“You’re sure that’s all.”
“Yes, Detective Hartmann. That’s all. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t see anyone get killed.”
“But you saw Amanda St. Claire’s SUV there about the time two people were killed and that’s why you’ve been evading my questions.”
Liz sighed. “Yes. I did and that’s why I have been.”
Chapter Twelve
Guilt — actually fear of getting caught — had kept Sam from any more snooping around his partner’s desk. But the next morning, delivering a cappuccino he’d gotten for her when he got his morning latte, he saw a report on fingerprints he couldn’t resist checking out.
What it said sent him back to his computer for a quick search of the old Webster case records.
And there it was: the fingerprints found on the glass from the big kiln at Bullseye belonged to Beal Matthews, a low-level thug hired by Tom Webster to run errands for the drug ring. He’d been dimed out by the cops who’d been involved in the operation, had served time for possession and been released about two months prior because of good behavior and jail overcrowding.
But it was Matthews booking photo that made him mutter, “I’ll be damned.” Staring back at him from his computer screen was the man he seen entering The Fairchild Gallery the day he and his partner interviewed Liz.
As the printer chugged out a copy of the photo, he called Matthews’ parole officer. The p.o. said Matthews had been a model prisoner and had been following all the rules since he’d been out. Sam got a home and work address as well as the information that Matthews had recently been doing some part-time work for a business in the Pearl, but the p.o. didn’t know where. Sam did.
He grabbed the copy of the booking photo and his coffee and headed out to his pickup before anyone — read, L.T. — could stop him or ask what he was working on.
At the car repair shop where Matthews worked, the owner said his employee had called in sick that morning, a first. Matthews wasn’t at his apartment, either. An apartment Sam wasn’t surprised to see was close to both Amanda’s studio and Bullseye.
He debated stopping by the GlassCo studio but decided not to. Amanda still hadn’t returned his calls and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what that meant just yet. Deal with one crisis at a time was his motto for the day.
Instead, he checked Eubie Kane’s neighborhood. Kane’s next-door neighbor thought Matthews might have been hanging out with Kane for the month or two before he was killed. The neighbor wasn’t positive. Kane’s new friend seemed shy, didn’t like to talk, always wore a hoodie with his face obscured or a baseball cap pulled down on his forehead.
Last, he went to The Fairchild Gallery where Liz confirmed that Beal Matthews was Mike Benson. She also told Sam about the gold bracelet he’d taken from her gallery to give to his hot new girlfriend for her birthday.
He hadn’t found his suspect but at least he could confirm for the parole officer where his client had been working part-time. And the mysteries of Robin Jordan’s gold bracelet and her secret boyfriend seemed to have been solved.
Sam drove back downtown to Central Precinct sure in his belief that Beal Matthews was the man they were looking for. All they had to do was find him.
• • •
Danny Hartmann couldn’t decide if she was pissed, scared or frustrated. Acting on the fingerprint information on her desk, she’d begun the legwork to track down Beal Matthews. Only to find out that every phone call, every visit was on the heels of one from Sam. She was pissed at his going off on his own, scared he’d get caught and suffer the consequences, frustrated that he didn’t trust her enough to take her into his confidence.