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For the first time ever, Sandra was worried the cops might be suspicious of her. Apparently, her husband had been the last to handle the bat bag before the murder. And then she’d gone and broken into a church. Not cool, Sandra, not cool. The more she tried to tell herself not to worry, the more she worried.
Though she was in bed before ten o’clock, when the alarm went off at six, she’d slept less than two hours. She dragged her body out of bed, her anxiety momentarily displaced by a single overwhelming thought: coffee.
With a half a cup of creamy java in her belly, she sat at the kitchen table and waited for it to make her smarter.
It didn’t, and yet she was still able to come to a decision: she needed to confess. She dug through her purse until she found Chip’s number, and this time she added him as a contact. If she was going to call him this frequently, she might as well have him on speed dial. She started to call and then realized it was probably too early. So she finished the pot and puttered around the kitchen watching the clock. She took a long shower, almost nodded off under the hot water, and then put on one of her church dresses, specifically, the one she thought made her look the least like a murderer.
Finally, it was eight o’clock, and she decided not to wait for nine. A man had been murdered. If Chip wasn’t up yet, he should be.
He was. At least, he answered on the first ring and sounded perky. He was reluctant to meet her in person. He didn’t understand why she couldn’t just say her piece over the phone, but she persisted. And so, for the first time, she was invited to the Major Crimes Unit office. She left a note for Nate, telling him she was going to see Chip, but not to worry, and that he was in charge of the children until further notice. She planned to get home before he got up and saw the note.
She pulled into the small parking lot less than a half hour later, her hands trembling. She really wished Bob were there. He probably wouldn’t allow himself to be seen by the detectives, but she’d still like to have him along for moral support. But he wasn’t there—at least not to her knowledge—so she dug deep and approached the office one nervous step at a time.
An ice-cold receptionist made her anxiety even worse, but then Chip breezed out into the small lobby, and his sincere welcome put her mostly at ease. He invited her back into his office, and though the two desks in the room suggested he shared the room with Slaughter, she was nowhere in sight. He pulled Slaughter’s chair over near his desk. “Have a seat, Sandra. I was just thinking about how well you’re doing staying out of this one, and then you called.” He chuckled as he folded his hands in his lap. “So, what’s up?”
She sat in Slaughter’s chair and then swallowed hard. “I have a small confession to make.”
He waited for her to say more, but she was at a loss for where to begin. “Okay.” He drew out the second syllable far too long.
She needed to jump right in. She took a deep breath and then let loose. “So I know that I shouldn’t have, but I got to thinking about who had access to that bat, and so I thought it had to be someone from my church, and then I thought, hey, we have security cameras around the church, because about eight years ago we had some vandalism ...” She gasped for more air and then kept going. “Anyway, so the cameras aren’t everywhere, but I knew there was one over the door, so I snuck into the church at night and checked the videos from the security cameras, but the videos from the day of the softball game, the day that Phoenix ran into the woods, and the day of his murder, and the day after his murder—all those videos are gone.” She gave him about a second and a half to respond to that before asking, “And you didn’t take them, right?”
He shifted in his chair. “When does the confession start?”
Huh? “That was the confession.”
He furrowed his brow. “What, that you snuck into church?”
Suddenly, she felt very small and very silly. “Yes. And because I interfered with your investigation.”
He blew out a puff of air. “That’s okay. I don’t want you to make a habit of it, but to be honest, we hadn’t gotten to the church’s cameras yet.”
She got the distinct impression he’d had no plans to ever get to those cameras.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that I didn’t delete them.”
“And I didn’t delete them.”
“But someone did.”
He nodded contemplatively. “And we need to find out who.”
She wanted to offer a suggestion, but didn’t want to step on his toes. “So maybe we should fingerprint the secretary’s office?”
His eyebrows flicked upward and then came right back down. “Yes. I will make that happen.”
“And did you find any fingerprints on the bat?”
“Yes.”
She waited. “And? Do you know who they belong to?”
He looked down and smoothed out his pant legs. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
She nodded and leaned closer to him. “Of course not.”
“They belonged to Richard Barney.”
She gasped as the door clicked open behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. The clop clop of heavy clogs gave the female detective away.
“Thanks for coming in,” Chip said. “Can you show yourself out?”
She nodded and got up quickly, avoiding Slaughter’s eyes as she vacated the office. The burden of her guilty conscience had been lifted, but it had been replaced with a heavy, cold knowledge. Richard Barney was a killer.