Perfect Victim (Nadia Stafford 3.6)

She turned to face me. "Let's just get this out of the way. My husband left me because of my addiction. I suspect he'd already been seeing Cherise. Did he use the addiction as an excuse? Or was my addiction what drove him to an affair? Frankly, I don't give a damn. When Victor said he was leaving, I threw every plate in the kitchen. At the walls--not at him. Then I flushed out my pills, checked into rehab, and realized he'd done me a favor. I allowed myself to get addicted to pain meds because I was miserable. The oxy made me feel good. You know what makes me feel even better? Getting out of a shitty marriage."

She resumed walking, still talking. "I had no strong feelings about Cherise one way or the other. I thought she played the silly innocent, but there was a cunning there, too, and I had to admire that. I used my brains to get where I am. She used her pretty face. I didn't particularly want her playing Mommy to my kids, but only because she wasn't much more than a kid herself. Victor is a good dad, though, and he'd more than balance a less competent stepmom. So I didn't have any reason to kill Cherise. But no one sees that. They just see the ball-busting ex-wife and the sweet young girlfriend."

We reached a dark blue BMW. She unlocked the door. Then she turned to face me.

"Whoever sent that device to Cherise could have killed my kids. I would never have risked that. Ever."

She reached into her pocket and took out a card.

"If you have questions, call me. I'm happy to answer. But I'm not your killer."

I met with Jillian Lee--the detective in charge of the case, and I got exactly the response I expected, the same one I would have given in her situation.

I explained that my primary role was as Angela's bodyguard, but that I had private investigating experience and would be delving into the case from that perspective. I would not--however--be approaching any of the suspects or witnesses. I had spoken to Sheila, but she'd been the one talking to me. In no way would I interfere with the investigation, and if Detective Lee had any concerns, she could contact me at any time, and if I had new information, I'd contact her.

Yes. That was what Detective Lee said: yes to all of that.

Yes, she was fine with Angela having a bodyguard. She wasn't thrilled that the bodyguard would also play private investigator, but she accepted it on my other conditions: that I wouldn't approach suspects or witnesses, and that any new leads would get back to her, promptly.

So we knew where we stood. She did, however, impart one last warning.

"Stay out of Howard's way."

"Howard Lang, right? Former police officer. Now private security. He's investigating, too. I'm having coffee with him in an hour."

"Good. Normally, I don't encourage private citizens to help on cases, but Howie is an exception. He's a good guy, and he's been through a lot. He loved Mindy. He's taking this hard. We all are--she was an amazing person. For Howie, dealing with her death means investigating her murder. He's turned up solid leads. I would prefer it if you two worked together. That's up to him, of course."

"If he's game, I am. He's lead investigator, though. I understand that."

"Good."

Chapter Twelve

Nadia

Coffee with Howard Lang. I suspected he'd been in touch with Detective Lee after I left her, and by the time I arrived, he was relaxed, friendly, ready to talk. Which I hoped meant I'd gotten a thumbs-up from Lee.

For me, making contact with those in charge of the case was an odd way of going about an investigation but . . . well, to be honest, I wasn't sure Cypher would get what he was hoping for here. He wanted the death sentence. Yet this was an active case. Usually, I was the person called in when the police gave up or when justice failed or, sometimes, when the police just weren't convinced there was a case.

Jack and I were still being careful here. Nothing we provided could be traced back to anyone. I wore a disguise. I used a burner phone and a fake name. All the numbers I gave as references were untraceable and would go dead after this investigation. I wasn't averse to ending the life of this multiple murderer. I just wasn't sure that was where this would lead. Where it could or should lead.

I was outside my comfort zone but making the best of it. This was a real case with a truly innocent person in serious jeopardy, and while I knew the police were doing all they could, they acted under restrictions that didn't apply to me.

I chatted with Howard Lang for a while. We circled each other, assessing in the most friendly way possible, which was what I preferred. Leave the stiff-legged, growling-dog approach to the guys.

Howard liked Sheila Walling for the murders, and I had to struggle not to leap to her defense. I wasn't as impartial here as I wanted to be. I saw how others reacted to Sheila, and I couldn't help feeling that her demeanor was the key strike against her. They saw a tough, blunt, assertive woman and said, "Sure, she could kill somebody." Those very people would probably never think the same about me. So I got my back up in Sheila's defense, and I had to be aware of that. My sympathy was as blinding as their prejudice.

"What was your impression of her?" Lang asked.

"Intimidating."

He laughed as he eased back in his chair. "That's a nice way of putting it. Sheila Walling scares the ever-loving shit out of me. I don't know how she ever got together with a sweet guy like Victor. Proof that opposites do attract. Thing is . . . ," he said, straightening, "I like Sheila. She's honest, and she's tough, and she reminds me of some of the best women I worked with on the force. Take no prisoners, and take no bullshit. I wish . . ."

He pulled at his lower lip and then shook his head. "I wish she wasn't such a damned good suspect for this."

"Is she? I got the feeling the two men were better ones."

"Between us?" He lowered his voice. "That's only because they're men. Okay, yes, it's also