Page 42 of Crossing Lines

Jamison made a face. “Sure, but he can get out in a few years on those. Not to mention he’s crying about wrongful arrest now, and that doesn’t look good for the town.”

Or for Jamison’s reelection plans.

“What does Bascomb have that he thinks will clear Thorne? He mentioned the golf shoes, but they were tied directly to the crime, and those came from Thorne’s wife.” The warning pinch surfaced in Sam’s solar plexus and had him questioning Beryl and her intentions again. Could she have done something to the shoes and Bascomb found out? She could have seen the picture of the holes in the tarp and modified the shoes. Or worse, what if they really weren’t Thorne’s shoes after all?

“I don’t know what he has, but we better make sure we dot our i’s and cross our t’s. If it turns out those shoes were obtained illegally or have been tampered with, it’s your butt on the line.” Jamison smoothed his yellow silk tie. “I need to be very careful about public perception right now. The election is next year, and trust me, you don’t want Marnie Wilson to win.”

Sam frowned. The way Jamison said it, it sounded like more than just his ego was at stake. Sam wondered just what Jamison thought Marnie would do if she became mayor, but he didn’t ask.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Sam promised.

“Okay, see that you do.” Jamison left.

“Well, that was uplifting.” Jo glanced into the squad room. “He’s always full of happy thoughts. Major doesn’t like too many people. Weird he would pick Jamison.”

“Life is full of weird, and I’m afraid the day is about to get worse,” Reese, who was sitting behind the desk in the lobby, said.

Sam sighed. “Why?”

“I talked to my friend in forensics. They did have DNA on Ricky Webster. Unfortunately, the hair didn’t match.”

Sam’s spirits sank even lower. “Darn.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t meet her. The hair could be from anyone she came in contact with, and maybe he just didn’t leave a hair,” Jo pointed out.

“Right, but it would have been more convenient if it was his. Then we’d have something solid on him,” Sam said.

“I’ve got something that might help,” Wyatt yelled from the squad room.

They all headed in. Lucy gave the filing cabinet a wide berth, glancing up to make sure her adversary’s position was known, much like Sam did when there was a confrontation with a suspect. After making sure Major was on the filing cabinet, she looked around for the toy. It was still in the middle of the room. She trotted over and sniffed, eliciting a hiss from Major.

“What have you got?” Sam asked Wyatt.

Wyatt had a pile of receipts on his desk. He tapped one. “This receipt is from The Black Cat Café, five minutes before the email that was sent to Menda.”

Sam frowned. “We’ve already determined that there are no credit cards to trace around that time.”

Wyatt nodded. “I know, and this might not help, but it lists out what they bought. A caramel latte and a cream horn.”

Sam’s heart jolted. He looked at Jo. Lots of people probably ate cream horns, but he knew for sure that Beryl often bought them at the Black Cat Café. Was it any coincidence that Beryl kept turning up all over this case? Maybe it was time Sam paid her another visit.

* * *

Sam messaged Beryl for a meeting, and she told him to come right to the construction trailer at the site of the hotel that Thorne had been building. She’d taken over operations there and was continuing with the project.

Sam took Lucy. They were both very familiar with the site, having visited Lucas Thorne there dozens of times. None of those visits had been pleasant, but maybe Beryl would be more welcoming.

The hotel was still less than halfway done. Honestly, Sam had hoped the whole project would be scrapped once Thorne was in jail. He hated the idea of a big modern hotel being built on what used to be farmland. Apparently Beryl didn’t mind the idea, though, because a small crew was at work on the steel beams. Mounds of dirt lay where they’d pushed it aside for the foundation. The sound of equipment spiced the air, drowning out the sounds of birds and crickets that used to be heard there.

Lucy trotted over to the corner of the building. There must be something good over there, because she’d done that a few times before when he’d visited Lucas.

“Lucy.” Sam didn’t want her to get hurt on a nail or piece of metal.

Lucy glanced back at him then started digging at the dirt.

Sam whistled. It wasn’t like her to not come when he called.

She jerked her head up, cast one last glance at the corner, and then trotted to him.

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