Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) Page 9

  “Well, Candace has the life insurance policy, and she’ll have money from the business. I’ll prepare a preliminary statement of our charges in which I’ll include thirty dollars an hour for your services.”

  “Okay,” Angel said with some reluctance.

  “That’s great! You’ll need a PI license—which is a simple certification form with a nominal fee based on your police experience. You’ll have to submit an updated Private Investigator F-7 form to DPSST, Department of Public Safety Standards and Training, to get your license, at least before you can accept payment as an official PI.” Rachael paused. “Piece of cake.”

  “If you say so.” Angel drove up to Joanie’s Place and parked. “Thanks. For that I’ll buy you two lattes.”

  Rachael chuckled and slapped her thighs. “Unfortunately, I can’t afford to drink two of them.”

  Once they’d ordered and taken seats at one of the round bistro tables, Rachael pulled out her legal pad again. “We need a plan of action.”

  “My first plan is to go out to the farm and feed the animals. If Nick and the lab techs are there, I’ll talk to them. See if they’ve found any other incriminating evidence. Not that they’d tell me if they had, but you never know when something might slip.”

  “Good. Maybe on the way you can stop at the store and make sure the times on their registers are accurate so we can get the real time Candace checked out at the store. Also, try to locate Darryl and get a list of relatives and people Jenkins worked with. We’ll want to interview all of them and find anyone with probable cause.”

  “Do you really think she’s innocent?” Angel asked.

  Rachael pressed her lips together and leaned back when Joanie’s daughter, Corisa, brought their drinks. “Ooh. I didn’t want the whipped cream.”

  “I can make you another one.” Corisa reached for the drink.

  “Don’t bother.” Rachael heaved an exaggerated sigh and smiled. “I’ll suffer through it. We don’t want to be wasteful, do we?” She waited until the girl left before picking up the latte. After stirring in the forbidden whipped cream, she said, “I bet you can eat anything you want and not gain weight.”

  “Pretty much, but I run nearly every day. That burns a lot of calories.”

  Rachael wrinkled her nose. “I am not a runner. These things,” she glanced down at her ample bosom, “just bounce around too much.”

  Angel tried to swallow before the chuckle escaped but didn’t quite make it. Coffee erupted from her mouth, which she’d fortunately covered with a napkin.

  “Seriously. I’m afraid all that bouncing would weaken the muscles.”

  Angel recovered enough to tell her she could get a sports bra.

  “No thanks. I’ll stick with walking. I like to hike too. Just need to start doing more of it.” Lifting her drink, she added, “Especially if I’m going to keep drinking these.”

  She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “Now, what were you saying?”

  “I asked if you thought Candace was innocent.”

  “I don’t know. But my job isn’t to determine her guilt or innocence. My job is to defend her in a court of law. I’m going to do everything in my power to dispute any evidence the district attorney has. Right now it doesn’t look too bad.”

  “Nick seems to think they have her cold.”

  Rachael smiled. “Think about it. They know she cleaned up the murder scene. That’s not uncommon. Women hate having people see their homes messy. They’ll even clean before the maid comes in. I have an expert witness in Portland who will testify to that. Every woman on the jury will understand and empathize—especially with a woman in Candace’s situation. She was abused, and from what you’ve told me, she was forced to keep her home spotless.”

  Angel nodded. “Rosie mentioned gun residue on her hands. She could have gotten that just by handling the gun. The gun residue and her fingerprints don’t prove she killed him. It only proves she touched the gun—which she would have done when she cleaned things up.”

  “Exactly. The stickler is the alibi, or lack of one. She doesn’t have a witness to prove she was not at the farm, but as far as we know, they don’t have witnesses putting her at the crime scene either.”

  “So what they have is circumstantial.” Angel sipped at her iced mocha frappe. “Doesn’t seem like there’s enough to charge her with murder.”

  “Mmm. Unless they know something we don’t. I’ll be able to look at that in the next day or two, and then I can figure out what type of defense to mount. I might just need to attack the possibility that Candace is the killer. Of course, there’s always the chance she actually did kill him. In that case, we need to prepare for the possibility that the state has evidence that places the gun in Candace’s hand when the victim was killed. If she did kill her husband, then she can claim self-defense as a battered wife.”

  Angel blew out a long breath. “Whatever you say.”

  “I’m going to work on getting her released on bail this afternoon.”

  Angel glanced at her watch. “I can’t believe it’s noon already. I’ll have to hustle if I’m going out to the farm before I pick up Brian and Dorothy.”

  The waitress brought their sandwiches, and for a while they ate in silence. Angel gazed out at the water, wondering what Callen would think of her new job. Angel Delaney, Private Eye. Had a nice ring to it. Of course, he’d hate it if he was anything like other police officers she knew, and somehow the knowledge didn’t set well.

  After promising to keep in touch, Angel dropped Rachael off at the church and headed back to her apartment, where she changed into a pair of slacks and a tailored blouse, topping it with a black jacket. “Looking good, Delaney.” She assessed her outfit in the mirror.

