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“Love to hear it. Everything seems to be pointing us in his direction.”
“I agree, and now that we’ve learned more about The Romeo Killer, it’s apparent he used that as his guidebook on murder one-oh-one.” She put a forkful of her meal into her mouth.
“I’m not disagreeing, but there are differences too.” Trent took a bite of egg.
“I gathered those too—no champagne bottle or flutes, her clothing was casual not indicative of a night of romance. But it’s not enough to let him off the hook. Same goes for the location of where she was murdered—in her home, not a hotel room.” She stabbed a piece of gyro meat but didn’t lift it to her mouth.
“If we are wrong and Navarro isn’t the killer, where will it leave us?”
“We still have other avenues to explore, including that Sheldon Lowe character.” She toyed with her food, moving it around with her fork. “But we’re going to push Navarro, see what he says. Then if he checks out, we’ll go from there.”
The server came to their table and collected Trent’s plate and looked at Amanda. “Are you still eating, or would you like a box?” Her gaze traveled to Amanda’s barely touched meal and then met her eyes.
Amanda set her fork on the table. “I’m finished, and there’s no need to pack it up.”
The server took Amanda’s dish, a look of disapproval on her face. And, yes, Amanda should feel bad about wasting food when some people in the world were going hungry. But it wasn’t going to be edible after baking on the rear seat of the car for countless hours.
The server returned and slapped the check on the table. One would think Amanda had rejected food that the woman herself had prepared.
“The PWCPD is picking up this tab,” Amanda told Trent, grabbing the check folder. She scanned the receipt to make sure it was right and slipped a department credit card in the appropriate slot. She set the folder, so it slightly overhung the edge of the table to notify the server it was ready.
“Well, I’m full up.” Trent patted his flat stomach.
“They don’t exactly go small on serving size here.” She’d never say so, but her partner was looking leaner these days. Not in an unhealthy way, but rather like he was exercising more.
About five minutes later, they were back in the car and Trent was taking them back to Woodbridge. While he drove, Amanda used the time to call Celeste Sweeney. She had a few things she wanted to ask her.
“Hello?” Celeste came across as tentative and leery, understandable as Amanda’s number, registered to the PWCPD, would show as unknown.
“It’s Detective Steele. Is this Mrs. Sweeney?” she asked even though she recognized her voice.
“It is.”
Two words, and Amanda sensed apprehension. She was probably braced for an update, and Amanda was regretful she didn’t have one. It was probably best that she get right to the point of her call. “I just have a few questions, if you have a minute.”
“Of course.”
“To start, did Felicity ever work out points of her plots with you?” This question would lay the groundwork for where Amanda was headed.
“Sometimes.”
That’s promising… “But not with the most recent one she was working on?” When they had first spoken to Celeste, she said that Felicity was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it.
“All she said when I pushed was she should never be discussing her books with me, and she was going to stop.”
Amanda was curious if it was just a simple change of heart or indicative of something else. On another topic, she asked, “Did Felicity do extensive research for her books?”
“Oh yeah. She got anal about it, if you ask me.”
Justine Livingston’s term armchair detective wasn’t far from mind. Felicity may have pried into a cold case and caught the attention of a killer. Yet another option to explore if Navarro wasn’t guilty. And thinking of Navarro… “Does the name Kristopher Black sound familiar to you? Did Felicity ever mention him?”
Trent gave her a thumbs up, and Amanda smirked and shook her head.
“Kristopher,” Celeste said as if trying out the name to see if it struck any sort of memory. “I don’t think so.”
There was the chance if she didn’t know about the budding romance there, neither had Luis Navarro. Amanda gave Trent a thumbs down. He frowned and put his focus back out the windshield.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Sweeney.”
