occurred at 2:21 a.m. A thirty-year-old man was crossing the street with the walking sign lit. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Someone stole my car,” he said. “And I think it was Damen.” He’d been home and hadn’t heard him break into the garage and drive away with it. Damen was the only person he knew who could do that.
“Can anyone confirm you were home all night?” The detective ignored his claims, the raisin creases of his forehead deepening as he fixed impassive eyes on him.
“No.”
“Has Ms. Hamilton ever filed charges against this Mr. Ricchetti?”
“Not that I’m aware of. She told me he threatened to kill her. She’s afraid of him.”
“And since you’re such a nice guy you agreed to help her?”
Korbin didn’t respond to that, but his fear for Collette’s safety was another matter. “Please. Either let me go so I can check on her, or have someone go check on her for me. Damen might have hurt her.” He should never have let her go back to her house alone. He should have stayed with her and taken her home with him.
“If you’re so worried about her, why didn’t you notify the police after she came to you?”
In Korbin’s line of work, going to the police was never an option. He hadn’t even considered it when he’d met Collette. “I guess I thought she should be the one to do that.” And he hadn’t thought she’d be in too much danger.
The detective sighed and leaned back against the chair. He studied Korbin a while, not believing him.
“Witnesses got your plate number after the hit-and-run. We found the car abandoned not far from the scene.”
“It wasn’t me driving.”
“They described a man who looks like you.”
Damen had dark hair but wasn’t as tall. Three inches shorter.
“Wasn’t it dark at 2:21 in the morning?” Korbin asked.
The detective didn’t respond. He had to realize that would make a difference. No one could positively identify him without any doubt.
Another detective entered the room and motioned for the other to come to him. He did and listened to the man. Korbin couldn’t make out what was being said.
A moment later, the other man left and the detective returned to his seat.
“There’s no evidence of a break-in at your home, Mr. Maguire.” He looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
Korbin had none.
“Your security system is operational. There’s nothing broken. No fingerprints.”
Damen must have found a way inside. Copied a key. Taken a garage door opener. Something.
“Why don’t you tell me what really happened?” the detective said.
“I have. I didn’t kill anyone. My car was stolen and I think it was Damen who did it.”
“Why would he do that?”
He couldn’t say it was because he’d refused an illegal hacker job. “He must have seen me meet with his girlfriend.” That had to be it. Korbin hadn’t looked closely on his way inside. It was only after he’d realized Damen was becoming violent that he’d paid more attention. Damen could have seen him go inside to meet Collette. He may have even sneaked inside. Spied on them.
“And in a jealous rage, stole your car and deliberately ran a stranger over so you’d be charged?”
“Yes. Check the car for evidence that he was in it.” Damen would have worn gloves but maybe there’d be other evidence.
“He’s your friend. He could have been in the car before this.”
“I wasn’t driving the car. It wasn’t me.”
The detective didn’t respond. No one would believe he wasn’t the one driving his car. But the detective began to show signs of doubt. Or maybe he just didn’t have enough on him yet. The evidence hadn’t been fully analyzed. Korbin now had a taste of what it was like to be falsely accused. At all costs, he had to prove his innocence, or Damen would have his way and Korbin would spend time in prison.
* * *
Korbin was released on his own recognizance and was out by late afternoon. He was worried sick about Collette. He took a taxi home to get his phone and saw that she hadn’t called—not even when he hadn’t shown up at the Laughing Grass this morning. She wasn’t answering her phone, either. He tried calling Damen but he didn’t answer. Where was Collette? Was she all right?
Parking his truck outside Collette’s house, he jumped out and jogged to her door, knocking several times and ringing the doorbell. When that produced nothing, he used his tool to unlock the door, looking around to make sure he wasn’t seen. Going inside, he took two steps in, shutting the door behind him, and saw a lamp and some picture frames broken. And on the other side of the couch, Collette lay on the floor. Blood had soaked the carpet beneath her. She’d been shot and it looked like she’d been dead several hours.
“No.” Korbin was light-headed with shock and dismay as he rushed over to her.
He crouched to check for life even though he knew she was gone. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. Breathing out a harsh breath, Korbin bent his head and swore. How could he have allowed this to happen? How? She’d come to him for help and he’d failed her. Damen had killed her. She’d been afraid of him and he’d killed her.
Standing, he picked up a dining room chair and slammed it down onto the floor with a growl. It broke into pieces. The horror of what Damen had done almost made him pick up another.
His wife’s beautiful face came to him, engulfing him with terrible grief and guilt. He hadn’t saved her, either. She’d died because of his underestimation of Damen. Just like Collette. While ravaging guilt and helplessness gripped him, he vowed to bring Damen to justice.
Returning to Collette’s body, he began to search for evidence, carefully checking the area surrounding her and her clothes, all the while not disturbing any of the crime scene.
The gun...
With that sobering thought, he looked for the weapon. It wasn’t here. He searched the whole house and didn’t find the gun he’d given her.
He went to her computer. She didn’t keep it locked, so he easily clicked his way to her email. Not finding anything there, he went through all of her files. In a folder labeled “Resumes,” he found an email file with the subject “What’s Next?” It was an exchange between Damen and a man he didn’t know. Korbin opened it and realized his luck had finally improved. Collette had forwarded an email exchange from Damen’s machine to hers. She’d cleverly hidden it in the file folder and deleted it from her email program. If Damen had checked, he’d missed it.
Korbin printed a copy, reading the exchange on the screen. A man named Tony wanted to know if Damen had finished putting together a team and Damen had replied with Not yet, but I’m close. The time the email was sent was a few days after Korbin had refused his request. Tony had replied, You promised me a team. If you can’t handle this, I’ll have to make other arrangements. What wasn’t written there was what Tony would do with Damen if he failed him. You’ll have your team, Damen had responded. And the last of the thread was Tony saying, For your sake, I hope so.
With Collette dead, Korbin didn’t have to worry about Damen finding out that she was onto him. What else had she known? What had made her keep this email thread? Korbin wished he could ask her.
Wiping his prints from the mouse and anywhere else he’d touched, he left the house, deliberately leaving the email open on Collette’s computer so that it would be easy for police to find.
Now he had to get somewhere safe to