brush-off bothered her. She had the right to be informed of every detail of her case. “Slade, I can take whatever you have to say.”
He sighed, and Asia jerked to look at the EMT, who avoided her gaze. Slade leaned closer and spoke in a barely audible volume. “Magnum found cocaine in your purse.”
She gripped the stretcher’s rails to keep from jumping up. “No! That’s not possible. I don’t... It wasn’t my purse, then!”
“The investigators also discovered your wallet and phone inside.”
“Whatever they think they found, it wasn’t mine.”
Slade shook his head. Disbelief? Preoccupation? “There’s more. The CSIs identified the gun at the scene.”
She swallowed, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “That was fast.”
“The state patrol emblem was inscribed on the side with a badge number.”
Asia held her breath, dreading the next words.
“It was Zander’s service weapon.”
No. “But the investigators took all of his equipment after...” Asia paused midargument. Why would she have his gun? Zander always kept it in his possession, and he hadn’t lived with her for over a year. The department collected all his issued items. She’d refused to go to his apartment, but they’d told her everything had been cleaned out. Why hadn’t she confirmed?
“Zander’s weapon went missing before his murder,” Slade clarified.
Asia’s shoulders tightened. “You can’t seriously believe I killed Nevil Quenten using Zander’s gun? Or that I was running drugs? Slade, come on.”
He seemed to age before her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Asia gritted her teeth. What didn’t he know? Whether I’m a murderer? Whether I’m lying now? The three words plagued her from every angle. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, and her only ally didn’t know if he believed her. Wretched irony.
Fatigue wore through Slade’s depleting energy reserves. His phone buzzed, dragging him into consciousness, and a glance at the screen revealed it was 02:34 in the morning. He repositioned in the uncomfortable hospital chair. The night seemed to stretch on forever. Asia had endured multiple tests on machines with names resembling alphabet soup, and finally the surgery to repair her shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had missed her vital organs and arteries.
Slade scrubbed his palm over his face, then read Oliver’s demand for an update. Based on the tone, he’d avoided the conversation with his boss for one message too long. He’d hoped to receive the lab results first, but it was time to confront the inevitable.
The phone buzzed again. “Give me a minute,” Slade groused in a whispered reply to the inanimate object.
Asia sighed and rolled over, reminding him to be quiet. She appeared to sleep peacefully, and he didn’t want to wake her. The poor woman needed rest.
He glanced down, expecting Oliver’s number, but a new text message from his friend’s wife—a manager in the hospital lab—resuscitated his hope. Asia’s tox results confirmed the presence of scopolamine. A drug Quenten’s cronies specialized in because it kept the victim conscious and compliant, but blocked memory formation.
Renewed optimism had Slade slipping from Asia’s hospital room. The scopolamine explained Asia’s temporary amnesia and added plausible deniability about her participation in Quenten’s death. Unease crept between Slade’s shoulder blades. Oliver would demand an answer as to how Slade had obtained the rapid results. The reality of him facing disciplinary action for unlawful use of authority was a serious consideration. He didn’t want to get his friend’s wife in trouble, but the evidence helped Asia’s defense. Please don’t let Oliver ask for details. The prayer escaped before Slade debated whether God would frown on such a request.
Lacey Fisher, the young female trooper Sergeant Oliver assigned to assist with Asia’s security, sat in the hallway keeping watch. She glanced up, acknowledging Slade as he palmed his phone. “Please sit with Mrs. Stratton. She’s asleep. I’ll be back in five minutes. I need to make a call, but the reception in the hospital’s terrible.”
“Affirmative.” Fisher jumped to her feet.
He waited until the trooper entered Asia’s room, then strode through the gray hallway where pictures of farming landscapes hung at two-foot intervals. The path curved and disappeared behind him toward the elevators. He poked the down arrow and exhaled, allowing the night’s events to loom in his mind.
The ride to the lobby ended too soon. Slade traipsed through the vacant area to the hospital’s electric glass entry. He shivered as the frosty air greeted him. With a tap to Oliver’s contact icon, he made the call and exited the building.
“Glad to see you found time to report in. What’s Mrs. Stratton’s status?” Oliver barked without saying hello.
His sergeant’s comments were deserved and expected, but Slade cringed anyway. Avoiding the man didn’t rank high on the smart-things-to-do list, but procrastination came easy to him. “She’s resting now. Doctor stitched up the bullet wound, but the concussion and her blood pressure have him wanting to keep her overnight for observation.”
Oliver exhaled into the receiver. “That’s a relief. No need to rush her departure. The CSIs have finished for the night. They won’t release the scene until they’ve had a chance to go over it again in the morning with better lighting.”
Slade contemplated asking his next question, then concluded they had to know everything Asia faced. “Sir, did they find anything else—”
“You mean besides a dead cartel leader, murder weapon, her purse and the drugs?” Oliver snapped.
The gun hadn’t been confirmed as the murder weapon, but correcting his boss would be unwise. “Something like that.”
“Nothing of significance. I’ve requested her phone records because her cell is password protected. Should have them within a few hours.”
Slade heard the veiled implication. Unless the killer had her password, it appeared Asia had sent the text. Would the records help her case or make it worse? Why hadn’t she dialed 9-1-1?
“The drugs in Asia’s purse require her arrest. At the very least, she must be detained for questioning and processing.”
“But you said her purse was found in one of the bedroom closets. A good attorney will refute the evidence since the purse wasn’t actively in her possession.” Slade’s weak argument was the best he could muster at the late hour.
“True, but the murder charges aren’t as avoidable. Doubtful he shot himself, Trooper.”
“Yes, sir. That part is a little harder to rebut.”
“Once the lab fingerprints the weapon...”
Slade swallowed hard. Asia’s prints were all over the gun. The realization left him reeling. Whether she was drugged or not, if the clothes he’d submitted had gunshot residue on them, it would only add to the evidence against her. Even without the ballistics report, there was little doubt in his mind that the bullet that killed Quenten came from Zander’s weapon. The same one Asia had been holding. “They’ll find Asia’s prints on the gun.”
“I see. You’d better start over and tell me exactly what happened before my arrival.” Oliver’s impatience oozed through the line.
Everything within Slade wanted to circumvent the truth, but there was no pretending or denying she’d held the gun. Until now, he hadn’t offered those specifics. With a sigh, he recounted the story again, this time including