know."

Brooke interrupted again, "Please, what you're doing is against my express legal advice, do you understand?"

"Yes," Nat answered, patting his hand. She could see he'd had the fear of Greco put into him. "Please. It's okay."

"You said the shooter spoke to you?" Mundy asked, regardless. "What did he say? What did it sound like?"

"He said, 'Run, bitch.' He had a normal voice."

"Did he have an accent?" Mundy asked, and behind him, Trooper Duffy's eyelids fluttered, just short of an eye roll.

"No," Nat answered.

"Where did he come from?"

"I don't know. He came out of nowhere, in the rain."

Duffy looked away, but Mundy leaned forward. "What kind of car was he driving?"

"I didn't see a car. He came up behind me, on foot. He shot the trooper over my shoulder. I turned around and saw the gun in his hand." Nat's thoughts raced ahead. "He must have been the one who shot Barb. He must have been the one who put the pills and the money in my car."

Duffy interjected, "You didn't say he had anything in his hand but the gun."

"He didn't.”

“So how did he put twenty grand in your car? And the Oxys?"

Nat felt momentarily confused. "I don't know," she answered, as Mundy fell silent.

Duffy took the lead. "And where'd it come from then, if he didn't have a car?"

"I don't know. I have to think."

"He couldn't run around with that much money, not in the rain. It's quite a bundle."

"I'm not sure how he did it. I have to think." Nat couldn't wrap her mind around it fast enough.

"The cruisers are equipped with an MVR tape, a mobile video recorder," Duffy said with a slight smirk. "But it sure doesn't corroborate your story."

Nat was nonplussed. "That's impossible. I mean, he was there."

"Not according to the camera, he wasn't. The camera shows your back, you facing Matty-I mean, Trooper Shorney-and him going down. It shows no third party, ski mask or no."

Nat tried to understand. "Does the camera show just the drivers-side door?"

"Yes, and the back of your car and your license plate."

"But this man, the killer, wasn't that close. He was on the other side of the car, near the curb. He must have been standing out of the camera range."

"Oh yeah?" Duffy cocked his head. "The camera has audio too, and we didn't hear anybody say, 'Run, bitch.'"

Nat's mouth went bone dry. "He said it. I heard it." Then she remembered. "The rain was so loud, maybe the audio didn't pick it up." She began to feel scared, desperate. "Look, I didn't take money or drugs from Barb's house. I didn't put them in my car. I would never have shot Barb, Trooper Shorney, or anybody." Her words sped up in a panicky way, as Duffy's voice grew colder. "I mean, really, look at me. I'm a law professor. Why would I kill innocent people, or steal drugs and money?"

"I don't know yet, but I've got a couple guesses."

"Like what?"

"For one, you work at a major university. You can sell pills to the students. It's just the kind of candy corn the kids like nowadays.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it?" Duffy lifted a sparse eyebrow. "Here's how I see it. Saunders was dealing, on the inside, at the prison. He knew he had a stash under the floor and he wanted his wife to have it. So before he died, he told you the money was under the floor."

"But he didn't." Nat shook her head miserably. Brooke took rapid notes.

"So you go to the house, you tell the wife what her husband said, and she takes you to the hiding place. You shoot her, then take off."

"But I didn't." Nat felt stricken at the very thought. "I wouldn't shoot her for twenty thousand dollars, or for any money."

"Why not? People kill for a helluva lot less." Duffy's eyes hardened. "Or maybe you went there to scare her but you fired. She ends up with two in the chest and you run out with the dough and the Oxys."

Nat's heart began to hammer. Somebody was framing her. Somebody had followed her. Somebody had done all this to shut her down. Who wore the mask? Beside her, Brooke kept taking notes with his shiny pen.

"Then, if you wanna know how it ends, poor Matty pulls you over for speeding, probably, knowing the kind of a guy he was, he's worried about you, going fast on a rainy night." Duffy flinched, his fresh grief evident. "You're afraid he's gonna search your car, or you think he might want to talk about Barbara Saunders, so you shoot him, too."

"That's crazy!" Nat exploded. She had to fight back. "If I had shot Trooper Shorney, why wouldn't I have driven away? Why would I have run into a field?" Next to Nat, Brooke was putting his pen and legal pad away.

"To get rid of the gun. Like David says, you're smart, too smart to drive around with a gun that would incriminate you."

"But look at me, I'm so muddy, I'm a mess," Nat countered vainly. Brooke took his topcoat from the chair, placed it carefully over his arm, and reached for Nat.

Duffy continued, louder, "If you just threw it out of the car, it Wouldn't go far enough. You fell. You're no country girl. We didn't send the ballistics tests yet, but it was a.22 that killed Matty and injured Barbara Saunders. My bet is that it's the same gun, and if we find it in that field, we'll know whose it is. Yours."

Nat felt blood drain from her face. Brooke hoisted her to her feet. She couldn't believe this was happening. Duffy seemed convinced she should be charged. He had developed a reasonable theory, composed of undisputed circumstantial evidence, which also happened to be completely, horribly, wrong.

The trooper rose to his feet, still talking. "You were driving pretty damn fast when we caught you. A motorist called us when she drove by and saw Matty's body. She had to go to a house to call, she didn't have a cell. If we hadn't gotten that call when we did, you'd be home right now."

"Ed, cool it." Mundy rose, too, his dark eyes troubled.

Brooke held up a stiff hand. "If you are not charging my client, that's the end of this interview. I'm taking my client home. I believe I gave you both my card. Please call me directly if you have further questions."

But Nat had an idea. "Do you have a lie detector here? Can I take it?"

"We do have one," Mundy said, but Brooke cut him off.

"No, that's enough for one night. If she and I decide that it's in her best interest to take a polygraph, then we'll return when she has had a good night's sleep and a shower."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Mundy.

"When will she get her car back?" Brooke asked.

Nat forced herself to think practically. "And my purse?"

"The purse is evidence. The car's been impounded, and we'll get it back to you when we can."

"You're keeping my car? My wallet? My cell?"

"And your clothes," Duffy added, gesturing at her clothes. "Well need them for evidence."

"But what do I wear out of here?" Nat said.

Brooke put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "My daughter's a swimmer at school, and my trunk is usually full of her stuff. I'm sure there're some clothes in there."