Authors: Christy Barritt
Hope surged through me. “I could hug
you.”
“It doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves Cunningham doesn’t have an
alibi. It proves opportunity. It weakens the case against Harold.”
He shrugged. “If I’m going to prove
Harold innocent, I need to prove someone else is guilty.”
“No you don’t, my friend. All you need
is reasonable doubt. I’m liking you more and more all the time.”
“You’ll like me more after this.” Riley
leaned forward and drew in a deep breath, as if the words didn’t come easily.
“Don’t ask me why I’m offering this, but I have an unofficial meeting with
William Newsome tomorrow.” His piercing expression met mine. “Would you care to
join me?”
Newsome, the man accused of killing
Gloria Cunningham. My mouth watered just thinking about the questions I had for
that man.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re just here to listen,
Gabby.” Riley tugged at his tie, loosening it as we neared the front door of
the city jail. “Don’t try anything smart.”
“Me, smart? Not in this lifetime.” My
heels clicked across the cement sidewalk, and I smoothed my beige suit.
Riley stopped short, held the door
closed and turned to me. “Gabby.” He drew my name out until it had four
syllables.
I raised my hands in the perfect
imitation of a woman surrendering. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Riley stared at me a moment longer, then
strained his neck against the fabric at his collar. He pulled open the glass
door to let me go in first. “So far your best behavior has scared me half to
death. You have a glimmer in your eyes.”
I stopped in the doorway and glanced up
at him. My breath caught when I realized our close proximity. Something about
his face was just lovable. It was earnest, wholesome, and staring back at me
with equal intensity. I inhaled the woodsy scent of his cologne and found
myself wanting more.
I had to get a grip.
He leaned closer, and I could feel his
breath on my cheek. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I barely found my
voice. “I’m hoping for answers. Is that too much?”
“No, it’s not.”
He looked dashing in a suit, though I
knew he’d be more comfortable in jeans and a pullover. Whatever happened in his
past, this suit seemed to be connected to it, as he fidgeted with every step.
“You look nice, Riley.”
He looked away and adjusted his tie
again, the mood broken. “Thanks.” With a sweep of his hand, waved me inside.
“Let’s go.”
We walked into the gray jail. For one of
my classes in college, we went to a jail for a tour and, thankfully, that was
the closest I’d ever come to being behind those bars.
College at been great fun, a place where
I’d learned interesting facts like tongue prints are just as unique as
fingerprints, and that a Koala bear’s fingerprint can’t be distinguished from
the fingerprint of a human.
College had been where I’d discovered
the truth—science. Everything made sense—well, everything except the part about
man evolving from monkeys. That was just ridiculous. It pained me to realize,
but I wasn’t sure where we did come from. The question had always haunted me,
nagged at me even.
But science, that’s where miracles were
found. Things could be proven through tests and experiments. In some ways, I
guess I worshipped science like others worshipped God. The nice thing about
science was that it had never let me down. I couldn’t say that much for God.
An officer directed me and Riley down a
couple of hallways until we reached the visitation room. Riley and I took a
seat in the end booth. I stared at the Plexiglas that would soon separate us
from a criminal. When I talked to Harold next, would this be the way we
communicated? I squirmed in my orange plastic chair.
“You going to be okay?” Riley asked.
“I’m just anxious for this to start.”
As soon as I spoke, a slight man plopped
on the other side of the glass. Somehow I had imagined Newsome to be bigger,
scarier. Instead, his oversized glasses and greasy brown hair made him look
more like a con artist than someone accused of murder.
“I didn’t burn no house down.” Newsome
didn’t wait for the questions, but his voice was too nasal to be tough. “I was
in jail. The perfect alibi.”
Riley’s jaw locked into place. “Let’s
start by talking about Gloria Cunningham.”
“I already told the police a million
times, I didn’t kill no lady.”
“Then why was your shoe print found at
the crime scene after she was murdered?”
Newsome dipped his head lower and
sighed. His eyes held arrogance. “While I was out on bail, I decided to stop by
to talk with her earlier that night. I wanted to convince her not to testify.”
