CHAPTER 21

MEL KITTRELL WAVED the waitress over to his table and pointed at his coffee cup. She obliged his unspoken request and filled it up sufficiently, leaving just enough room for him to add cream or sugar. He scowled and motioned for her to continue pouring.

“Real men don’t add anything to their coffee,” he grumbled as she stopped filling up his mug just a hair’s width before it overflowed. “It puts hair on your chest.”

The waitress forced a smile before she scurried away to another table demanding her presence.

The bell on the door jangled against the glass, drawing Kittrell’s attention along with the other four patrons in the restaurant. It was Cal Murphy, who kept his head down except to glance around the room and identify who he was scheduled to meet. Kittrell watched as Cal walked nonchalantly toward him before sliding into the booth seat opposite of him.

“Thanks for coming,” Kittrell said.

Cal shrugged. “Not sure I can be of much help, but I’ll try. Where’s your partner?”

“He’s got a nasty case of the flu. I prefer not to see him again for at least another week.”

“I don’t blame you.”

The waitress bounced back toward their table and turned over the plain white mug sitting in front of Cal.

“Coffee?” she said, unwilling to wait for Cal’s response. She filled his cup halfway before he had a chance to respond.

“Thanks,” he said as he stared down at the steaming liquid in front of him. “So, what’s this all about?” Cal began as he redirected his attention toward Kittrell. “And before we begin, full disclosure—I’m back on this story.”

Kittrell furrowed his brow. “When were you ever off it?”

“A couple of days ago, but I fixed that.”

“What happened?”

“Someone with vested interest in this story put pressure on my boss to get me off the story, but I pulled a few strings to rectify the matter.”

“Legally?”

Cal scrunched up his face and shrugged as his head bobbed from side to side.

“Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. In fact, I don’t wanna know.”

“Fair enough. So, what’s this all about?”

“I think we both know by now that Sid Westin wasn’t just an innocent bystander killed during an armed robbery.”

“I’m beginning to have my doubts about the innocent bystander thing.”

“You’re just beginning to have doubts?”

“Look, Detective. I can’t imagine it’d be much different in your world than mine. I can’t print anything until I’ve got some verifiable proof—the kind of proof that we can leverage to escape a messy lawsuit if one happens to appear. And right now, as much as my gut is telling me that something is awry here, I don’t have the kind of proof required.”

Kittrell slapped the table and grinned. “Well, you’re wrong. My world is very different—at least at this point it is. I’m simply tasked with coming up with a theory. Nothing has to be confirmed or verified yet. That all comes later. I just need to develop a plausible theory and work it until its logical conclusion.”

“And what theory are you working right now?”

“The one that says Rebecca Westin is behind all of this.”

Cal eyed him cautiously. “What makes you say that?”

“Evidence, to be honest. Though if I was backed into a corner, I’d say most of it was circumstantial. But Rebecca will benefit the most from Sid’s death.”

“That’s far from news. Aren’t most spouses the primary beneficiary of their spouse?”

“Unless there’s a written will, yes. But in the case of a young husband dying, that’s almost always an easy out.”

“Why is it not only easy but also correct this time around?”

“For one, we’ve already been able to tie the vehicle the bank robbers used back to the Westins.”

Cal smiled and held up his hand. “Is this on the record or off? I just want to clarify.”

“For now, it’s off. But help me solve this thing and that will all change.”

“I’m listening.”

“The unfortunate part of my story is that our chief witness in the story hung himself in his jail cell after he agreed to cooperate.”

“Sounds fishy to me?”

Kittrell’s eyes widened as he stared at Cal for a moment before speaking, “That’s what I said. Nobody at the department was listening to me.” He sighed. “And to be honest, I never imagined he would take his own life.”

“That’s because he didn’t.”

Kittrell nodded at Cal. “You’ve got a point—a point that fell on deaf ears when I made it at the department right after it happened.”

“But right now, there are just too many things aligning for Rebecca not to be the killer.” Cal leaned back in his seat. “Way too many.”

“Is there something I should know about?” Kittrell asked.

Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped in the security code. He navigated to the correct page and slid the phone across the table to the sergeant. “Take a look at this.”

Kittrell cocked his head to one side as he took the phone and stared at the page on the screen. He squinted as he stared at the image. “What am I looking at here?”

“This picture was supposedly taken and posted when Sid Westin was out of town for Seattle FC’s last road game.”

“I get that, but what am I looking at?”

Cal took another sip of his coffee. “I think the better question is who, Detective.”

“How’d you get this photo?” Kittrell said, his gaze darting from the screen to Cal.

“Someone sent it to me.”

“Did they obtain it legally?”

“Doubt it. Look in the window in the background.”

Kittrell zoomed on the picture and gawked at the image on the screen.

“Do you see it?” Cal asked.

Kittrell chuckled to himself. “Oh, I see it all right. I just want to know who that is.”

“Look a little closer.”

After a few seconds, Kittrell smacked his forehead with his hand. “Is that who I think it is?”

Cal nodded. “Yep. Sid Westin’s agent, Jonathan Umbert.”

“What was he doing with Rebecca Westin?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I can almost guarantee you they weren’t going over Sid’s latest contract.”

Kittrell shook his head. “This just got really interesting.”