  “Now if I can just do something with my hair.” The wild array of curls made her look like a blend of Little Orphan Annie and Shirley Temple, certainly not a detective that people would take seriously. Angel brushed through the mass of curls and gathered her hair in a ponytail at the back of her head, then secured it with a decorative band. The change made her look older, though not by much. Tossing the brush down, she used a few shots of hair spray to tame the stray ends.

  Before leaving, Angel checked the phone book to follow up on the information she’d gotten from Mary Johansson. She copied down the address for Johansson Electric. Greg would be a good person to start with, as he might know other people with whom Jenkins had worked.

  She headed north and east along Timberline Road; about one hundred yards later she pulled into the nearly empty parking lot servicing several warehouses and offices. She parked near Johansson Electric and discovered that Phillips Jenkins’s business, Coast Contracting, shared the same building. The offices were situated at either end with warehouses in between. The only other car in the lot was a black BMW, parked in front of Coast Contracting.

  Nice car. Wonder who it belongs to. Climbing out of the Corvette, she smiled smugly in the car’s direction. I’ll soon find out.

  The door to Johansson Electric was locked, so she walked to the other end of the building. The door to Coast Contracting was unlocked, and Angel walked in. The reception area was empty, though from the scattered papers on the desk, she could tell that someone had been working there today. “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone here?”

  A middle-aged man stepped out of an adjoining office. “Can I help you?”

  “Maybe. Do you work here?” He looked familiar, and Angel tried to place him.

  “Yes. Barry Fitzgibbon.” He ran a hand over his balding head. “And you are?”

  “Angel Delaney.”

  He stiffened, obviously recognizing her name. The shooting death of Billy Dean Hartwell had brought her into the public eye in a not-too-positive light.

  Angel realized she had met him before at Brandon’s country club. The guy was chummy with Michael Lafferty, Brandon’s stuffed-shirt father.

  He made no move to shake her hand. “And you’re here for what reason?”


  “I’m working for Rachael Rastovski. Candace Jenkins’s lawyer.”

  “Rastovski.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe I know the name.”

  “She’s new in town.” Angel shifted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m investigating Phillip’s death. Actually, I came down here to talk to Greg Johansson, but no one was at his office.”

  “I imagine Greg’s receptionist is having lunch, as is mine.”

  Angel wanted to ask him what he was doing there but thought better of it. “Uh, did you work with Phillip Jenkins?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. I was his partner.”

  Angel didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “I didn’t realize he had a partner.”

  He leaned against the receptionist’s desk with his arms folded, not bothering to comment.

  “Did you know that Candace was arrested this morning?” Angel asked.

  “No. I didn’t. But I’m not surprised. I was afraid she’d do something like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Kill him. I tried to warn him.” He picked a piece of lint from his jacket sleeve.

  “Warn him?” Angel asked. “About what?”

  “The abuse. He told me he was getting counseling and that he’d stopped drinking.” Mr. Fitzgibbon hesitated. “I’m not sure I should be talking to you.”

  “I know all about the abusive situation Candace was in. We don’t believe Candace killed her husband. I was hoping to get a list of Jenkins’s employees and customers, anyone who might have had reason to kill him.”

  “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to give you that kind of information. I can tell you that people liked Phillip’s work.” He glanced at his watch and moved away from the desk. “I’ll do whatever I can to help his wife. Unfortunately, I have a luncheon appointment and don’t have time to talk with you right now.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “All right. I can see you here at 10:00.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Angel agreed before he could change his mind. “I can understand you not wanting to give me the names of your customers or employees, but maybe you could be thinking about them. I need to know if Phillip had a problem with anyone.”

  He smiled then. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Angel thanked him and left. “That was interesting,” she mumbled to herself as she buckled her seat belt. She dialed a familiar number on her cell phone.

  “Hey, Brandon,” she said when she finally got her old boyfriend on the line.

  “Angel? How are you?”

  “Good.” Angel watched as Fitzgibbon locked the office and got into his car.

  “Are you still seeing that detective . . . Cal something?”

  “Callen. And yes, I am.” Angel didn’t want to talk about Callen—not with Brandon. “Listen, I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Isn’t Barry Fitzgibbon a friend of your dad’s?”

  “Yeah—he’s a client too. The guy plays golf with us nearly every week.”

  “Did you know he and Phillip Jenkins were partners?”

  “Right. We represent both of them.” He spoke as though it were old news.

  “So you knew Phillip too?”

  “Sure, but not as well. Why are you asking?”

  “Curiosity.” She told him about her new position but didn’t give Brandon an opportunity to comment. “About Fitzgibbon and Jenkins. I just found out about the partnership. Which surprises me, with Jenkins having an alcohol problem. How did they get along?”

  “They seemed to be doing fine. Jenkins was a little rough around the edges, but Barry decided to back him anyway. He does good work and came highly recommended. Barry took care of the financial end and Jenkins the contracting part. Barry landed the deals, and there have been a couple of big ones. They built those new condos out by the golf course and were negotiating for the new mall south of town.”

  “Wow.” Candace wasn’t kidding when she said the company was doing well.

