Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage by Ed Lynskey Read Free Book Online Page B

sent the.44 back to our lab where my technician dusted for prints and raised two matching hers. Yep, that forensic evidence sure put a lock on the guilty culprit.”
    “Where did she obtain the weapon?” asked Isabel.
    Sheriff Fox shrugged. “Maybe Jake owned it. Maybe she bought it at a gun show. We’re still checking.”
    “How do you happen to have her prints on file?” Alma sniffed into her tissue.
    “We printed her for her Federal security clearance when she applied to work at the training center,” replied Sheriff Fox.
    “This weapon, I assumed, had checkered grips,” said Isabel.
    Sheriff Fox rolled his tongue inside his cheek. “It did but so what?”
    “Prints aren’t left on rough textured surfaces like checkered grips,” replied Isabel.
    “We lifted Megan’s prints off the barrel’s smooth surface.” Sheriff Fox had a triumphant smile. “We also took her print off the trigger. Both prints matched to her, and we couldn’t ask for better ironclad evidence.”
    The pastiness blanched Alma’s face as she felt the blood rush from her head. Sheriff Fox’s glance in Isabel’s direction, however, disturbed him. A shrewd glint made her eyes dance. His discomfort puzzled him until he realized how the two sisters had always looked the same—silver and formidable—since he was a kid. Even in adulthood on some basic level, he still regarded them as his elders, but he today was the sheriff of Quiet Anchorage, and the one voted and paid to be in charge here.
    “This .38 handgun you pulled out from under the work bench sounds too pat to me,” said Isabel.
    Sheriff Fox shook his head. “I said the murder weapon is a .44, not a .38, and why is it too pat for you?” His voice grew defensive. “Are you implying my deputies planted the evidence?”
    Dwight, his hand raised to play the mediator, looked flustered, and Alma reclaimed some of her fiery temperament.
    “What Isabel means is some creep had to frame Megan for Jake’s murder. Besides she would be incredibly stupid to shoot poor Jake dead and then phone you to say she’d tripped over his corpse.”
    “As I said, this behavior pattern occurs more often than you might think,” said Sheriff Fox. “The corpse is discovered—dang it, Alma, don’t interrupt me again—and reported by the actual murderer. It’s like how the arsonist first torches the abandoned warehouse and then reports the blaze to the fire station. As for your frame up theory, you’re grasping at straws, and no jury is going to bite on it. Trust me.”
    “Megan would also be a buffoon to leave the murder weapon under the work bench,” said Alma.
    “Maybe panic-stricken, she didn’t possess the presence of mind to think of a better hiding place.” Sheriff Fox narrowed his curious eyes on them. “How is it you two sisters know so much on homicides?”
    “We’ve been reading murder mysteries before you were born,” replied Alma.
    “Impressive but there’s one critical difference. This is the real world and not something lifted off the printed page,” said Sheriff Fox.
    Isabel asked a few real world questions. “Have you Mirandized our niece? Did you record an entry log at the crime scene? Did you photograph and videotape the crime scene? Did you test for gunpowder residue on her? Dwight, are you paying attention to all of this? And last, have you constructed a timeline of events?”
    “Naturally I know to do all of those things,” replied Sheriff Fox.
    A frosty silence settled in the small interview room until Dwight scraped back in his chair. “Well. That does it for us. Thanks for your valuable time, Sheriff Fox.”
    He gave them a frank nod. “I’ve detailed what’s what, and now the gears of justice will grind forward.”
    “We aim to throw a monkey wrench into those gears of justice,” said Alma.
    Sheriff Fox wasn’t left in a convivial mood. “This is my last warning. You should watch your step. Dwight, you better keep a tight rein on your client’s