Sam knocked on the open door to Christopher Angel’s office. The lieutenant in charge of the homicide detectives in Central Precinct was on the phone but signaled Sam in and waved him to a chair while he wrapped up the conversation.
A fifty-six-year-old, tall, slim man with dark hair shot through with the white he swore came from parenting five daughters rather than his work, Angel had been in his job for four years. His solve rate was impressive, the press loved him, and the Chief relied on his impeccable instincts about both homicide and public relations. His detectives had a nickname for him — L.T. The casual use of the initials was less about their recognition of his rank than a sign of their regard for him.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he hung up. That was the Chief passing along a message from the mayor. Mr. Mayor wants Kane/Jordan cleared quickly so it doesn’t, and I’m quoting here, ‘give the business community the impression that it’s not safe to operate in Portland.’ The fact that two people are dead apparently didn’t enter into their conversation.” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, his disgusted look indicating exactly what he thought about the interchange. “What’ve you got for me?”
Sam ran down the list of the evidence they’d collected: The handgun they’d found next to the bodies. Shreds of latex gloves spotted with blood discovered in the parking area. The contents of Kane’s pockets and Jordan’s purse. The list of phone calls to and from both victims’ cell phones.
“And there’s this.” Sam handed a lab report to Angel. “They lifted prints from the gun before it was sent for testing. There were partials on the barrel, nothing on the rest of it, a different set on the remaining cartridges. The partials were identified as Amanda St. Claire’s. No match yet for the other set.”
“Amanda St. Claire? I know that name.” Angel paused for a moment. “Oh, shit, the goddamn Webster case. I hoped I’d never hear any name from that case again,” he said, almost growling.
Sam shook his head, wishing like hell he didn’t have to say what he was about to say. “If you’ll look on that list of phone calls you’ll see Kane made a call to St. Claire’s number early in the evening. And there was an incoming call from her phone later, after he was dead.”
“I hate to ask — does she have a connection with Kane?”
“Other than the fact both are glass artists, yeah. He caused a scene in Bullseye recently, accusing her of stealing his designs. Threatened her with a lawsuit.” He shifted uneasily in the chair. “She also heard that Kane was trolling the DA’s office to see who’d bite on his story about intellectual property theft.”
“When you talked to her about this did you find out where she was last night?”
“Haven’t talked to her yet.”
“Then how do you know the details of her dispute with Kane?”
“That’s why I came to see you as soon as I found out about the fingerprints and phone calls. I think I need to get off this case. We’re involved. Amanda and I, that is. She told me about her Kane problem when it happened.”
“Think you need to get off? Jesus Christ, Sam, of course you’re off. How much of the evidence has your name on it?”
“None. Danny and one of the uniforms took care of that. I did interviews.”
Angel fiddled with a pen for a moment, then stood up. “Does Danny have the addresses of St. Claire’s home and studio or wherever she works?”