  Angel waited for Fitzgibbon to leave, then backed out of the parking space and headed for the main road. She remembered reading about the mall and the controversy surrounding it. She must have read about the partnership, but it hadn’t registered.

  “I think I know where you’re going with this, but you won’t get far,” Brandon said. “Barry and Jenkins didn’t always see eye to eye, but they had a good thing going. I can save you some time. Barry doesn’t benefit from Jenkins’s death, so don’t be looking for a motive there. He stands to lose millions unless he’s able to come up with another contractor by next week.”

  “Hmm.” Angel wasn’t ready to drop the idea just yet. “Fitzgibbon doesn’t benefit at all from Phillip’s death? Seems like he would have had some kind of backup plan. An insurance policy or something in case Jenkins was hurt.”

  Brandon’s silence gave Angel the answer she was looking for. “How much was it for?” she asked.

  “I can’t divulge that kind of information, and you know it. You shouldn’t even be asking.”

  “Come on, Brandon, at least give me the name of the insurance company.”

  “I’ve said too much already.” Brandon sounded hurt. “Friends shouldn’t use friends to ferret out information.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage of our friendship. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “Right. And I’m trying to do mine.” He chuckled. “Just for the record, I think you’ll make a great PI.”

  “You do?”

  “Are you kidding? You are one of the nosiest people I know.”

  “Gee, thanks a lot. Speaking of nosiness, how are you and Michelle Kelsey getting along?”

  “Great. Although my parents are horrified that I’m dating her. They keep asking me why I don’t get back together with you.”

  “Ha! You’re kidding.”

  “No, seriously. I guess they figure you’re the lesser of two evils.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Brandon. You and your bad girls,” Angel teased. “What a rebellious son you are.”

  “Yep. That’s me.” A click indicated another caller on the line. “I have to go, Angel. Let’s have lunch together one of these days.”

  “Sounds good. Call me.” Angel hung up and made another quick call to Nick to let him know she was on her way out to the Jenkins’s farm.

  “I’m about to leave,” Nick told her.

  “Could you hold up a few minutes? I’d really like to talk to you.”

  “All right.” He sighed. “I’ll wait for you. You’ll need the key to get in anyway.”

  “I should be there in ten minutes max.”

  She had a little over an hour to get to the farm and back to the school to pick up Brian and Dorothy. Fortunately, traffic was light on the main road that led through the historic town. On her way to the farm, she stopped at the market to verify the accuracy of the time on the cash register tapes. Except for a few seconds here and there, they were all in sync.

  Nick was leaning against his car when she arrived at the farm, his arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles.

  “Well?” he said when she stepped out of her car.

  “Well what?” Is he still mad about last night?

  “Aren’t you going to ask? You want to know why I arrested Candace so soon?”

  “I suppose you have your reasons. You told me last night you thought she did it.”

  “Darn right. I still do.”

  “Do you really have enough evidence to hold her?”

  “Try obstructing justice for openers. Fingerprints on the weapon and gun residue on her hands. She had motive, means, and opportunity. She tried to get rid of the evidence. Not that any of that is your business.”

  “Actually, it is. I’m working as a PI for Rachael Rastovski, who, by the way, is Candace’s attorney.”

  “So she lawyered up. Why am I not surprised?” Nick glared at her. “What does surprise me is that you’d sink that low.”

  “There’s nothing
wrong with being a private investigator.”

  “Humph. There is when you’re working for the enemy.”

  “I don’t get it. I mean, you act like Candace is public enemy number one.”

  “She’s got everyone feeling sorry for her. Poor little abused spouse. She comes home and finds her husband dead and she’s so upset she destroys most of the evidence.” He unfolded his arms and stepped away from the car. “Get real, Angel. She’s not stupid. Everyone knows you don’t mess with a crime scene. We’re going to go for murder here. Straight-out premeditated murder.”

  Why are you being such a jerk? “Candace thought it was suicide. And she isn’t the first woman to clean up a crime scene.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “I guess I do.” In all honesty, Angel wasn’t sure about Candace, but she did take exception to Nick’s bullying tactics.

  “Then you’re out of your mind. But hey, if you think you can do better, go ahead and snoop around. Be my guest.”

  “I don’t think I can do better, Nick. And I’m not criticizing you. I just don’t think there’s enough evidence to prove she did it.”

  “Well, I do.” He started to walk away.

  “Nick? What’s going on with you? Why are you being like this? I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Nothing’s going on that a good night’s sleep won’t fix. I’m sorry I got irritated with you.”

  “Apology accepted.” Angel placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I noticed that the gun was in Jenkins’s left hand.”

  “That’s the side his wound was on.”

  Angel bit her lip, wanting to be careful not to offend him. “He had his food and his beer on the right.”

  Nick settled his hands on his hips and closed his eyes. “I noticed that too. So tell me what you found out, detective.”

  “Candace said he was right-handed.”

  “Your point?”

  “Like you said, she’s smart. Don’t you think that if she was staging a suicide, she’d have put the gun in his right hand?”

  “Not necessarily. She may not have thought about it.”