Page 42 of Memory of Murder
“It’s possible the neighbor who saw her,” Jack added, “got the time wrong.”
Anne wished that neighbor was still alive. It would have been helpful to hear directly from her.
Mr. Jones laughed. “The senator’s wife? I can’t imagine what motive she would have had to murder her best friend’s husband.” He sent a pointed look at Jack. “I do know how to conduct a homicide investigation, you know.”
There it was. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
“First,” Anne argued, “he wasn’t a senator at the time, and Eve wasn’t his wife until later. So neither of those scenarios had anything to do with what happened.” Her gaze narrowed on the man. “I’m guessing,” she went on, trying not to let her irritation show, “you didn’t consider Eve’s husband, Kevin, as a person of interest either. No matter that he’d just stolen a position with BioTech that had been offered to Neil. I can’t imagine that wouldn’t be considered motive.”
Anne wanted to toss in the possible sexual-assault allegation she’d learned about and the paternity test…but Mrs. Farrell was right. It would only make her mother look guiltier. As for the previous sexual-assault allegation involving Adrina Wilson, surely any good cop would have dug up that one.
Then again, she wasn’t sure this man fit the definition of a good cop.
The former detective actually laughed this time. “She really pulled out all the stops in that journal, didn’t she? The fact is Kevin Langston could not have killed Neil Reed any more than his future wife could have because they were having drinks together in town at the time of the murder. Their alibi was confirmed.”
“I noticed that in the file,” Jack commented. “But the location and the person who verified their alibi weren’t named.”
Jones held up his hands in a signal of surrender. “That one is on me. I must have failed to list those items. They were at JJ’s, and the owner, Jerry Trenton, confirmed their alibi.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “The truth is it was crystal clear who the shooter was. The rest was just a matter of filling in the blanks.”
Anne required a moment to ride out the shock of that news. No wonder Judith had gone straight to Eve about Anne and Jack’s visit. Her ex-husband had been the Langstons’ alibi. Oh, how the plot thickened.
“You’re saying,” Anne pressed, her anger stirring once more, “that you were so certain my mother killed my father that you really didn’t consider anyone else.”
The detective’s hands went to his hips then, and he glared at her, his face hard with his own rising anger. “I did not say that. I looked at several other persons of interest. The fact is, lady, Mary Morton killed him. End of story. As sad as that might make you, it’s the truth.”
Anne wasn’t a cop but she found it suspicious that he could remember all these details so well thirty years later. More likely, someone had spoken to him already. Made sure he remembered all the right answers.
“You never mentioned a motive,” Jack said, dragging the guy’s attention to him. “What was her motive for killing the man she intended to marry…the father of her unborn child?Any way I look at it, I can’t find how doing so helped her in the slightest. He had no life insurance. You and I both know that for a young woman—a pregnant one—with no history of violence to suddenly obtain a weapon illegally and then shoot and kill the man she loved takes a strong motive. If there was nothing for her to gain, why did she do it? You found no evidence he’d cheated on her. No evidence of any sort of abuse. Nothing. That’s a stretch, Detective.”
Jones face lined with rage, he snapped, “I guess you had to be there. You had to see the lack of emotion when she was found hovering over his body. The dull, lifeless look in her eyes while I questioned her. The methodical, almost rehearsed answers.”
“Did you consider that she was pregnant and emotionally devastated?” Jack argued. “What you’re describing could easily have been shock.”
The detective laughed, shook his head. “We can debate this all day, but I was there. I know what I saw and heard. She was guilty, and the case was closed.”
“Did you interview Michael Smith to find out why he chose Langston for the position at his company after already making a deal with Reed?” Jack demanded next.
“I didn’t see the point.”
“What about Carin Carter Wallace?” Anne demanded. “She took off just before the murder. She was friends with Mary and Neil as well as Eve and Kevin. She’s the senator’s personal assistant now. Has been for years. You found nothing suspicious about any of their activities? Never considered that close friends might know things useful to your investigation?”
His eyebrows lifted at her sarcastic tone. “Carter was not in Crystal Lake at the time of the murder. Her fiancé confirmed she was at home in Chicago. Even though she visited for a couple of days after the murder, she didn’t hang around long.”
“You didn’t put that in the file either,” Jack noted.
The man exhaled a big, put upon breath. “Looking back, I can see where I didn’t do several things I would have done later on. Experience changes how you do things. I still had a lot to learn thirty years ago.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Jack said. “Why were you put on the case, considering your lack of experience at the time?”
Another of those impatient exhales from the former detective. “It was Labor Day weekend. Everyone else was on vacation. I was low man on the seniority roster, so I got stuck on call. Once the case was mine, I wasn’t giving it up. I figured a big case like that would help set my career. I may not have documented everything exactly as I should have, but I guarantee you it all got done and the killer went to jail. End of story.”
“And as it turned out, considering the lack of actual evidence or motive,” Anne countered, disbelief and no small amount of frustration twisting inside her, “all the judge and jury needed for the Reed murder case was your testimony in the courtroom. That’s astonishing.”
When he would have argued Anne’s point, Jack cut him off. “The fact that no one was assigned to ensure the new kid on the block covered all the bases in the investigation kind of makes you wonder,” he suggested, “if someone involved with the murder had a friend in the department.”
His own frustration tightened the detective’s features, but rather than argue he hitched his head toward his boat. “The morning’s wasting. I’m heading to the lake. If you have a complaint or any more questions, take it up with the chief.”
When they were in the car driving away, Anne had gone way past frustration and into pure anger. “Did you buy any of that?”