“You were desperate for her not to
testify,” Riley stated, his jaw flexing with intensity.
His face reddened. “Yeah, but not
desperate enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Why would Cunningham think it was you
then? He claims you shot him in the leg.”
“He says whoever it was wore a mask. He
can’t prove a thing. Can’t you see I’m a scapegoat? Now, I’m willing to do time
for my past crimes, but I ain’t doing time for this. That’s premeditated
murder.”
I listened to the exchange with
fascination, forcing myself to keep quiet. Though Newsome looked like a slime
ball, I believed him. He didn’t kill Gloria.
“If you didn’t do it, who did?” Riley
asked.
“What do I look like, a psychic? I don’t
know. I just know it wasn’t me.” Newsome rose, his face turning redder.
“You threatened to kill her.”
“I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want
her to testify. It was all talk.” He shook his head.
“What was your meeting like with the
Cunninghams when you went over there earlier in the day?” I asked.
Riley narrowed his eyes at me. Though
I’d promised to stay quiet, the question popped out.
The warden cleared his throat, and
Newsome sat down. He shrugged as if trying to gain his cool. His gaze settled
on Riley. “I walked up to the door. There was yelling inside, like the mister
and missus were arguing about something. I rang the bell. The husband answered.
He looked ticked, I thought he was gonna kill me right then and there. I never
even had a chance to say nothing.”
I could imagine the scene perfectly,
based on my encounter with Cunningham yesterday. I pictured the veins at his
temple, the fire in his eyes. Shudders rippled down my spine.
“Did you hear what they were arguing
about?” Riley asked.
“No idea. It was all muffled, you know?”
“Did you hire someone to burn down their
house?”
“Do I look like I have that kind of
money? For Pete’s sake, I robbed a bank trying to get some extra cash!” He
shook his head like we were the morons. “I heard one of the guys cleaning the
crime scene burned the house down. He had the access. Why don’t you talk to
him?”
My back went rigid. “He didn’t do it.”
Riley placed his hand on my arm and sent
another warning glance.
The warden approached William from
behind. “Time’s up.”
William eyed us both. “I didn’t kill
that woman. I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t me.”
When he was gone, Riley and I sat in
silence.
“I wonder what the Cunninghams were
arguing about,” I said.
“It’s irrelevant.”
“Are you going to talk to Michael today?
To ask him about those two unaccounted hours?”
“Yes, but I’m doing that alone,” Riley
said.
“I behaved myself in there! It was a
good question.”
“If Cunningham sees you, he’s only going
to get upset.”
“And when Cunningham hears what you have
to say, he’s going to be furious.”
Riley sighed. “I just need to handle
this alone, Gabby. I already broke the rules and let you come here today.”
Maybe I was asking for too much. I
nodded and resigned myself to respect Riley’s choice.
Chapter Sixteen
I wasn’t about to sit in my
apartment and sulk until Riley got back. If he wouldn’t let me come along, then
I’d do some digging on my own.
As soon as he pulled away from the
house, I grabbed my keys and climbed into the van. Contemplating my next move,
I rubbed the pointy chin of my heart-shaped face.
Really, only sweet people should have
heart shaped faces, but by some freak of nature, I’d ended up with a face that
looked angelic. It was an advantage in high school because I could get away
with things. Like when the teacher asked who was playing Dr. Frankenstein with
a lab frog, trying to bring the poor thing back to life using electricity? I
didn’t say a word. I just sat there with wide eyes and tilted my innocent face.
He never even suspected me. At least not until he caught me trying to do the
same thing with a cadaver.
The two good things my parents had given
me were a sweet face and a slim build. Although, people always assumed because
I was skinny, that I liked my body. But my stomach wasn’t flat, cellulite
attacked my hips, and I’d always hated my knees, so I rarely wore shorts. Come
to think of it, I’d never known a woman who did like her body. Even my mom, who
was a former Miss Norfolk, had constantly looked in the mirror and shook her
head at the mess she’d become.
