Page 29 of Witness To Murder
Her gaze searched his. “What do you mean?”
“The amount of blood found in the lake house was enough to suggest he died there,” he explained, “but what the medical examiner found when examining the body was that the injury sustained with the gunshot would likely have caused far more internal bleeding versus external. The large amount found— outside his body, obviously—at the lake house is not consistent with his injury.”
“Then the blood wasn’t his?” Doubt and uncertainty clouded her expression.
“Testing confirmed the blood was his. The consensus we—meaning my colleagues from the agency and I—reached was that the blood was taken as if he’d given blood, like a donor, and then it was used to establish the appearance that he had died in that bedroom.”
“Like the bookGone Girl,” she suggested.
“Exactly like that, yes,” he agreed. “But he was killed somewhere else by that single shot. What will help clear you of involvement is to know the actual time of death.”
Sharing the other details wasn’t exactly breakfast conversation, but she needed to hear the rest.
“The ME determined that the body was in the vehicle for some time before it was found. With temperatures in the high eighties, the heat inside the car sped up the decomp process and created some difficulty in determining a precise time of death, but the ME assigned to the case is very good. He’ll pinpoint it as closely as possible. Obviously, the timing will not fit with you being the one who killed him, since many witnesses—employees of the Chop House—saw him, alive and well, around midnight on Saturday.”
She considered all he’d said for a few beats, then asked, “Was there a head injury?” She touched her temple. “That’s where the blood I saw was coming from when he was being dragged on that kitchen floor.”
“No head injury. I specifically asked that question in the conference call with Victoria. Not even a scratch.”
Leah digested this detail for a time. “So the blood I saw may have been planted to make me believe he was injured.”
“Quite possibly.”
Something changed in her demeanor. Her shoulders straightened; her lips set in a firm line. She was angry. Understandably so.
“Then it’s true.” Her words were edged with ice. “Raymond was part of whatever this scheme is to set me up. Most likely Isla, too, since the lake house belongs to her and her mother.”
“There is good reason to believe as much, yes.” Sugarcoating the situation or trying to lessen the blow at this point would be ridiculous. Her longtime friend was no doubt involved. Hesupposed it was still possible that she was a victim as well, but the idea seemed increasingly unlikely.
“I contacted her brother this morning.”
Leah stared at him expectantly.
“He hasn’t heard from her in years. Or their mother. There was a falling-out about six years ago. He was quite put out that I would even call him, and he wanted me to ‘lose’ his number.”
“Wow. She mentioned they didn’t keep in touch. But she never said a word about a falling-out at that level. Good grief, all she did was lie to me.” Leah poked at the scrambled eggs with her fork. Took a bite and chewed far longer than necessary. “Is there any suggestion that some aspect of this is related to Chris?” She shook her head. “I mean, I don’t see how that’s possible. What happened with Chris was a long time ago—before I moved to Chicago or even knew Isla and Raymond.”
“I can’t answer that question,” Owen admitted. “We don’t have enough information to hazard a guess. We will, in time, find those answers for you.”
“I can’t keep waiting for answers.” She moistened her lips. “I need to see him.” She nodded as if only now, after saying the words, attempting to convince herself of the strategy. “I have a right to know why he left me to deal with all the fallout nine plus years ago. If we wait, some of the thugs he wronged will come after him, and then I may never know the truth.”
Although Owen understood her reasoning, he couldn’t help wondering if she wanted to see Painter because she still had feelings for the man. He had been her first love… Maybe on some level she was still in love with him. But then, that was none of his business unless it somehow affected the investigation. He understood this, but accepting it was a different story…for reasons completely unreasonable and inappropriate. Other investigators had told him about developing feelings forclients—some even married those clients—but Owen had not encountered that issue…until now.
Clearing his head of the thoughts, he opted to chalk her question up to mere curiosity whether it was precisely true. He liked Leah. More than he should, really. He’d felt a subtle attraction to her the moment they met. But being attracted to his client was not smart under the circumstances—never was, actually. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to set her up, and he needed to find the reason and determine all the players involved. Hopefully to stop that person or persons and to see that Leah was not falsely accused or harmed.
“I understand,” he said in response to her statement, “you feel the need for closure or perhaps for some sense of peace about what happened with Painter. But we need to proceed with caution when it comes to his sudden reappearance. We have no sense of his intent where you’re concerned. At this point it’s not clear if he was held against his will or if he was in hiding and is now pretending to have been a prisoner.” Owen might be guessing on that aspect, but it was a valid possibility.
“You’re right, of course.” She frowned, then nodded as if needing to convince herself. “I would very much like to have some sort of closure, but until we understand how this happened at this particular time, I agree that it’s not a good idea to barge into the situation.” She scoffed. “After all these years and all I went through, I feel like punching him in the face…or worse. Still, I really am worried that the ones he double-crossed will show up. His friends were not the type to forget, much less forgive. Not that he deserved to be forgiven.”
Owen smiled. “I would suggest that you not comment on your personal feelings when the reporters and Lambert start throwing questions at you.”
She laughed. “I assure you, I will not comment.”
The sound of her laugh made him smile. “Good.”
“You cooked,” she said, standing, “I’ll clean up.”
“I’ll help,” he insisted. It would give him something to do other than watch her.
