Now Comstock was on the defensive, ready for a fight.
“It’s about the gun found in the water heater.”
Comstock rolled his eyes. “Please. That thing was so corroded it was about to crumble to dust. Don’t try to tell me someone could make it fire.”
“Not exactly.” She patiently explained the process by which her lab had made the casting. “It’s not a brand-new technology,” she said quickly, anticipating that argument from Comstock. “It’s already been used as evidence in a murder trial, so there’s a legal precedent.”
“You’re telling me you have a bullet, fired by this replica or model or whatever you want to call it?”
“Praktech Laboratories does. I have of course maintained an immaculate chain of custody, and Praktech has an excellent reputation among law enforcement agencies including several state police—”
“Okay, I get it.”
“All I’m asking is that you do a comparison. I’m sure Janet Flanders or Monty Gilliam right here in your own lab could do it.”
“And if they match? Doesn’t help Simonetti’s case any.”
Same point Griffin had brought up.
“Unless the gun can be traced to another suspect. Someone unconnected to Anthony. The lab has also brought up the serial number—all but two digits. They used seven different kinds of chemical baths including—”
“Spare me the details. Fine. Have the lab send the damn bullet, and we’ll do a comparison. And we’ll run the registration number. If it’ll get you out of my hair.”
Raleigh quickly gathered up the papers she’d been trying to show Comstock, which he hadn’t even glanced at. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Now that she’d achieved her objective, she wanted out of there before Comstock changed his mind.
“Let me tell you one thing,” Comstock said, still confrontational. “If that reporter writes one word about this, he damn well better mention that the Houston Police Department is bending over backward to cooperate. We have better things to do with our time and resources than chase after ridiculous conspiracy theories and ghost suspects that don’t exist. And I’d think you do, too. The right man is paying the price for that murder.”
Raleigh’s breath caught.
The right man is paying the price for that murder.
She’d heard those exact words, and recently, too. Where had she— Oh. The anonymous caller.
The sentence wasn’t distinctive enough for her to be certain. Still, was it just a coincidence that Comstock would use the identical words?
“Please,” she said, wanting to end the meeting before she gave herself away. “Let me know your findings as soon as possible. Anthony’s scheduled execution is only a couple of months away.”
She slipped out of the office and didn’t realize how upset she was until she ran smack into Griffin.
He backed up, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice, since other cops and police employees could be right around the corner. “You’re gasping for air like you just ran a marathon.”
Raleigh put a hand to her breast, feeling her chest rise and fall. She paused long enough to take some long, slow breaths. “I’m fine. Comstock just pissed me off, that’s all. Covering his butt like every other—oh, hello.”
It was the woman who had shown them in. Looking as humorless as ever, she obviously had the job of seeing them out. Neither of them spoke until they were safely on the sidewalk, Randall following at a discreet distance.
“So Comstock is taking the company line? ‘The right man is behind bars’?”
“Exactly.” She relaxed slightly. Even Griffin had just used a similar phrase. She was worrying over nothing. “No one’s willing to admit they might have made a mistake,” she groused.
“No one wants to be proved wrong or incompetent or inadequate,” Griffin added. “It’s human nature. Once, when I was first starting out, I was accused of misquoting someone. I hadn’t recorded the interview so I had no way of proving I hadn’t made a mistake. The paper printed a retraction and I was fighting mad. It’s an awful feeling.
“You want to know the worst part?” he asked.
“What?”
“To this day, I’m not sure I
didn’t
misquote the guy. I think when someone is on slippery ground, they get even more defensive.”
“No one’s infallible, I guess.”
“Not even you.” When they reached the Bentley, Randall was there to open doors. The guy was good.
She turned to Griffin before climbing into the backseat. “What, you don’t think I’m perfect?” She was teasing him, which surprised her. But he seemed to take her question seriously.
“If you have any flaws, it’s that you hold yourself to higher standards than you would anyone else in the world.”
“Why do people keep telling me that? High standards are a good thing.” She wasn’t perfect; of course she knew that. But she hadn’t really expected Griffin to mention what he viewed as her shortcomings. “I hold everyone to high standards,” she said when she slid into the backseat. “When you expect the best of people, they often try to give it to you.”
