Page 11 of Lion & Lamb

If only it were that easy. Mostel desperately wanted that job for himself and considered the police commissioner his fiercest rival.

None of this political maneuvering mattered to Veena. But whatever came out of Mostel’s mouth had to be viewed through this filter.

“Archie’s wallet, watch, and Super Bowl ring are missing,” Mostel said. “So it’s theft on top of murder.”

“Not unexpected.”

“Well, how about this for unexpected—they’ve already found the murder weapon.”

Veena adjusted her sunglasses. “Where?”

“In a flower bed behind the Hughes mansion, out on the Main Line.”

This was a bombshell. Veena tried hard not to show any reaction. “Ballistics are solid?”

“I have no reason to doubt the technicians or the report. But wait until you hear whose prints they found on the barrel.”

“The prints of his wife, Francine Pearl Hughes.”

“How did you know?”

“About a third of all homicides are perpetrated by someone close to the victim.”

Mostel nodded solemnly and let the fact hang in the air for a moment. “This is completely confidential, by the way. Nobody else knows except at the highest levels. And it’s going to stay that way until further notice.”

“Understandable.” Veena maintained her poker face, but her mind was whirling with possibilities. Either Francine Pearl Hughes—who’d been Philly’s sweetheart since she was just a kid—had murdered her superstar athlete husband in cold blood or she was innocent but certain forces were determined to have the world think otherwise.

Francine Pearl Hughes was arguably more famous than her husband. She’d rocketed to fame as the lead singer of a preteen R and B trio from West Philly. Multiple Grammy Awards later, she embarked on a solo career, and each album she released broke new ground and shattered sales records. And only last year, her film debut in a wildly popular indie feature (The Guilty,Veena noted with no small amount of irony) resulted in an Academy Award nomination for best supporting actress.

Now imagine telling the world that this same brilliant woman had pumped a bullet into her superstar husband’s chest the night before one of the biggest games of his career.

No wonder Mostel was bringing in the big guns (namely, Veena). Screw this up in public and you might as well point a gun at your own career.

“I want you to put together your own murder book,” Mostel said. “Do your thing, work your magic, but keep it a completely clandestine and independent investigation.”

“No matter what I find,” Veena said.

“No matter what you find.”

“And you’ll give me everything I’ve asked for—I have your word on that?”

“Yes, you do. And you can record me saying that if you’d like.”

“No need, Mr. District Attorney,” Veena replied.

Chapter7

12:07 p.m.

“YOU GUYSmust be losing your minds.”

“We are very concerned for our client.”

“I’d be concerned too,” Cooper Lamb said, easing his tall, lean body back into the lawyer’s two-thousand-dollar leather sofa. “Because it’s obvious she did it.”

“I’m sorry…what did you just say?”

“Can you hold that thought for a sec, Lisa?”

---