the steps. “What’s the matter, Pop? Mom all right?”
“Just a minute,” my mom shouted down to us.
Jules grabbed my arm, her short nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in my skin. “We should have called.”
“Why? She said they’d be down.” I rubbed my arm.
Mom hurried down the stairs two at a time, her hair mussed. She tucked a mis-buttoned shirt into a pair of jean shorts.
“Hi, you two. Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.” Her cheeks glowed red. Jules shared the same shade of red, like they were both sunburned. Women are weird sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Louise, we should have called,” Jules said. “We’ll go somewhere else to talk.”
“What? Why? We’re here. Right, Mom?” I looked back and forth between them.
“Of course. Stay.” She patted Jules’ arm. “I’ve got some apple cobbler in the fridge.”
Armed with dessert, Jules and I moved to the dining room, pulled up heavy chairs to the table. Mom retreated upstairs leaving us to our case.
“So what do you have for me, Cuz?” I asked through bites of apple.
Jules sighed and opened the case file. “You’re going to have to make a report, Mikey. The prosecutor’s got a right to know there’s a problem with her case.”
“Slick Danny told me not to.”
“And what about an innocent woman going to jail? Slick Danny doesn’t care about that?”
“He cares, Jules. It’s just—”
“Mikey, you ever think maybe your partner doesn’t have your best interests at heart? Why doesn’t he want you coming forward?”
“You don’t understand him, Jules. He’s looking out for me. He’s my friend.” I pushed back from the table. “Why’re you always saying bad things about him? What did he ever do to you?”
Her palm slapped the table. “The prosecutor’s good. She’ll listen. And I already talked to the lead detective. Thing is, there’s no motive, only the suspect’s blood. Leaves a big gap in the case. Now you say she couldn’t have done it. Why not file a report?”
“Not yet. I’m gonna get the evidence first.”
“Fine!” Jules shook her head. “The evidence rests on finding the suspect’s DNA at the scene. Some blood on the victim’s sleeve and collar. The killer tackled Leslie Galt, must have hit the table edge on the way down. Got a few spots on the table as well as the victim. No hair or fibers matched to Montebella, though.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Not from her.”
“What about others?” I grabbed my fork, started picking at the cobbler on her plate.
“Sure. Hair and fingerprints matched the victim’s fiancé, her sister, and some unidentifieds.” She shoved her plate in my direction. “Jeez, Mikey, you do anything but eat?”
“Not much.” I shoveled the remaining apples into my mouth. “You find any evidence Sandra knew the victim?”
“Not yet, but how else do you explain her blood at the scene?”
“Don’t have all the facts yet. I’ll talk to the prosecutor once I know, but I need to figure a few things out first. Like how her DNA came to be on file.”
“Huh?” She flipped through the case notes. “Must have been arrested for something big.”
“Her only arrest was during a protest march. Trespassing and assault. The charges didn’t stick.” I tapped my fork against the edge of her plate.
“That right? Don’t usually collect DNA for something like that in the District.”
“She was in Virginia.”
Jules nodded. “Makes sense. They collect a cheek swab for certain crimes. Assault fits.”
“Can I keep the file?”
“Yeah, but you owe me one. You have no idea what I had to do to get a copy.”
“Slick Danny said I owe him, too. But Jules, how much? I don’t have a lot of money.”
She reached over and ruffled my hair. “Just don’t change. Okay, Mikey?”
* * * *
Thursday, 11:29 P.M.
Pictures of the scene showed Leslie Galt. She looked asleep, except for the bruising around her mouth and the stiffness of her posture. According to the medical examiner’s report, someone had sat on her chest and pinned her arms. Bruising snaked down both arms where the perpetrator had knelt. No indication she’d been unconscious before the pillow was applied. Not a quick way to die. And Galt was no small woman. She’d have put up a fight. She had to outweigh Sandra Montebella by fifty pounds.
The ME’s evaluation said broken capillaries in the eyes showed the characteristic petechial hemorrhaging consistent with death by smothering. Fibers found in the victim’s mouth and throat matched the pillow lying next to the body. The homicide occurred somewhere between 10 P.M. and midnight.
Poring over photocopied pictures, I studied Galt’s place for any connections the police might have missed. Galt lived in Georgetown, and Sandra had worn a Georgetown University sweatshirt. No sign from the pictures that Galt was a Hoyas fan.
I squinted over and over at the grainy police photos, finally focusing on a close-up of a shelf of photographs. I used a magnifying glass to get a better view. Most were typical family and friend shots, but one picture stood out. Galt crossing the finish line of some kind of walk, her arms around a man. Though I couldn’t see all of her T-shirt, the Leukemia Society’s logo—a drop of blood inside a large circle—was clearly visible. So, she’d walked for a cure. Could Montebella have met Galt during one of these events? Did I even think either of the Montebellas had anything to do with Galt’s murder?
* * * *
Friday, 7:22 A.M.
“Cripes, Michael, why can’t you let this go? At this rate, you’ll be covering my shifts for a month.” Slick Danny stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You knock.”
I did. After a moment, a large, red-faced man yanked open the door, a bowl of cereal in one hand. Brian Freedmont, Leslie Galt’s fiancé, frowned. “Can I help you?”
I nudged Slick Danny, who sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets. “Sorry to bother you at such an ungodly hour, Mr. Freedmont, but we’re investigatin’ the death of your fiancée and we’d like to ask you some questions if you have time.” He gave his most officious smile, handed Freedmont a card.
“You’re not with the police?” Freedmont ran his fingers through thinning hair. “I’ve already told them everything I know.”
“May
