“I have the case file.” Like that always gave the whole story.
He took a long breath as if the exchange had exhausted him. “I only want to help, Ms. O’Sullivan.”
The exasperation that made a brief appearance on his face didn’t show up in his voice. It seemed he really needed to get something off his chest but wasn’t prepared to simply blurt it out.
She pulled her cell from her bag and held it up to photograph him. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“By all means.”
She snapped the pic. Sent it to Nita with the hashtag #visitor.
Then she reached for the door. “Come on in, but I warn you my place is a mess.”
She switched on the overhead light to chase away the gloom. Didn’t help that much. One of the bulbs had blown. Derrick always took care of those things. Not anymore.
She closed the door behind her visitor. “We were in the middle of renovating.”
Derrick would have laughed and said, The middle might be optimistic.
An ache pierced her. “Have a seat if you’d like.” She gestured to the one empty chair. Took her a moment to clear a spot on the sofa for herself. “I may have a couple of bottles of beer in the fridge if you’re interested.”
He shook his head. “Don’t go to any trouble for me.”
She placed her bag at her feet. “So, what is it I need to know?”
“My partner and I were the investigators on the case.”
She made an agreeable sound. Leaned back into the sofa to prevent sitting awkwardly on the edge and crossed her arms over her chest.
“He was senior.”
“Detective Raymond Jones,” she said for clarification.
“Yes.”
He shrugged, his whole body seeming to be a part of the movement. “I couldn’t get right with the confession Holmes gave. The Jag was too clean except for all the blood and the perp’s prints. There wasn’t even any of the victim’s prints, or a member of the family’s. It was like someone cleaned the car very carefully, then tossed the dead guy and a bucket of blood inside. Then Holmes made it a point to touch everything.”
That part was definitely not in the reports. “Why was that aspect of your observations kept out of the reports?”
“The word was, we had the killer. No need to muddy the water by asking unnecessary questions. Close the case.”
“Did you voice your objections to anyone other than your partner?” His partner was deceased. Montrose would be in the clear if the shit hit the fan over whatever he said now. Lay it on the dead guy.
“I went to the chief,” he said. “I told him I was concerned with the way the case was being handled.”
“You spoke to Chief Andrew Lawrence?” Not really a question. Lawrence had been the Metro chief of police for the past fourteen years.
Montrose nodded. “He reminded me what a good, dedicated detective my partner was and that I should take a lesson from him and maybe I’d be looking at a promotion in the near future.”
“Were you up for promotion?” Finley held back the fire that ignited. She didn’t know this man. Jumping to a particular conclusion based solely on his word wouldn’t be a smart move. But the chief was an easy target for her. She didn’t like him at all. He was more politician than police chief. It was, she admitted, part of the territory. Yet, somehow it still felt wrong.
Montrose shook his head. “No, and I never received one. I did get suspended. After that my wife begged me to suck it up and stick with the job until I could retire, and that’s what I did. At the end of my suspension, I transferred out of homicide and put in the rest of my time.”
“Why were you suspended?”
“Because I blew up in a meeting with the chief, the DA, and Jones. I made my concerns known again, and I paid the price.”
“This meeting included DA Briggs.” That fire began to build. Her right knee started to bounce a little.
“It did.”
Finley shot to her feet. “I’ll get those beers.”
Deep breath. Another. She had to be calm until she could verify this man’s statements. Although, she wasn’t sure how the hell she would manage that feat. She thought of Briggs’s personal assistant—she and Finley used to have lunch occasionally—but that was likely a no-go. Most of the friends—she used the term loosely—and sources she’d made while an ADA had dropped out of her life after her courtroom debacle.
She snagged the last two beers from the basically empty fridge and squared her shoulders before returning to the living room. She handed one to Montrose and resumed her seat on the sofa. A quick twist of the bottle top and she downed half the contents.