“It’s possible she’s telling the truth about the book. What did the librarian say?” Lacroix asks, after our regular morning meeting has ended and we’re alone.

“Nobody remembers her borrowing the book. The surveillance footage isn’t clear enough to show the book’s cover.”

“Even if she read it, it doesn’t prove she killed him. It was over three months ago. Why did she wait?”
I rub my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“But you think she shot him?”

“We’ve gone back six months through his cases. Not one red herring. We’re now going back a year. Like you said, why would someone wait that long?”

“We need evidence, something to present to the Crown so they can present it to the jury. That’s how the penal system works. We find the bad guys—”

“Give me a break.”

“Pardon me?” Lacroix looks calm.

I need my head examined. “Look. I’m sorry about Dr. Meshango. But that’s your fault. I didn’t ask you to interfere in a murder investigation to protect her.”

“Be careful what comes out of your mouth next.”

I shake my head. I don’t have a clue what I hope to gain by sprouting off. Except I’m tired of not speaking because I’m afraid I’ll lose my job.

When all is said and done, not much matters any longer except my job. Sally Warner probably killed her husband, because he deserved it. I don’t care. I just need this asshole off my back. Anyone who expects people to sit in this piece of junk he calls a chair doesn’t deserve their respect.

“Fine, call me a dumb shit. But my people and I have been working this case night and day for a week and we have nothing. Nada. Zilch.” I lift my hands, palm out, and then drop them to my lap. “Help me out here. You’ve read the report. Why do you believe Sophie Brooks, Sally Warner, and Dr. Meshango are innocent?”

Lacroix glares at me. “Dr. Meshango has an alibi. Apparently, so does Miss Brooks. If Mrs. Warner is your killer, where is the evidence? What happened to the weapon? Where are her bloody clothes? Your gut instincts aren’t going to cut it with the Crown Counsel.”

I lean forward, rest my forearms on my knees, clasp my hands together. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Is she guilty?”

“I think so.”

Lacroix’s eyebrow shot up. “But there is no proof.”