DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS Read Online Free

questioning Myron Stamps and Gavin Whitley, a process that had taken over two hours, not a pleasant experience. Stamps had shown up with his lawyer. The phone call with Whitley had been a three-way, involving his attorney. Ethan’s jaw ached from gritting his teeth while nearly every question he or Dixon asked was parried by their shysters.
    As Dixon came into the viewing room, Laney yawned. She covered her mouth with her hand, even though there was no one in the room with her. Then she winced and patted the bandage with her fingertips again.
    “She’s had a long night,” Dixon commented.
    “She’s not the only one,” Ethan said, suppressing a yawn of his own. “Where’d you run off to?”
    “I ran down to the lab to see what the crime scene techs found outside the penthouse service door and on the stairs.”
    “What’d they find?”
    Dixon pulled out a notepad. “Black scuff marks, probably made by leather-or synthetic-soled shoes. Not rubber. A few fibers of black fleece, like from a sweatshirt or hoodie. That’s about it. No indication of how long they might have been there.”
    “Fingerprints?”
    “They dusted the service door’s handle and the railing at the top of the fire stairs, but didn’t get anything except some smudges that probably came from the shooter’s gloves. There was gunshot residue in the smudges.”
    “That’s something, I guess.”
    Dixon shrugged. “They’re not finished with the penthouse suite or Laney Montgomery’s room yet, but there’s nothing conclusive.”
    Ethan turned to look at him. “Anything on the gun or bullets?”
    He nodded. “The gun is untraceable—big surprise. The bullets were fired from the gun that was found at the scene. The partial print on the gun barrel hasn’t been through the system yet.”
    “What did you think about Whitley and Stamps?”
    “I think they’re telling the truth, at least about where they were last night,” Dixon said.
    “You know, Stamps is kind of pitiful, isn’t he? I mean his wife’s dead, and they never had any children. Apparently he’s got no one except a housekeeper.”
    Dixon nodded. “It’s hard not to believe him, isn’t it? Home by himself. Can’t say whether his housekeeper can vouch for him because she went to bed early with a headache.”
    “Yeah,” Ethan agreed. “That was either a sad but honest accounting of his lonely evening at home or a truly clever way to avoid having to depend on someone lying for him. The housekeeper went to bed early, therefore she can’t say if he was there or not.”
    “I think I do believe him. He seems as though the kidnapping and his trial have taken all the starch out of him.”
    “And I guess Whitley’s alibi is solid,” Ethan said wryly, his eyes on Laney as she uncrossed her legs, recrossed them and pulled her raincoat more tightly around her.
    “I don’t like him a bit—and that goes double for his lawyer.”
    “Pretty slick, aren’t they?” Ethan sighed. “But unless Whitley got his attorney to come over here and pop Sills, I’m not sure how he could be involved. At least we know he was where he says he was.”
    “I wouldn’t believe Whitley if he told me his name was Whitley,” Dixon said. “But no matter what I think, those alibis are good. Still, that doesn’t mean one or both of them couldn’t have hired someone.”
    “Stamps doesn’t have any money—or at least none we know about. And like I said, I can’t see Whitley.” He thought about something. “Who went through their financial records during the kidnapping case?”
    “No idea, but I’m going to check,” Dixon said. “Seems like I heard that Whitley had a couple of big deposits and payouts that matched the time frame of the kidnapping. That’s when Whitley tried to implicate Sills, but the forensic accountants couldn’t find any proof of where the money came from.”
    “The amounts matched exactly the amount of money that Bentley Woods deposited in Chicago. With all