She took out her cell phone and snapped pictures of as many items as she could, then flipped through the photos. One piece of clothing stood out. She looked up the SKU. Rachel whistled under her breath.
Very interesting. Serrano and Tally needed to see it.
Rachel had been gone four minutes. Any longer, and Isabelle would get suspicious—either that Rachel was snooping around or that she’d eaten a burrito for lunch.
She sneaked back to the bathroom, silently opened the door, and slipped in. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and then dried them on a hand towel. She refolded the towel perfectly and replaced it on the rack.
But when Rachel opened the door, she jumped back and nearly yelped. Christopher Robles was standing right outside the bathroom door, like he was waiting for her. The man said nothing. Just stared at Rachel. His eyes were sunken and red rimmed. His cheeks were the sallow grayish yellow of someone who’d ingested large quantities of illicit substances that the human body was not meant to process. But behind those sunken eyes was suspicion.
“Sorry about that,” Rachel said, composing herself. “How do I get back to the sitting room?”
Robles did not respond. Rachel simply apologized again and slid by him. She could feel his eyes following her.
She rejoined the others, still thinking about Robles’s face. She didn’t like how he seemed to recognize her. That was the thing with junkies: they were all paranoid until they found someone who actually was out to get them.
Isabelle looked at Rachel, who mouthed the words That bathroom is gorgeous, accentuating it with an eye roll.
Isabelle smiled, blushed slightly, and mouthed, Thank you.
Rachel sat there, silent, as Serrano and Tally continued questioning Drummond. Routine stuff. He didn’t have much of an alibi for the night Constance died—Isabelle was out to dinner with friends, and Drummond claimed he’d stayed home, ordered from Mr. Foo’s, and binged season three of Breaking Bad on Netflix. Serrano told him they would check with Mr. Foo’s to confirm. Rachel got the sense they simply wanted to gauge Drummond’s reaction. See if he got nervous. Other than likely feeling the general discomfort of being questioned by police about his ex-wife’s death, he didn’t appear overly defensive.
When they finished, Serrano and Tally gave Isabelle and Drummond their cards and asked them to get in touch if they thought of anything else. Drummond looked at Rachel, expecting to be given a card as well. Rachel froze for a moment, then said, “Crap, left them in my other purse. But Serrano and Tally are leads on this. I’m just along for the ride.”
Drummond got up to walk the detectives out. Isabelle stayed seated.
As he opened the heavy wooden front door, Drummond said, “I hope you find him.”
“Sorry?” Tally said.
“Or her. Whoever did this to Connie. I know how it might look,” Drummond continued. “Everyone looks at the ex-husband. But our marriage ended a long time ago. Even before the actual divorce, it had been over for a long time. I had no reason to want to hurt her after all this time. My wife and I have other things to worry about. We’re trying to start a family.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Drummond,” Serrano said. “If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch.”
“Good luck with the family,” Tally said. “Things like that test a marriage.”
“Don’t I know it,” Drummond replied. There was a weight to the comment that Rachel picked up on that the detectives did not.
Rachel looked over her shoulder as they walked to the Crown Vic. Drummond watched them depart. Then he turned around and went back inside.
When they reached the curb, Serrano put his hand on Rachel’s arm and said, “We need to talk. Now.”
Rachel whipped around and said, “If you don’t take your stubby little fingers off me right now, the next time you jerk off, it’ll be with a prosthetic hand.”
Serrano removed his hand and stepped back, surprised at the anger in Rachel’s response. Tally’s hand moved toward her sidearm.
“You are a civilian, Ms. Marin,” Tally said coolly. “You threaten my partner again, and I’ll have you in handcuffs before you take your next breath.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “That was an instinctual reaction. Lot of pent-up stress. It’s been a while since I’ve been to yoga.”
“Now let’s talk about just what in the hell you think you’re doing,” Serrano said.
“They’re lying,” Rachel said. “Drummond and his wife. Both of them.”
Serrano cocked his head, and Tally laughed.
“Is that so?” Tally said. “And what, pray tell, are they lying about, Nancy Drew?”
“Well, the timeline to start. Drummond and Isabelle started dating while he and Constance were still married. That ‘two years’ claim is crap.”
“How do you figure?” Tally said.
Rachel took out her phone and opened the Photos app. She showed them the pictures she’d taken in Isabelle’s coat closet.
“So you searched their home without a warrant. Fantastic,” Tally said. She turned to Serrano. “You realize if Drummond is our guy and this case goes to trial, they could ram that down our throats and have this whole thing thrown out.”
“Ms. Marin, before you start showing us inadmissible evidence of God knows what, just how the hell did you end up here anyway?” Serrano asked.
“Christopher Robles,” she said. “Isabelle’s brother. He was at the bridge the night you found Constance Wright’s body.” She showed Serrano and Tally the screen grab from Charles Willemore’s broadcast. Christopher Robles’s face was visible among the bystanders.
“And then he was at the press conference today,” Rachel said. “So the brother-in-law of the victim’s ex-husband is at the murder scene and then the press conference. No way that’s a coincidence. Robles knows something.”
“So you followed Robles home after the presser?” Tally asked.
“Hey, you are a detective!” Rachel said.
“My patience is wearing real thin with you, Ms. Marin,” Tally replied.
“Try me,” Rachel said with defiant ease.
“Stop it, the two of you,” Serrano said, trying to defuse the situation.
“So, what,” Tally said, “you think Robles killed Constance Wright?”
“Not sure. I don’t know how Robles gets Wright to the bridge in the middle of the night,” Rachel said. “But it’s possible Drummond got her there and Robles knew about it somehow. Drummond said that Isabelle has been Christopher’s caretaker since their parents cut him off. And if Isabelle’s husband gets put away for murder, it ruins her. If the one person who cared about you was about to have their life torn apart, wouldn’t you be scared too? So maybe Robles knew something he wasn’t supposed to.”
Serrano walked up to Rachel and gently put his finger in the center of her chest. She looked at the digit like she wanted to rip it clean off. He saw her anger but didn’t move. Neither did she.
“You need to hear this,” Serrano said. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing. This armchair Sherlock Holmes BS doesn’t fly here. You want to sit at home, connect pushpins on a corkboard, solve the mystery of D. B. Cooper, find the Loch Ness Monster, or figure out who really killed JFK? Go right ahead. But you are a civilian. You have as much right to be at this house as my dog. Only difference is when my dog shits where he’s not supposed to, at least it’s confined to my house.”