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“Agreed. She may very well hold the key to the entire investigation.”
“To two.”
THIRTY-TWO
Amanda and Trent grabbed a bite to eat before heading to speak with Faye Douglas, Naomi Chapman’s maid. A quick call to Justine Livingston hadn’t given them a name for Felicity’s police contact, but it had been worth a try. They still had Felicity’s phone records to look at.
“There is one thing starting to really gnaw on me,” Amanda said once they got back on the road. “It’s that front light coming on. It wasn’t motion triggered, so it stands to reason Chapman had a late-night visitor.”
“Or she just simply turned it on because she thought she heard something.” He hitched a shoulder. “Just playing devil’s advocate. And typically, burglars don’t knock.”
“I realize that. I’m just saying, from the standpoint of considering that the home invasion and subsequent robbery was staged after the murder, she could have known her killer and let him in.”
“Just like Felicity did.”
“Uh-huh.” Amanda’s mind went to the value of the stolen goods. Those close to Chapman may have been aware that she had money and jewels worth taking. Then again, how prominent was her father? If his wealth was widely known an assumption could have been made that his daughter had valuables in her house.
“Are we looking at someone in Naomi Chapman’s world then?”
“Might be. I also wonder if the midnight visitor is connected to the robbery. Thinking along those lines, it could have just been staged to look like a home invasion.”
“Sounds like you’re using your imagination like Felicity did. Everything you just said might as well be fiction, for the lack of fact or evidence.”
“Hey, I’m just brainstorming. Spit-balling. You know, to see if anything sticks.”
“Nothing is quite yet, anyway.”
She wasn’t sure if she appreciated Trent’s honesty… “Nice.”
He held up a hand. “We need more to go on here before we rush to any conclusion.”
“I’m not…” She wasn’t going to repeat herself again. Rather, she picked up by painting the scenario. “Faye Douglas wouldn’t cause neighbors any alarm or make them pay any special attention.”
“Even in the middle of the night?”
“Who knows? Chapman and the maid could have been friends. We’ll have to see what Douglas tells us.” She pointed at the gray-sided townhouse numbered 372.
Trent parked on the road out front, and they walked up the driveway. People were yelling inside, the open windows doing little to conceal the heated argument in progress.
“Get out of here!” a woman screamed.
Stomping footsteps thundered toward the front of the house. The door was flung open, and a man came out. He stopped short at the sight of her and Trent.
“I never want to see your ass again!” A woman filled the open doorway. She crossed her arms and glared at them. “Who are you?”
“Prince William County PD, ma’am,” Trent said. “We need a word, with both of you.”
“Just great, Charlie. You had the neighbors call the cops.”
“Me? Maybe if you gave your mouth a rest sometimes…”
“Enough. In the house.” Amanda nudged her head toward the door, and Charlie trudged toward it as if he were walking to his execution.
The woman stepped back with a snuff of derision but let them all inside. She smacked Charlie’s arm though, to which he reacted with a sharp, “Did you see that? She hit me.”
Amanda wasn’t about to fall into this domestic dispute unless it became absolutely necessary. “Are you Faye Douglas?” she asked the woman.
“What is it to ya?”
