Agent Hayes?”
“You misinterpreted my implication.” A smile slipped through despite his best efforts to appear neutral. It had been a long time since anyone had wrestled one out of him. “It’s a standard question, Sadie.”
Oh, brother. What was it about this woman that had him grinning like a schoolboy? He called upon his training and erased the stupid smile. “Have you noticed anything else unusual lately? His behavior, any visitors, deliveries, that kind of thing?” What was wrong with his voice? Had the molten coffee singed his vocal cords?
She shook her head.
“I’m assuming you’ve been inside his home. Anything out of place last time you were there?”
“Oh, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” She sighed. “Charlie was a smart and organized guy, but he was a bit of a pack rat when it came to certain things—files, journals, newspapers, books, records, you name it. There was definitely a method to his madness, but it would be difficult to see if anything was truly out of place.” Her voice grew quiet, and Archer barely heard her murmur under her breath, “Only Charlie could tell you that.”
“I know this is difficult but can you think of anyone who might what to harm Mr. Westwick in any way?”
Setting her mug on the end table, she skimmed her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. I mean Charlie talked a lot about his days in the service and something about some shady business that went on there, but nothing specific that I can remember. To be honest, I could never tell how much of what he was saying was actually true. All I know is that he believed it. I’ll try to wrack my brain, see if I can come up with anything useful but nothing off the top of my head.”
Archer dreaded what he needed to say next. “I’m sorry Miss Carson, but can anyone vouch for your whereabouts this morning from say 4:00 a.m. to when you found the body?”
From everything he’d gathered so far about the independent and stubborn Sadie Carson he was expecting a defensive maneuver. What he saw, however, wasn’t knee-jerk indignation, nor a pale-faced realization that she didn’t have an alibi. It was a private reflection of unbearable sadness. It was in that unguarded glimpse, she was completely unmasked and vulnerable. What he saw told him she was broken, instead of guilty.
But eyes could lie. His own might be conning him at this very moment. Caving to her emotional display would only make him weak. So he tore his eyes away from the puzzling woman. He’d get to the bottom of this and wash his hands of his own guilt before it ate him alive.
He still wasn’t positive—wasn’t sure why it mattered—but if he’d read Sadie’s face right, he was fairly certain he had the answer to his unasked question. She lived here alone.
Boy was he glad to be out of there. After feeling strangely unbalanced for the past few hours with Miss Carson, Archer needed to regain focus. No better way to accomplish that than to dive into the facts of the case while he drove to meet his partner at the shooting range.
If what Sadie mentioned checked out, someone was looking for something they believed Westwick had possessed—something worth killing for.
Information from Westwick’s time in the service was a possibility, though he’d obviously kept quiet about it so far. Why now? Why kill a ninety-one-year-old man unless he was threatening to expose some dark secrets?
Love or jealousy seemed unlikely if Westwick’s spouse had passed on.
Money could be a motive in this case, though the condo, if it was anything like Sadie’s, was modest—not the home of a millionaire. Then again the man had been smart and had held down a great job, likely with a sizeable retirement. Westwick’s generation did tend to be more frugal. He could have a huge stockpile somewhere.
Westwick’s financials would be on his desk first thing tomorrow morning. Archer would save the speculation for later.
The crime scene had sucked up the