Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“Ah.” Mulrooney held up a didactic finger. “The police found bloody clothing.”

“They did?” This was news.

“After the lineup, they asked Jamila to identify some clothing they’d found near the crime scene.”

Jamila shook her head. “I told them, they could be anyone’s and wouldn’t say more without legal counsel.”

“A wise move,” Mulrooney observed, nodding her way. To me, he said, “They found a pair of women’s jeans, a T-shirt and tennis shoes, along with the knife in the dumpster next door. There was blood all over them.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Big deal,” I said. “So they found some bloody clothing and a knife next door from where he died. How does this prove anything against Jamila?”

Mulrooney turned toward me and raised his finger—his index finger, for the record—again. “Patience.”

I bit my tongue and exercised all the patience I could muster.

“Now,” Mulrooney stated with irritating repetition. “Naturally, they’re testing to make sure the blood matches that of the victim. Those results may take a couple of days. Assuming the blood matches, they may want hair samples for DNA testing. That kind of testing doesn’t come cheap. However, in this case, they may find the cost justified. It’ll depend on how strong the other evidence is. For instance, when the police searched the condo you’re renting, they noticed a knife missing from the butcher block.” His look bored into Jamila. “Did you realize that?”

Jamila shook her head. “I never noticed. Sam?”

I spread my hands, feeling helpless. “Are you kidding? I barely noticed the kitchen.” As Jamila knew, I’m hardly the domestic sort. My idea of cooking is heating frozen entrees or leftover Chinese.

“Unfortunately, the knife appears to be part of the set in your kitchen.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I cleared my throat. “Do you know how many similar sets of cutlery could be out there? How do they know it’s from our set?”

“The fact that the knife is missing doesn’t help.”

“Oh, come on.” I lost it at this point. “The killer could have broken in and stolen it. If it was one of the victim’s friends, they saw what happened between Jamila and that racist son of a bitch. In fact, the victim’s stepfather owns the place. The killer could have filched a key from him.”

I paused to gather my thoughts. My words were making me sound like a conspiracy theorist and I wasn’t sure if Mulrooney was buying.

“Apart from speculating about the knife and clothes, is there anything linking the murder directly to Jamila?” I asked. “Any forensic evidence?”

“Here’s where it gets a little interesting.”

As if it weren’t already.

“The police not only found her comb near the body, but they found traces of blood on the front porch of your condo. Again, they’re awaiting the test results, but if it’s the victim’s blood …”

Jamila and I both fell quiet.

“Wait a second,” I said. “If Jamila threw out the bloody clothing, how could she leave traces of blood on the porch? Someone is obviously setting her up.”

Mulrooney sighed. “I, for one, am willing to believe you. However, others will be more difficult to convince. They will likely argue that blood got on her hands as she was removing her clothes.”

“Sure, they will probably argue that, but she could be looking at first-degree murder. Now what would be her motive? And don’t say racism. Jamila wouldn’t go to such lengths to kill a man simply because he was a racist, would she?”

Mulrooney fixed me with a thoughtful look. He leaned toward Jamila. “Can you think of a motive?”

Jamila started to speak, then stopped. She avoided eye contact.

“Yes.” Mulrooney agreed, but I had no idea what he was agreeing to.

“What is it?” I asked.