Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“We’ll expand the ground search as needed, Judge,” Gerard said diplomatically. “What else, Dunk?”

“An APB was issued with a physical description of Mrs. Laird, so that engages state troopers, this department, the sheriff’s office. The marine patrol is searching every channel of the river. The Coast Guard has already launched one craft,” he said. “It’s cruising the Atlantic coastline, but…”

But, again, rarely did a body make it that far before reappearing, DeeDee thought. If it got that far, it would probably be lost forever.

“Coast Guard will also have search-and-rescue teams in choppers,” Duncan said. “They’re being mobilized as we speak. We’ve had the department’s helicopters airborne almost since you left the bridge and came back here.” The update seemed to have sapped what energy Duncan had left. He paused to sip his coffee.

“I’ve heard that the main switchboard has been lit up with incoming calls,” Gerard said. “People have seen the helicopter searchlights moving along the river, want to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t care who it inconveniences,” Laird said. “Keep those helicopters in the air.”

“Of course.” Gerard looked frazzled and annoyed. The judge’s imperious attitude had worn thin. “I tell you this only because if citizens want answers, you can be sure the media does. Sooner or later we’re going to have to address the reporters who’ve assembled downstairs.”

“We had to fight our way through them when we came in,” Worley said. “Didn’t tell them anything, of course.”

“I’ve fielded a half dozen calls myself that have come into the unit here under the pretense of having information on Mrs. Laird,” Gerard continued. “The press knows it was Meyer Napoli who got popped on the bridge. Reporters also know that Mrs. Laird is somehow involved, but they don’t know how or to what extent. You should be thinking about how you want to handle that, Judge.”

Laird deflated and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. In a matter of seconds, the fight went out of him and he acquired the lost, vulnerable, and defeated bearing of a victim. He slumped forward and stared at the floor.

They gave him those moments. No one said anything. For once, even Worley was sensitive enough to keep his crude mouth shut.

Finally Judge Laird raised his head and looked at Duncan. “Did you find anything? Any clue to her whereabouts?”

“That scrap of fabric.” Duncan cleared his throat and combed his fingers through his hair. By the look of it, that wasn’t the first time it had been thoughtlessly pushed back in that manner. “You, uh, you said you thought it came from a skirt belonging to Mrs. Laird.”

“I don’t think, I know.”

DeeDee said, “We covered that. The skirt was new as of today. A gift from him.”

DeeDee couldn’t imagine why that would make Duncan look so pained, but it did. He actually winced. “We don’t know how it came to be on the carrier,” he said. “Forensics dusted the rungs of the ladder for prints, but with all the workers who’ve gone up and down it…” He let the sentence trail, again seeming to have run out of steam.

“Any trace of the other sandal?”

Duncan shook his head. “No sign of it or of anything else belonging to her. As soon as it’s light, the department’s dive team will…will begin their search.”

The sound that came from the judge was very much like a dry sob.

DeeDee saw Duncan glance at Worley, who had become busy engraving a pattern onto his Styrofoam cup with his fingernail, his way of relinquishing this unpleasant duty to Duncan.

“What came to our attention that we didn’t notice earlier,” Duncan continued, “is that her sandal probably wasn’t removed voluntarily. The strap was still buckled.”

DeeDee said, “The sandal could be slipped on and off without unbuckling the strap. I’m almost sure.”

He nodded. “But the heel strap was torn out of the sole.”

Gerard asked, “How could that happen, Dunk?”

He rolled his shoulders as though they ached. “It would have taken some force, I think.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it said enough, more than any of them wanted to address.

Duncan seemed to be finding it difficult to speak. DeeDee never remembered that happening before, not even when he’d had to notify a crime victim’s next of kin that the most horrendous fate imaginable had befallen his or her loved one.

“We’re checking the marks on the pavement against the heels on Napoli ’s shoes,” he said, “but what it looks like is that he and Mrs. Laird engaged in some sort of struggle near the wall.” He spoke directly to the judge. “Maybe he stepped on the back of her sandal, causing the strap to break. Just because I found that piece of fabric on the carrier doesn’t mean that’s where it was ripped from her skirt. It could’ve drifted down there after being torn off during a struggle on the bridge.”

“Maybe over possession of the weapon,” Worley said, finally making a contribution. Everyone’s attention shifted to him. “We haven’t found Napoli ’s pistol, but we’re working under the assumption that he was shot with it. However, Judge, if you’d inventory your guns as soon as you get home, we would appreciate it.”

The judge bristled. “Are you suggesting that Elise left home, armed with a pistol, for a meeting with Meyer Napoli?”

“She was trained in how to use a handgun,” DeeDee remarked, since it seemed she was the only cop in the room with balls enough to mention that. “Isn’t that what we were told?”

The judge turned to her, his eyes fierce with anger. “Yes, that’s what you were told. You were also told that she agreed to the training at my insistence. She didn’t like handling guns. She wouldn’t have taken one from home.”

“If you can account for all the handguns you own,” Duncan said, “and I’m betting you can, then we could rule out that Napoli was shot with a weapon belonging to you. In the meantime, we’re going on the assumption that it was his gun that killed him.”

“During a struggle over it outside the car, near the wall of the bridge?”

“That’s one theory,” Worley said in reply to Gerard’s question. “It’s only conjecture at this point.”

“Conjecture,” the judge said heatedly. “But you have no idea what actually happened, do you?”

“One thing we know,” Worley said, matching the judge’s testiness, “is that at some point one or both of them were in the backseat.”

“The backseat?”

Worley was too busy looking smug over the point he’d scored to reply, leaving Duncan to explain. “Baker’s guys collected grains of some compound from the floorboard carpet. Driver’s seat, passenger seat, backseat.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What compound?”

“We can’t be positive till we get the lab to confirm it, but it looks like ordinary cement,” Worley said. He rubbed his fingers together. “Ground up to dust, like. We called the morgue and asked Dr. Brooks’s assistant to check Napoli ’s shoes. He confirmed there were traces of some gray stuff on the soles. Looks like gritty powder with chunks in it.

“And the same stuff was on the sole of Mrs. Laird’s sandal,” he went on. “Meaning, as I said, that one or both of them were in the backseat as well as the front.” He paused for effect. “If the lab can determine for sure what this stuff is, and give us a guess as to its origin, it might point us to where Napoli and Mrs. Laird linked up.”

Duncan dragged a hand down his face, catching DeeDee’s attention. She’d never seen him this shaken, not even after they’d left the most horrible of horrible homicides. She wondered, not for the first time, about the depth of his attraction to Elise Laird.