Page 62 of One in a Million
Sam recognized the trooper as the older man he’d interviewed about Frank’s death. He was standing at the edge of the road, gazing down into the bar ditch.
“From the looks of that car, I’d say it was totaled,” the trooper said. “Damned shame, fine automobile like that. I’ll bet it’s worth more than I take home in a year. But the Culhanes probably have good insurance.”
“Thanks for meeting me,” Sam said. “This shouldn’t take long. I’m still investigating Frank’s murder, and I need to make sure I haven’t missed any evidence.”
“Knock yourself out,” the trooper said. “If you ask me or any cop, they’ll tell you that the most likely suspect is the spouse.”
After pulling on a pair of latex surgical gloves, Sam made his way down the steep bank. The position of the car, with the underside exposed, made it easy to check the brake lines. They were intact, but fluid was leaking around a loosened seal between the line and the master cylinder. This shouldn’t have happened with a well-made and well-maintained vehicle. It appeared that somebody had sabotaged Lila’s car—somebody who knew enough to make the brake failure look accidental. He took a closer look, using his penlight. That was when he saw the small, fresh marks of a tool used to loosen the seal.
This threw a whole new light on the case. Sam used his phone to take several photos, then moved forward to inspect the inside of the car.
“Mrs. Culhane’s purse went with her in the ambulance,” the trooper said. “But it was open and got tossed about in the crash. Some odds and ends were scattered around the car. With the need to get her to a doctor, it wasn’t worth taking time to gather them up. Go ahead and look if you want. You’ll need to sign for any evidence you take.”
Getting into the tilted car was awkward. Sam had to lift the driver’s side door and lower himself through the opening. The interior was cramped, with most of the loose objects scattered on the passenger door, which was now on the bottom—a lipstick, a ballpoint pen, an oil change receipt, a packet of tissues . . . That was when he saw the business-sized manila envelope trapped between the door and the side of the passenger seat.
As he grasped the envelope by a corner to lift it, the unsealed flap fell open, and several photographs fluttered out. Gathering them up, Sam stared down at the pictures—the sort that a private investigator might take. They showed a man and a dark-haired woman embracing and kissing in the doorway of a motel.
Frank’s image, a closeup that must’ve been shot with a telephoto lens, was unmistakable. But the woman, a petite brunette with a cloud of dark hair, had been facing Frank with her back to the camera. None of the photos showed her face. Could it be Cheyenne McKenna? There was no proof, but Sam couldn’t rule that possibility out.
He checked the date stamp on the back of the pictures. They’d been taken less than a month ago. Sam wasn’t surprised that Frank had been cheating. Even more intriguing was that Lila had the photos and seemed prepared to use them. Had she been planning to divorce Frank?
A wealthy man like Frank would’ve been smart to have a prenup in place before remarrying. If so, that would’ve given Lila reason to choose murder over divorce.
One thing was certain. Frank hadn’t been killed in the heat of the moment. The crime had been carefully and coldly planned by someone who knew his habits—probably someone Frank trusted. That would include his wife.
Slipping the photos back into the envelope, Sam closed the metal clasp and prepared to climb out of the car. He was looking for a secure foothold when something else caught his eye.
Stuck in the apparatus that adjusted the position of the driver’s seat was a hypodermic needle, the size that a large animal vet would use. Could this have been the murder weapon?
Sam took a folded evidence bag out of his pocket and used it to enclose the hypodermic. At this point, he couldn’t assume anything. Finding the needle in Lila’s car was almost too much of a coincidence. If she’d used it to kill Frank, why would she keep it where it could be found? It made more sense that she’d destroy it or throw it away. And what about the leaking brake fluid that had caused her accident?
Was somebody trying to frame her, or even kill her?
Sam had hoped to find answers in the wreckage of the white Porsche. But he’d only found more questions.
* * *
Sam returned to the ranch to find Jasmine on his porch. She was barefoot and dressed in faded blue sweats. Sunlight sparkled on the water drops in her hair. She made a feeble effort to smile at him.
After leaving the evidence kit and the envelope inside the door, he joined her on the bench. “Sorry about your car,” he said. “Wasn’t there any other way?”
“What other way? I didn’t have a choice. A young man died, Sam. If I hadn’t guided those people to Charlie’s, or, better yet, if I’d reported them to the police ahead of time, he’d still be alive. And that bracelet was enough evidence to put me behind bars.”
“Smokey’s death wasn’t your fault,” Sam said. “If Darrin had stayed around to supervise those cowboys and make sure nobody went off alone—”
“There’d have been no need for Darrin if I’d made the right decision. I paid with my car. Smokey paid with his life. And Charlie won.”
“What have you told your family about the car?”
“They haven’t asked, but they will. I’ll think of something. Thanks for keeping the real story to yourself.” She gazed out toward the road. “Mariah told me about Lila’s accident. Is she going to be all right?”
“As far as I know. Otherwise she’d be on her way to the hospital in Abilene, not the clinic in Willow Bend.”
“And Mariah said you looked at the car.”
“I did. I’m no expert, but I’d say it’s totaled.” Sam wasn’t about to tell her what he’d found. As he saw it, there were three people who would profit from having Lila dead or charged with Frank’s murder. One of them was sitting next to him, asking questions.
Jasmine had brought him back to life. She had stirred emotions Sam had believed he would never feel again. But if she was guilty of murder, attempted murder, or even being an accessory, his feelings couldn’t be allowed to matter. He had sworn to uphold the law, and he had a job to perform.