Deathblow by Dana Marton Page A

it. The cops are on their way.”
    “I have to see. I want to talk to the police. It’s my place. Bing is still here. Sophie popped in too. Let me see if I can leave Justin with her,” she said before hanging up.
    All right. Maybe she needed to deal with it herself, take back some of the control that had been stolen from her. But no way was he leaving.
    Joe stepped back out into the hallway so he wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, then called the captain. “Sophie said you’re over there. Her place is pretty bad.”
    “Keith?”
    “That’d be my bet.” But knowing it and proving it were different things.
    It would have helped if Keith Kline had a record, something to prove continued violent behavior. Joe had asked Bing about that while Wendy and Justin had been inside the diner. Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t have so much as a parking ticket.
    The man was smart. Canny. Knew how to keep up a good front. Most chronic abusers did.
    “Harper just reported in,” the captain said. “He’s got a new lead in the Brogevich case. The wife remembered something. About a month ago, a schizophrenic patient threatened Phil. The patient accused Phil of working for the government and giving him drugs to make him crazy. Harper is trying to track the guy down. He’s pretty paranoid, living with various family members and friends, doesn’t like to stay long in one place.”
    “If Harper brings him in, I’d like to be there for the interview.”
    “That can be arranged.”
    They hung up, and Joe thought about the new development in Phil’s case for the next ten minutes until the cops showed up at last. It’d be nice if the clue panned out. Marie needed closure. Knowing who and why wouldn’t make the grief less, but having to wonder did make everything worse.
    He strode down the hallway to meet the arriving officers, careful not to brush up against the freshly painted walls. “I’m Officer Joe Kessler, Broslin PD. I called in the break-in.”
    “Your place?” Officer Conti asked, close to fifty, short and sporting the beginnings of a potbelly. His sharp green eyes scanned Joe before cutting to the open apartment door behind him.
    “A friend’s. Her name is Wendy Belle.”
    “You got a badge?” Officer Tuchman was maybe an inch or two taller than Conti, her red hair in a ponytail. She didn’t look older than thirty, no makeup. Seemed like a no-nonsense type of gal.
    “Off duty. On sick leave, actually.” But Joe gave them his badge number as he led them to the apartment. “I have a pretty good idea who did it. Keith Kline. Ex-boyfriend. He’s been harassing Miss Belle lately.”
    Conti shot Joe an I’ll-be-the-judge-of-that look and pushed inside. “You stay out here.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “Did you walk in?”
    “A step or two.”
    “Touch anything?”
    “The doorknob, coming in.”
    The two looked around, then Conti ran down for the crime-scene kit and they snapped pictures and dusted for fingerprints. Did a pretty thorough job. Joe was prepared to push if they didn’t.
    They were about done by the time Wendy rushed down the hallway. Somehow she managed to stay graceful and poised even under the circumstances, still wearing the same sleek slacks and formfitting tan sweater that she’d worn to the photo shoot. Her cream-colored coat was cinched at her waist, looking fresh and crisp. Come to think of it, he’d never seen a smudge of dirt on her, not even when she was cleaning up after Justin. Must be a model thing.
    But as put-together and collected as she looked on the outside, there was plenty of turbulence in her gray eyes that cut to Joe immediately. “Let me see.”
    She would have sailed right in, but he caught her by the arm and held her back, instantly enveloped in the soft scent of her perfume. The electric current was still there, the awareness, the need for more. He ignored it. “You should stay out here until they’re finished.”
    Her eyes flared with alarm as