The Perfect Alibi (Robin Lockwood #2)(72)

Robin grabbed her phone and punched in the number for Carrie Anders’s cell phone.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Carrie asked.

“Do you have any suspects in Rex Kellerman’s murder?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Humor me, will you?”

“Remember our conversation on the division of labor between people who are paid to solve crimes and those people who are paid to represent people who are arrested for a crime?”

“Please, Carrie.”

“If you know something, you should tell me.”

“I don’t know anything. I just have an idea. If I get anything concrete, I promise I’ll let you know. So, do you have any suspects?”

“No one we can do anything about.”

“What about Doug Armstrong? Do you know where he was when Rex was killed?”

There was silence on the line. When Carrie spoke, she was angry. “Do you know something that makes you think Armstrong killed Kellerman?”

“I don’t have any evidence that Doug is guilty, but I might be able to help you if a few things pan out.”

Robin heard Carrie let out a breath. “We talked to Marsha Armstrong. She said that she and Doug were home all night. When we talked to Doug, their stories matched.”

“And you believe them?”

“Yes, but that’s not because they can prove they were together. It’s just their word.”

“And there’s nothing else. No one called Doug during the time Rex was killed and he didn’t call anyone? They didn’t have visitors?”

“Like I said, all I have is their word.”

“Okay, thanks. One more thing: Do you know what kind of gun was used to murder Rex?”

“We think it was a Glock. Why?”

“Like I said, I have an idea.”

“Robin, do not go off on your own on this.”

“I won’t. I promise. After Atlanta and what happened in the garage with Blaine, I don’t need any more drama in my life.”

“I’m glad you realize that.”

“I do,” Robin said before she disconnected, but she was lying.



* * *



Robin was still up when Jeff came home.

“Oh, hi. I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I need you to check on something for me tomorrow.”

“No kiss, no hug?”

Robin gave him a peck on the cheek. “Can you do this first thing tomorrow?”

“Do what?”

Robin told him, and Jeff looked puzzled. “We’re not representing Armstrong anymore. Why do you need to look into this?”

Robin explained what she thought Jeff would find and what the implications were if she was right.

“Assuming your hunch pans out, what are you going to do with the information?”

Jeff looked shell-shocked by the time Robin finished explaining her plan. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“It’s the only way I can think of to get the evidence we need.”

“You do not need evidence, because you are not a police officer. You need to explain what you know to Carrie Anders, a sworn officer of the law, and let her act on it.”

“How? There’s no way Carrie can get a search warrant based on guesses. And even if she did search, Doug isn’t stupid. No one will be able to find it.”

“I can’t let you risk your life, Robin.”

Robin glared at Jeff. “I make my own decisions. If you don’t want to help, I’ll find someone who will.”

“Be reasonable.”

“I have spent hours thinking this out. If you can come up with another way to get what we need, tell me and I’ll back down. If not, I’m going ahead with my plan whether you like it or not.”





CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO


Ivar Gorski watched Marvin Turnbull drive out of the Norcross garage. He waited until there were a few cars between him and Turnbull before pulling into traffic and following him. Ivar was certain he knew where the CEO was headed. Turnbull was married with two children who were in high school, but he had a mistress who lived in an apartment on Long Island. Turnbull changed up the days he visited her because he didn’t want his wife to notice a pattern, but he got horny at least once a week.

Patience was one of Ivar’s strong points, and the trait paid off when Turnbull passed the freeway entrance that would have taken him home and kept going to the entrance that would lead him to his love nest.

Three quarters of an hour later, Turnbull parked on a side street. When he got out of his car, he was wearing a Windbreaker with a hood to conceal his face. He hurried to the entrance to the garden apartment and let himself inside with a key. If Turnbull kept to his routine, he would be inside the apartment until eleven. Then he would drive home.

Ivar settled in and passed the time reading War and Peace. He had developed the habit of reading the Russian classics after assassinating a literature professor who had angered a Russian politician by publishing an essay that condemned corruption in his department. On the way out of the professor’s apartment, he had seen Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment in a bookshelf. The title amused him, so he’d taken the book and found it engrossing. Now that he had read all of Dostoevsky and Gogol, he was on to Tolstoy.