The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (14 page)

"
It
was unlocked," Amanda said.

"You left the door unlocked?"

"No, of course not." She glanced at the man's name badge. "Officer Penske, I've been away from home. In the hospital. When I came home this evening, the door was unlocked."

"Who has a key to your apartment?" the tall policeman asked.
His badge identified him as
Robbins
.

"My assistant in the shop downstairs. That's the only person besides me. I changed my lock recently."

Robbins made a note. "Your assistant. What's his name?"

"Dawson Page."

"Do you have an address for this Dawson Page?"

"Yes. Why? I'm sure he didn't mean to leave my door unlocked. He's usually very conscientious."

"He left the door unlocked?"

"No.
I don't know.
Maybe. But I don't think so since my gun's missing.
"

"Did he know you owned this gun?"

"No! Are you implying
Dawson
would steal from me? No way! The thief's name was Kimball."

Both officers looked at her. "You know the thief's name?" Penske asked.

"
M
y ex-husband…well, he's not my ex yet, but he will be. He's the one who told me someone named Kimball stole my gun."

"Is that the same ex-husband who was shot and killed?"

Amanda whirled to see Jake Daggett standing in the open doorway.
His hair was still a mess and he still needed a shave. Tonight he wore faded blue jeans and a Pink Floyd tee-shirt and looked even less professional than he had at her interrogation.

"
What are you doing here? I thought you were a homicide detective.
"

He shrugged.
"
You
'
re a homicide suspect.
"

"
At the moment, I
'
m the victim of a burglary.
"

"
In which a suspected murder weapon was
purportedly
stolen.
"

Charley
'
s words came back to her.
He killed a woman with the gun he thought I had, the one he thinks he stole from you
.
"
How do you know that?
"

"
You told the dispatcher when you called 911.
"

"
Oh! You mean
my
gun. The one you think I used to kill Charley. Except he isn
'
t dead, so that pretty much shoots down your theory.
"

"
Hey, J
ake," Officer Robbins said
.
"You got this case?"

"Yeah," he said. "Ongoing murder investigation."

Robbins nodded. "No sign of forced entry," he said. "Ms. Randolph claims the only person besides her with a key is her assistant…" he consulted his notes…"Dawson Page. We don't have an address yet."

"Thanks. I'll take it from here."

The two officers left, closing the door behind them.

Jake folded his a
rms and looked at her, his gaze intense
. She did not, however, think Detective Daggett, like Charley when he did that, was buying time to make up a lie. More like he was trying to determine if she was telling a lie.

"So," he said, "your husband's not dead."

Daggett was taller by several inches, but Amanda stretched to her full height, meeting his gaze head-on. "My estranged husband is very much alive."

Daggett raised one eyebrow. "Would this be the same estranged husband whose dead body we found in his apartment?"

"I don't know whose body that is, but it's not Charley's. He was just here, alive."

Daggett stared at her in silence for a long moment, searching her face as if trying to determine whether she was lying or just nuts. "The dead man was Charley Randolph," he said, his voice quieter. "We matched the fingerprints."

She folded her arms, mirroring his obstinate stance. "Maybe, maybe not. You don't know Charley very well if you seriously think he couldn't have somehow switched fingerprints in your system."

Daggett lifted both eyebrows this time. "Yeah, I seriously think Charley could not have switched fingerprints in our system. Trust me on this one. But even if you think he could have, Charley Randolph's mother identified his body." 

"Some woman suddenly appears and claims to be his mother, and you believe her. Charley told me his parents are dead. Maybe they are. Maybe this woman isn't really his mother but somebody who has a hidden agenda. Maybe…" A sudden idea
stopped
Amanda
in mid-sentence
.

"Maybe…?" Daggett encouraged.

Amanda swallowed. "Maybe my estranged husband's not Charley Randolph. Maybe he changed his name, stole someone's identity, the identity of that man who was killed in his apartment, the real Charley Randolph."
Maybe this was worse than not knowin
g she had a houseful of in-laws. M
aybe she didn
'
t even know who she was married to.

Daggett
dropped his arms
to his sides, his dark eyes losing some of their sharpness, becoming almost soft. When he spoke again, his voice was less harsh. "Your father also identified the dead man as your husband, known to him as Charley Randolph. Your husband is dead."

Amanda frowned. Her father would not, could not mistakenly identify Charley.

But her father had kept Charley's family a secret from her. Could her staunchly upright father somehow be involved in one of Charley's scams?

Not possible. He might lie by the sin of omission, but he'd never be involved with Charley.

She moved across the room and sank onto her brightly-patterned sofa.

So Charley was dead?

Charley was dead.

Charley had not just been in her apartment.

But she'd seen him, talked to him.

No, she hadn't.

She'd been hallucinating.

Just like after her accident.

That explained the tricks and how he suddenly disappeared. He hadn't been here in the first place. She needed to get a
grip on her emotions. Hallucinating
Charley was not a good thing.

"Mrs. Randolph? Are you all right?"
That soft, pitying tone again.

Amanda straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. "I'm fine. Do you want to see the box where I stored my gun? Dust for fingerprints? Check for DNA?"

"What did you mean when you said Charley told you someone named Kimball stole your gun?"

She leaned forward, clenching her hands between her knees and focusing her gaze across the room. "Oh, that." She cleared her throat. "Well. It was a dream. While I was in the hospital, and they were giving me drugs. I dreamed about Charley." She stood. "Let me show you where the gun used to be."

"You dreamed about Charley, and he told you Kimball had stolen your gun? Why didn't you tell me that during our interview?"

"I didn't remember until I got home and found it missing. What difference does it make? It was…just a dream. You think it was maybe a psychic vision, somebody named Kimball actually did steal my gun? I suppose that's possible." She was babbling, trying to cover her irrational statements.

"Kimball—last name or first?"

"I don't know. Psychic visions. They can be so vague." She started toward the bedroom.

"You know anybody by that name?"

"Nope. Right over there. That box. The gun was wrapped in that striped towel last time I saw it."

Daggett surveyed the mess, his eyes widening. "Is this the way you found your room? Have you touched anything?"

"Of course I touched things
.
Lots of things.
The boxes were all in the closet, and this stuff was in that box. I pulled it out trying to find that blasted gun so I could bring it to you."

He looked at her,
that left
eyebrow
shooting upward again
. "So there was no evidence of a break-in
when you got home
."

"The unlocked door."

"Other than that."

"My blinds were all closed."

"You don't normally close your blinds?"

"Not the blinds in the living room or kitchen. I hate being closed in. Claustrophobia."

The detective looked skeptical.

"And the boxes were in a d
ifferent order than I left them,
"
she continued.

"The boxes?"

She gestured toward the closet. "Th
os
e boxes. Someone took them out to get to my gun a
nd didn't put them back the right
way."

He nodded, his expression unchanged. He thought she was nuts. "When did you last see this gun?"

"A few weeks after Charley gave it to me. I packed it away."

"And that would be…when?"

She shrugged. "A couple of years ago."

"And you haven't seen it since that time?"

"No."

"So you don't really know when it went missing."

"Yes, I do. I told you. The door was unlocked, the blinds were
closed
, the boxes were rearranged. Somebody was here
while I was gone
!"

Daggett nodded, withdrew a pen and paper and wrote up her complaint. He made a perfunctory investigation of the scene, but she could tell he didn't believe her. At this point, she wasn't sure she believed herself.