Page 11 of Operation: Sharp Angel

Tessman was impressed by how calm she was. He could tell she wanted to scream that answer at them, but she didn’t. Shewas presenting a calm and rational case, the lawyer in her, no doubt.

“If that’s true, someone made it look like murder-suicide,” Jackson said.

“Yes,” Becca agreed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Recapping the police report, we obtained it from Detective Davis,” Jackson began, “it was noted that all the doors were locked. There was no forced entry. Nothing was disturbed in the house indicating a struggle, and nothing was stolen.”

“That we know of,” she interrupted.

“You haven’t been inside the house yet?” Tessman asked, knowing from the police report that she hadn’t.

“No,” she said, glancing away and for the first time not looking so collected. “The police just released the scene yesterday, but I’m not ready to see it yet. Detective Davis described the condition of the house to me, the blood, and the cleaning that will be needed. I’ve contacted a crime scene clean-up company he recommended. They can’t come out until the day after tomorrow.”

“But Detective Davis went over the contents with you, and it appeared nothing was taken,” Tessman said.

“Yes. My sister had some jewelry that wasn’t cheap. It’s still in her jewelry box on her dresser. They always kept several hundred dollars in one of the kitchen cabinets. It was still there. All the electronics in the house, including their phones and laptops, were there too.”

“Is that all?” Jackson asked. “Are those your reasons why you don’t believe your brother-in-law did it?”

Becca tried to hide her reaction to that question. She was undecided how far she could trust them. But this was her only opportunity to hire them. “Is there some sort of client privilege relationship you extend that would keep anything I tell you between us?”

“Between us?” Jackson repeated. “Yes, anything you share would be kept between us. Who would you not want to know what you’re about to tell us?”

Becca knew these people were her only hope. “The police. I have some information that was leaked to me from a member of the forensic crew at the state police lab that I wouldn’t want to get back to the police. My source would get in trouble for telling me.”

Tessman waited for Cooper or Jackson to comment on that statement. He focused on Becca Elliot and still saw no hint of insecurity coming from her.

“What were you told?” Jackson finally asked.

“It’s the GSR pattern that was present on Nick,” she said. “It isn’t right. There was GSR on his right hand and shoulder, and down his right arm that is consistent with holding a gun to your head when you fire.” She held her hand up, her index finger to her own temple in the position one would expect in a suicide. “But there was very little present on the front of his shirt, and none on his left hand or arm, as you’d expect when a person holds a gun out in front of themselves and shoots someone else.” She moved her arms out in front of herself as though she were holding a gun out to shoot. “And certainly not the quantity that should be present if he’d shot three people.”

Tessman stared at her while he processed this information. She still looked confident.

“And there’s more. They only lifted a couple of sets of Nick’s prints from the outside of the gun. His prints were not on the magazine or any of the remaining bullets in the magazine. So, how’d he load it? Why would he wear gloves? And there were no other prints on the gun but Nick’s. Unless he or someone else wiped the gun to eliminate the prints, there’d be others. It was clean. Too clean.”

“And you said this information came to you from a member of the State Police Forensic Services Department?” Jackson said.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“We’ll need to verify this information,” Jackson said.

“I won’t give you the name unless I get in writing that you won’t divulge it to anyone else, especially the police.”

“Duly noted,” Cooper said. He passed a pad of paper and a pen across the table to her. “The name, please. And you have my word we won’t divulge your source.”

Becca wrote the name down and provided the phone number. “I want your assurance in writing, please.”

Cooper scribbled out a note guaranteeing the source would remain confidential, and he handed it to her.

“Any other reasons you don’t believe the determination was correct?” Jackson asked.

Tessman was sure what she’d said was enough to justify them taking the case. The GSR and fingerprint information were more than enough, as far as he was concerned.

“Motive,” she said. “As I said, there were no marital problems, no money problems, no mental illness. There was no reason at all he would have done this. And I also restate the fact that it wasn’t in his comfort to handle a gun, and my God, a nine-millimeter? Pardon me stating it so bluntly, but isn’t that overkill? A nine-millimeter is powerful. The thought of handling that gun would have scared the crap out of Nick.”

“But you know of no reason anyone else would want to kill anyone in that house?” Cooper asked.

Becca’s gaze swept over all four of them. She’d been sizing each of them up since she’d entered the room. The young woman with the southern accent, Brielle, believed her. She could tell by how Brielle empathetically nodded whenever she said anything. Jackson was at least ten years Brielle’s senior, the man who sat in a middle power position, but wasn’t the determining voicewas attentive, and she could see how he processed each answer she gave. Tessman, the younger man beside him, also in a middle power position who she judged to be a junior member of the team not only due to his age but also because he didn’t speak as much, believed her. And Cooper, the man on the end. He was the decision maker on the team. His manner broadcast his position.

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