Amy J. - Under His Protection

Nash climbed back up the stairs to look around the suite once more. Was the scarf the murder weapon? If not, Winfield could have died from anything, food poisoning or heart trouble. Until he had an autopsy, Nash was finished here. He’d collect reports from the other officers, run a check on Winfield, and then he’d know where to go from there. At the moment there was too little evidence to point him in any direction.

Except at Lisa.

He was done for now, anyway, he reasoned and returned to his office, dropping into his chair and tossing his notebook on the desk. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, then sagged back into the chair. A bag of clothing marked “Lisa Bracket Winfield” was sealed and on his desk. A note from the sheriff said she’d offered prints before they’d asked. Her angry expression flashed like lightning in his mind. He could have handled that confrontation better, he thought. He knew he hadn’t accused her of the crime, but the questions always made people defensive. But what the hell was she hiding?

Winfield had been pushed to his death, but his instincts told Nash there was more than a silk scarf connecting this to Lisa. And he never ignored his instincts.

The phone shrilled and before it reached a second ring he snatched it up. “Couviyon.”

“Detective, this is Kathy Boon. I’m a housekeeper at the Baylor Inn. They, I mean my boss, wanted me to call you to tell you that I saw a woman go into Mr. Winfield’s room.”

“Describe her please.”

“Red hair, long, in a ponytail tied with a scarf. Killer outfit. Lime-green skirt, same color top but it had polka dots on it. She was about five-eight, I’d guess. Pretty. I noticed her because her handbag and shoes matched her skirt and not too many people can get away with wearing that color.”

Nash allowed himself a smile, then glanced at the shopping bag of clothes Lisa had turned in. “What time was it when you saw this woman?”

“About eight-thirtyish, maybe quarter to nine. I work till midnight, then come in at five, so that’s why I wasn’t around this morning.”

“Did you see her leave?”

“No, I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean anything. I go from the laundry to the rooms about a dozen times a night.”

“Did you see anyone else enter Mr. Winfield’s room?”

“Room service at about six.”

Winfield had been alive at six. The attendant had already confirmed delivering the meal around then. “Did you hear anything coming from Mr. Winfield’s room?”

She was quiet.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m thinking. No…well, I’m not sure. I heard arguing at a little past nine, but not enough to call the cops or anything. Oh, God, maybe I should have.”

“You couldn’t have known, ma’am.”

As she spoke, Nash checked the employee roster and found her name, marking beside it. His head was swimming, mostly with images of Lisa and the absolute fury she’d thrown at him.

“If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, sure, and if I think of anything more, I’ll let you know.”

He hung up and leaned back in his chair. Lisa had definitely been there. He hoped the coroner came back with something soon. Lisa wasn’t capable of hurting anyone. At least not physically. And as he remembered their conversation, he recognized his own bitterness, as well as hers.

What would have happened, he wondered, if he’d fought for her all those years ago? If he’d gone to her and said…what? That he loved her? Unfortunately he hadn’t realized he loved her until she was walking down the aisle with someone else and he was miles away regretting it.

The phone shrilled, jerking him from unhappy musing. He grabbed the receiver and punched line one. “Detective Couviyon.”

“Hey, Nash, this is your favorite lab rat.”

Nash smiled. The coroner, Quinn Kilpatrick. “Tell me you have something for me, good buddy.”

“The deceased died between ten and midnight. I’ll have more specific analysis in a few hours, a day max.”

“Cause of death?”

“Toxic poisoning.”

“What about the scarf?”

“That was after the fact. Poisoning looks like an overdose of digitalis, near as I can tell, but if you quote me right now, I’ll deny it.”

“How did he get it?”

“An injection, in a drink, food—a number of ways.”

“Could he have overdosed accidentally?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to nail this element, and I’m waiting on his med records to see if he was being treated for anything. Be patient.”

Nash didn’t have any patience today and struggled for a scrap. “I thought you couldn’t detect digitalis.”

“That’s why you can’t quote me.”

Nash hung up and studied his notes. Winfield had lived in New York and the NYPD had been notified. The victim’s apartment would be sealed off and swept for evidence. It was time, he thought, to find more suspects. Yet in the back of his mind lingered one troubling question. Had Lisa Bracket Winfield changed enough over the past four years to be capable of murder?

LISA SLID INTO the booth in the diner and smiled at her lawyer, Trisha Flynn. Trish had her notebook out, ready to talk.

“We could have met at the office, Lisa.”

Lisa shook her head, grateful for the cup of coffee waiting for her. “That would make me feel like a real suspect.”

“From what you told me, you’re the best possible one.”

“Gosh, you’re a fun date, huh?” Lisa’s heart sank and at the same time, anger unfolded. Was Peter going to keep ruining her life? “Dammit, Trish, I didn’t do this,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “When I left Peter last night, he was very much alive.”

“And mad as hell, I’ll bet.”

Lisa scoffed. “He wasn’t getting his way, so yes, he was mad.” Lisa glanced at the menu, and they ordered, silent till the waitress left them.

“Was it the same argument?” Trish asked.

“Oh, yes. When was it not?”

“You don’t look upset that he’s dead.”

“I grieved. I loved him once upon a time.” And I loved Nash, too, she thought, and knew if it had been him who died, she wouldn’t be functioning nearly as well. “But you know better than anyone what it was like with him, Trish. And now to have Nash nosing around in my personal business, my marriage…”

“You should have told him.”

Trisha had been with her when she’d miscarried her baby. “Is that my lawyer or friend talking?” Lisa asked.

Trisha smiled, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulder as she reached for the creamer. “Your friend. Who’s on lawyer time.”

Lisa tried to smile and couldn’t. “I know you think Nash should know about the baby I lost, but I understand him better than he does. It wouldn’t have worked out then, and bringing it up now will only hurt him more.” Four years had eased the loss only a little.

“But Nash wants to know what you and Peter fought about.”

“I can’t, Trish.” Lisa’s eyes teared up, and she grabbed a paper napkin, blotting them. Wimp, she thought, you’ve been through worse. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ve all been there.” Lisa met her gaze. “Do you want me to petition to have him removed from the case?”

“You can do that?”

“He has a personal attachment.”

“No, it will just make me look guilty.”

“Is Nash an honest man, Lisa?” her lawyer asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Would he use this to hurt you?”

“I…I don’t think so.”

Trish voiced no opinion on that, and Lisa wondered how bad this was going to get. “Okay, the conversation you and Peter had last night is inadmissible, and your word against a dead man’s is hearsay,” Trisha said. “Don’t worry about it now. It has no bearing on his death that I can see.”