Page 50 of Dirty Looks

“Yes,” she said. “Could I have some water?”

“Sure,” he said, looking at the tech who was getting everything on record on the other side of the mirror.

“I’m going to read your rights to you again,” Martinez said. “And this interview is being recorded.”

She nodded again as Martinez read off the Miranda rights.

“Are you waiving your right to counsel?” Martinez asked.

“Yes,” she said. “For now. I’d prefer to just come clean and get everything on record. In my experience attorneys slow things down.”

“Most people aren’t so anxious to go to jail,” Martinez said.

“Believe me,” she said. “I’m not either. But I’ll let the process work.”

I narrowed my eyes in thought. No one was this cooperative. At some point, self-preservation would kick in. It always did.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning,” Martinez said. “Help us understand how things could have spiraled so far downward between the time that we first talked to you, to the moment you pulled the trigger.”

There was a knock at the door and a deputy came in with a bottle of water. Martinez unscrewed the top and handed it to her. She took a drink before she answered.

“Alan and I had a sexual relationship,” she said, licking her lips. “We have, off and on, for close to ten years. The arrangement suited us both. Neither of us were proprietary and we got together when the mood struck.”

“When was the last time the two of you got together?” Martinez asked.

“You mean when did we last have sex?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“Sunday,” she said. “We’re both off on Sundays, so that’s usually our regular hookup.”

“Why did you tell us he was responsible for Evie Lidle’s murder?” he asked, changing course. “Dr. Graves did his autopsy. We know he didn’t kill her.”

“The body always tells a story,” I told her, opening the file folder I had. Martinez had told me to use it at my own discretion, but there was something about Astrid Nielsen that was sending up all my red flags. She hadn’t reacted to anything. Not killing a man. And not being arrested and put in jail. She was either a sociopath or an excellent actress.”

I put a couple of pictures of Alan Goble on the table. His body was pristine except for the three neat bullet holes in his chest. And then I put a picture of Evie Lidle.

“You see,” I said. “I know he didn’t kill her because Evie Lidle put up a fight. She fought her attacker. She scratched and clawed and kicked. See all these bruises?” I pointed to her arms. “She was blocking her body every time he struck her. Most likely with a belt.”

Astrid stared at the photographs, her face paling slightly, and she licked her lips again.

“So why,” I asked, “would you tell us that he did it when you know and we know that he didn’t?”

“Maybe you were jealous,” Martinez said, picking up the thread. “Maybe you got word that while we were all talking he was screwing someone else out in the staff garage.”

Her head jerked up at that. “Don’t lie to me,” she said. “I know he wasn’t with anyone else.”

“How do you know that?” Martinez asked.

“Because he was in my house because we had an appointment,” she said. “For sex.”

“Busy boy,” I said. “I pulled someone else’s DNA from him during the autopsy. And seminal fluid. You know what that means?”

“Not to mention we’ve already questioned her and gotten a confirmation of the time and place,” Martinez added. “You’re telling me he was planning to roll straight from her arms into yours? A guy like that gets off on the juggling and the lies more than he does the women. Maybe you got tired of him playing you.”

Color rose in her cheeks and anger flashed in her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“I think you do,” Martinez said. “And I think that’s the real reason you shot him.”

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