That’s when Mom met Dad—during her reign
as beauty queen of our historic port city. Dad was in Virginia Beach for a surfing competition and
had come by the pageant, not doubt to ogle during the swimsuit competition. Mom
always said it was love at first sight.
Mom had been seventeen, and Dad
nineteen. I was born nine months later, out of wedlock. Instead of going to
medical school as mom had planned, she’d stayed home with me for awhile. That’s
when Dad was making the covers of surfing magazines and getting endorsement
deals. Then he hurt his back in a surfing accident, and he’d felt sorry for
himself ever since.
I drove toward Cunningham’s house,
reviewing the conversation with Newsome and my confrontation with Cunningham. I
needed evidence that proved Cunningham was the murderer. Of course, I’d already
discovered the gun in his house and that hadn’t helped. I could hand over a
taped confession and Parker wouldn’t care.
I pulled into the neighbor’s driveway. I
had to find out exactly what the neighbor saw on the night of the fire. Had she
only assumed the man she’d seen was Michael Cunningham?
After parking the van, I walked up the
gravel drive to the Tudor home, concentrating so I wouldn’t twist my ankle in
the heels I wore. A large expanse of lawn, typical in this wooded neighborhood,
fluttered with the wind, the grass blowing like ocean waves. It offered a brief
respite from the humidity.
I rang the doorbell. A minute later the
same bleached blond Barbie doll from two days ago answered, smiling with all
the beauty cosmetic surgery could buy. She squinted, as if trying to remember
where she’d seen me before, though no lines formed on her forehead.
“Hi, we met a couple of days ago at the
Cunningham’s house.” I held out my hand. “I’m Gabby St. Claire.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Her eyes widened in
what might have looked like recognition if it wasn’t for the Botox freezing her
muscles. “I’m Barbara. Come on in.”
I stepped inside the expansive marble
entryway. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping you might answer a couple of
questions for me.”
“Anything I can do to help. I just want
whoever did this to pay.”
“Me too.” I dropped the polite smile.
“Barbara, you told me when we talked that you saw Mr. Cunningham at the house
on the night of the arson. Are you sure it was him?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure. I was raking leaves
when I saw a car pull up—”
“His car?”
She drew her swollen lips in a thin
line. “No, it wasn’t his car, but I’d seen it at the house before. He started
to go in the house, but then stopped and walked around outside instead.”
“How long was he there?”
“Probably only five minutes.”
Long enough to set it on fire, I
thought.
“Did you say anything to him?”
“I was going to,
but . . . it’s awkward, you know? What do you say to someone
whose wife has just been murdered? It’s not exactly a time for small talk.”
“Did you see anything else at the house
that night? Any unusual visitors?”
Barbara looked at her manicured hands,
then raised her head. “No. All I know is that I saw flames shooting out the
windows. I called 911 right away.”
“What do you know about the Cunninghams?
Were they a happy couple? I’ve heard they fought quite a bit.”
“What married couple doesn’t? But
Michael and Gloria, they had their fair share. Sometimes their voices would
drift all the way across the lawn.”
“Any idea what they fought about?”
Barbara shook her head so robotically I
decided she’d be better as a Stepford wife. “No idea. I just assumed it was the
stress of getting ready to run for office.”
I stared at the woman in front of me,
curious about her life. It seemed so different from mine, with my endless struggles
to make ends meet. What would it be like to have no worries?
“What does your husband do, Barbara?”
Her eyelids fluttered until she looked
down. “We’re separated, actually. But he’s a banker.”
“Thanks for your time. You’ve been very
helpful.” I stepped out the door, ready to leave.
“What was it you do again?” Barbara
asked.
“I’m a crime-scene cleaner.”
Just as I took a step away, a brown
truck pulled up the driveway and a deliveryman appeared on the porch. I slowed
my walk.
“I’ve got a package for Mrs. Barbara
O’Connor,” he said.
Barbara signed for it and took the box.
I was halfway down the steps when I froze.