The Wrong Girl

49

“What do you mean, one thing?” Jake looked at his watch, impatient. He had seven minutes until his meeting with the Supe. Even if the elevator cooperated he’d need four minutes to get upstairs and another thirty seconds to walk the carpeted eighth-floor corridor to the corner office. That gave him two and a half minutes to hear what Kat had to say. So it better be good. And fast. “One thing about what?”

Kat took off a leather glove, clicked open her ME briefcase, took out a manila file.

“I read that,” Jake said.

“Not this one.” Kat opened the file.

Two minutes left. “So?”

“So,” Kat said. “Yes, Mr. Brannigan had a heart attack. But-not in his car.”

Jake blinked, mentally reviewing the scene. The man in the driver’s seat he later learned was Brannigan, hands at his sides, head plonked on the steering wheel, seat belt on.

“Why do you think that?”

“I was there when Crime Scene opened the car door. You were off with-wherever you went.”

“Yeah, and?” He’d gone to check on Jane. But that couldn’t matter.

“When Crime Scene tried to open the car door, it opened.”

“So?” Ticktock. Get to the point.

“So nothing. We figured maybe he hadn’t locked it yet. But Jake, there were no keys. Not in the car, not anywhere.”

“Yeah yeah, I know that. D and I discussed it on scene. Maybe he went to the car to get something. Maybe he left it unlocked.”

Kat shrugged. “Could be. But Jake. Where are the keys now? Where was he going? Went to the car to get something to take where?”

Jake stared at her. He’d been so focused on Jane that he’d-

“What’s more, I found mud and slush on the inside surfaces of his shoes. I mean…” Kat lifted one booted foot. Pointed to her instep with a pale manicured fingernail. “Right along here, and on both feet. And up the insides of his pants legs. The inside only. If you’re walking, any wetness is going to accumulate on your whole foot, evenly distributed. So now, imagine how Brannigan’s condition, the pattern of moisture on his pants and shoes, could have happened. See what I mean?”

She paused, waiting for him to answer.

Jake was going to be late to the meeting, but it wouldn’t matter, because Kat’s findings meant he’d screwed this one up. Royally. And it would only get worse from here on. The Jane thing. Exactly what they’d feared-the distraction-looked like it finally made him blow a case. If he’d stayed at the scene on Margolin Street, like he should have, he’d have focused on this. Figured it out. Instead he’d blown it.

“Jake?”

“Yeah. Kat. I hear you.” He tilted one foot sideways, touching his instep to the ground. He tried doing it with his other foot at the same time. Couldn’t. His knees knocked together, and he wouldn’t have been able to stay upright to walk. He’d need-Shit. “The only way that could happen is if someone was holding Brannigan up. Supporting him. “Maybe he wasn’t even dead.”

“Yeah. It’s possible he wasn’t. Look.”

Kat grabbed one of Jake’s arms, draped it over her shoulder. They stood face to face. He, a good five inches taller, smelled vanilla and a whiff of roses in her faint perfume. “Now imagine someone else on your other side. Supporting you. Half-dragging you. Down a path or some such, to your car. To an observer, it might present as if you’re drunk. But you’re-woozy. Dying. What would happen to your feet?”

“This looks cozy.” DeLuca’s voice preceded him, coming through the revolving door before he did. “Should I give you two some privacy?”

“Damn, you caught us,” Kat said. She stuck out her tongue at D. “But perfect timing, actually. Let Jake put his other arm around your shoulders. Then you can help me drag Jake to his car.”

“Huh?” DeLuca took a step back. “What the hell?”

“Let’s just say we’re screwed.” Jake looked at his watch. “And we’re late for our meeting with the Supe. Shit. I should have gone to law school.”