He smiled at her, a little sadly, she thought. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He climbed into the backseat from the opposite side, and Raleigh picked up where they left off.
“But you did bring it up. You can’t drop it now.”
He frowned. “I just think you should cut yourself some slack now and then. How long since you’ve taken a vacation?”
“Not that long. It was…let me see…” Vancouver. When Jason was still alive. Oh, surely she’d taken time off to do something fun since then. “I took a few days off last November.”
“How much time?”
“A long weekend.”
“And what did you do?”
“Why the interrogation?”
“What did you do?” he asked again.
She sighed. “I had a wisdom tooth pulled.”
One corner of his mouth crooked up in a smile, but he said nothing more. He didn’t have to. She’d made his point for him.
“You’re not perfect either, you know,” she grumbled.
“Far from it. What don’t you like about me? Give me a laundry list.”
“Well…” She had to think pretty hard. “You drive too fast. Jason did, too, which was exactly why I couldn’t allow him to drive that night. There was ice on the road—” She swallowed a gasp. God, she’d just
remembered
something about that night.
“Raleigh?”
“A memory. Something I never knew before just now. I remember feeling the car slip on the ice…” She shivered.
“Maybe it’s best if you didn’t try to remember,” he said gently.
Maybe. But part of her wanted to know. Had she really been at fault? Had she driven too fast, or plunged ahead when she couldn’t see?
“We were talking about my faults,” he reminded her.
And she’d segued—illogically—into the night her husband had died. “I don’t dislike you, Griffin.”
“I’m glad, because I like you. It’s not often I meet a woman who challenges and excites me like you do. But you’ve built this brick wall around yourself. It’s like…like you can’t give yourself permission to enjoy life because you’re a widow.”
“Just stop right there. This has nothing to do with your story.”
Randall glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. He seemed completely unobtrusive, but he was listening.
“I’ve said too much. I’m an ass, and I’ll shut up now.”
But now that he’d started it, she didn’t want to let it go. “Just because you’ve spent a few hours with me doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to live.” Why did he have to care one way or another about her private life? It was none of his business.
She folded her arms and glared at him, daring him to continue the argument. But she knew why she was being so defensive. It was just as he’d pointed out a few minutes ago—her argument was on shaky ground.
He was right. She did hide behind her status as a young widow. She didn’t allow herself to have fun, because it didn’t seem fair that she should laugh or sing or love or soak up the sun or even enjoy a beautiful sunset when Jason was cold in the ground.
It hadn’t seemed to matter. She’d derived a lot of satisfaction from her work, and she got affection from Copper, her one remaining living link to Jason. The thought of starting over with a new man hadn’t appealed to her at all.
Until now.
Frustrated by the added delay, she just stood there in the lobby feeling a ridiculous urge to burst into tears.
Of course, that was when Griffin appeared.
“Hey, Celeste, I brought you a cupcake.”
“Griffin Benedict, you are going to make me fat!” But she accepted the cupcake anyway. “Someone’s birthday?”
“I don’t know, I just spotted them in the break room. Oh, hi, Raleigh.”
He’d known perfectly well she was standing there the whole time. Griffin didn’t miss much, which made it hard for Raleigh to be around him, sometimes. He saw so much more than she wanted him to.
They’d parted awkwardly after returning to the office. Now that she’d cooled off, she felt badly for how she’d acted. Maybe her private life wasn’t any of his business, but she sensed he wasn’t merely being nosy. Against all odds, he seemed to care about her.
“Hey, Griffin.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I forgot to call Randall, that’s all, and now I’ll have to wait for him.” She took out her phone and started scrolling through her address book.
“I’ll give you a ride home. My car is parked in the garage. No one will see you leaving with me. I can drive you right to your garage.”
“Let him take you home, honey,” Celeste said in a rare show of concern. “Any girl would be safe with him. He’s a mercenary. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Raleigh realized she must look in bad shape.
“A good night’s sleep, I’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a smile. Then, to Griffin she said, “I’d appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.”
