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Dan knocked on the door. He thought he heard scuffling inside, followed by the rapid-fire pattering of footsteps.
Benji opened the door. “Oh. Dan. I didn’t expect you.”
“I texted Camila.”
“Guess she forgot to mention it. Come in.”
He followed her inside. Socks, no shoes. No clipboard. “You two busy?”
They sat in the living room. “Just going over Camila’s schedule.”
“Is there that much to go over?”
“Not really. But she’s come to depend upon me. She still thinks of me as her chief-of-staff. And I’d rather be helping her than that blowhard currently occupying her office. Denton hired someone else to be his chief-of-staff. A man, naturally.”
“I hope you haven’t got extensive plans...”
“You told Camila to keep a low profile. And by her standards, she has. But as you know, the video of her press conference has been tweeted and retweeted all across the universe. Women’s groups are asking her to speak. Not just in Florida. All over the country.”
“I think it would be best if she declined. Until the trial is over.”
“Which is what I said. But no one tells Camila what to do.”
“How well I know that.”
Camila entered the room. House slippers. Hair loose. No makeup. Jeans. This was perhaps the first time he had ever seen her dressed so casually, unless you counted when he saw her in jail. “How goes my crusading knight?” she said, smiling and taking his hand.
“Slaying dragons as best I can.”
“Can you spring me from captivity? I feel like a caged bird in here.”
“Not yet. As far as I’m concerned, you should be out of the public eye until the first day of the trial.” They both sat on the couch. “Which sadly, is almost upon us.”
“Any breakthroughs?”
“Nothing major. Garrett has done some great research and I think I can poke a few holes in the forensic testimony. But what I don’t have is a credible alternative suspect. Even if I could find someone who might conceivably kill Nick Mansfield—why kill the other three? What links them together?”
“Have the police managed to identify the others?”
“Only two. Jonathan Primo and Sean Callahan. Ever heard of them?”
She pondered a moment. “The names do ring a bell.”
Benji snapped her fingers. “Isn’t Callahan the guy I sent to the office, I don’t know, several months ago. The plumber?”
The light dawned in Camila’s eyes. “Tall guy. Ripped. Square jaw.”
Benji grinned. “That was the one.”
“Oh, yes.” She laughed. “We had some kind of problem, didn’t we? I remember he lit into me in the office one afternoon.”
“And Primo?”
“The professor. Major pain in the neck. Threatened to expose some non-existent skullduggery.”
“You disliked him?”
“Very much. But not badly enough to bake him.”
“Someone did. Are you seeing how bad this is for us? Two newly identified victims—who both have connections to you.”
Camila nodded. “Have you considered the possibility that the selection of victims was...random?”
“What do you mean?”
“A serial killer. Someone who kills for pleasure, for gratification, not for a traditional motive.”
“There’s another possible explanation,” Benji said. “Smoke screen. Disguise the reason for killing one victim by tossing in three strangers. Police go nuts trying to link them, so they overlook the obvious suspect for one of them.”
Another possibility. Which he might well use at trial. “I’ll find out as much as I can about Callahan and Primo. Any more thoughts on the bakery, Camila?”
“Worst investment of my life.”
“Can’t argue with you there. How did you happen to buy it?”
“I like to invest in the community, and I got a great deal on the place. Previous owner had to move in a hurry. I picked it up for a song.” She fell back into the couch. “Wish I’d kept my money.”
“I’m probably going to be buried between now and trial. Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you?”
Camila’s raised eyebrow made that question sound more suggestive than he had intended. “I think I can manage. But let me say this so there will be no misunderstanding later. I want to testify.”
“That’s an incredibly bad idea.”
She waved his objections away. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s too dangerous. They’ll tear me to shreds on cross.”
“They will.”
“But the jury will expect me to speak. I am their mayor, after all. They know I can handle myself. If I don’t take the stand, they will assume I am hiding.”
“In a way, you are. Not in the guilty way. In the common-sense way. Because no defendant comes out of a cross looking good. Especially not when it’s handled by someone as sharp as Jazlyn.”
“Nonetheless. It is my right, and I wish to do it. If I am to have any future in politics, the people must hear my story.”
“Your primary concern should be avoiding the death penalty, not grooming your political image.”
“I’m focused on both. What’s the point of surviving this if I do nothing with the rest of my life? I will not be stifled by these people who want to crush me. I am stronger than that. I will show them my resolve.”
He knew he wasn’t going to talk her out of this. But he didn’t like it. “We don’t have to decide today. Let’s wait until the time comes. See how the trial is going.”
“I will not change my mind.”
On the one hand, he admired her strength. On the other hand, he feared she was committing suicide.
“If we fail,” she continued, “I will not blame you. I know you will do the best for me that you can, and I will accept the consequences.”
“And if we win?”
Her face brightened. “I want you to take me kitesurfing.”
He tilted his head. “It’s dangerous.”
She grinned. “Story of my life.”