She waited until they were safely in his car before she spoke again. “I overreacted this afternoon. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”
“I was deliberately provoking you. You had every right.”
“Why were you doing that?”
“It’s like I said. I want to get to know you better.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m interested in you? Like, the way a man is interested in a woman?”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re one of Houston’s top ten eligible bachelors, after all. You must have women beating down your door.”
Griffin groaned as he expertly navigated downtown five-o’clock traffic. “Stupid article. Can you imagine what kind of woman comes after me because they see my picture in a magazine? Do you think that’s my kind of woman?”
“I don’t know what kind of woman would be ‘your kind.’ You’ve been seen with models and starlets.”
He shrugged. “At one time, that was easy and fun. Models and actresses want to be the center of attention. So I asked them a lot of questions, and they went to bed with me.”
“And now it’s not so easy and fun?” She had a hard time believing he couldn’t get just about any woman to go out with him.
“Going to bed with a pretty girl who wants to see her name in the newspaper—it gets old.”
“So you’re…trying to get me into bed?”
“I’m
interested
in you. Can’t we leave it at that?”
It would be easier if she could pigeonhole him as a shallow guy interested in another conquest. She could dismiss him from her mind then.
She called Randall to let him know she’d gotten a ride home. Predictably, he wasn’t thrilled. “Daniel won’t like that.”
“I didn’t take any chances, Randall, really.” Daniel would give her grief, but she’d deal with that later.
The crisp fall day had turned overcast and muggy, reflecting Raleigh’s mood. It was starting to rain by the time Griffin’s Mustang pulled up to her garage entrance. She gave him her pass card and they entered the garage.
“I’ll go up with you,” he said, “check out your apartment and make sure everything’s okay.”
“It’s not really necessary. We haven’t heard from this guy in a couple of days. Ford’s investigation hasn’t turned up anything. Maybe he’s given up.”
“Someone who spends twenty-thousand dollars on a plan doesn’t give it up that easily. Humor me.”
Great. Griffin would be in her apartment again, and she knew how hard he was to evict. Especially when she felt a bit lonely and, against all odds, enjoyed his company. He was the first person to challenge her on a personal level in a very long time.
“Are you always so doggedly determined about a story?” she asked.
“It could mean a huge career leap for me. Do you ever watch
Currents?
”
“On TV? Sometimes.” The truth dawned on her. “You mean that’s the job you’re up for? Criminy, Griffin, you’d be a household name.”
“Yeah, but they’re waiting to see how this story comes out, and it isn’t wrapping up as quickly as I hoped it would. Meanwhile, the other guy they’re considering is Paul Stratton.”
“The same Paul Stratton we ran into yesterday? The one who wrote all those stories about the Michelle Brewster murder?”
“The very same. He’s on the air every night, reading the teleprompter about one big story after another like they were
his
stories. And you can bet the
Currents
people are watching.”
This was the first time she’d seen Griffin less than arrogantly confident. He really did want the TV job, she could see that. And he wasn’t so sure he’d get it.
The elevator opened on her floor. Griffin stepped out, checked the hallway, then led the way to her front door. After she used her key on the dead bolt, Griffin entered first, checking every room and closet as Copper treated them to a frenzy of earsplitting barks, trying to get their attention.
“Place is clean,” Griffin said as he scooped up the little dog and allowed it to lick his face. He laughed, and any lingering irritation Raleigh felt toward him vanished.
“Griffin…why don’t you write the story now? I think Daniel would be okay with it, he seems to trust you. You can follow up as the story progresses…if it does.”
“Are you that anxious to get rid of me? ’Cause if I got the job at
Currents,
I’d move to New York and I’d be out of your hair for good.”
That thought didn’t exactly cheer her. But she knew what it felt like to be ambitious, to want to be the very best at what she did.
“I think maybe it’s time to air the story, that’s all. Maybe once our guy knows we’re onto him, he’ll make a move. It’s tedious, waiting for him.”
“The moment I break the story, other reporters will be on it. And we might scare our guy into hiding. I’d rather wait until the story has a conclusion.”
“Whatever you think is best—”
She was cut off as the French doors leading out to her balcony exploded in a hail of gunfire.