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“We’re not at liberty to disclose that.” Amanda got up and handed Faye her card, but the woman crumpled it and shoved it into a pocket of her shorts.
“Nothing personal,” Faye said. “I just need to move on with my life.”
Amanda and Trent thanked the Douglases for their time and left.
Faye Douglas was the second person to point out that the past was best left behind. Amanda disagreed. She had a strong feeling the key to solving Felicity’s murder necessitated a trip back in time.
THIRTY-THREE
Amanda settled in a conference room down at Central. A stuffed evidence box from the Chapman investigation was on the table, and doubts crept in. What if they spent hours scouring all of this, and it had nothing to do with what got Felicity Kelley murdered? It would certainly help if they could get their hands on Felicity’s research or manuscript notes, but they were still waiting on access to her cloud storage. And that was assuming she kept a backup of all that there.
She and Trent looked in the history of Felicity’s phone, but it didn’t date back further than a few months ago, so it must have been a new device. To access call logs prior to that, to when Felicity was in possible contact with her mole in the police department, they’d need to wait on the service provider.
It was defeating to consider what they didn’t have so she turned her attention to what they had. Amanda’s father had told her before the best place to start was at the beginning. Amanda was sure the origin of all this was Chapman’s murder.
Trent walked into the room with two coffees and handed one to Amanda.
“Thanks.” She took a sip, then popped the top off the box and pulled out a handful of files. “Time to get to work.”
Trent reached in and retrieved a manila envelope. He lifted the flap and took out a series of photographs.
“That looks more fun than all this.” She set the files on the table and gestured for him to sit next to her.
He’d look at a photo and then pass it to her.
Amanda studied each image closely. There were ones of the back door with its broken window, the shoe prints in the garden, shots of the kitchen. She looked closer at the peninsula: double sink, spotless countertop except for a bottle of bourbon, and a rocks glass with a bit of amber liquid inside. If there had been ice, it had melted by the time of this photograph.
Based on what Bishop told them, Chapman had gone out to celebrate with her colleagues at Taps and Cocktails bar. Then she decided to have a final nightcap at home? Not unheard of, and she’d likely have already imbued a significant amount of alcohol to affect her better judgment. But nightcaps were typically done with company. Her midnight visitor? But if so, where was the second glass?
Amanda continued looking at the photographs. The next several showed Chapman from different angles.
Due to the thorough coverage of the pictures, Amanda could piece together the layout of the home. The door, that was the supposed burglar’s point of entry, was to the rear of the dining room. The peninsula served as a boundary marker for where the kitchen began. There was a spot that Chapman could have used for a breakfast counter with two stools. One was tucked in, and the other was tipped back on the floor near Chapman’s body. She’d likely been sitting in it when she was shot.
Chapman, fully clothed in dress pants and a blouse, laid supine with her right arm at her side, her left one slightly curled as if she had touched her wounds. Her legs were parted, her right leg slightly bent. There was something about the positioning of the body that felt off though.
“The intruder was said to have come in the back door,” she began, and it had Trent looking at her. “That meant they had to round the peninsula, sticking to the inside of the kitchen, and then shoot her. But Chapman would have been alerted to their presence long before then. Why wouldn’t she have made a run for it? I mean she obviously didn’t or she’d have been shot in the back. Instead, she took three bullets to the chest.”
“I was considering the same thing.”
“If we both were, had Felicity as well?”
“Only if she had gotten her hands on these pictures somehow.”
“Right. Well, the evidence in the Chapman case was last signed out thirteen years ago by Bishop.” He might have had loose lips, but Amanda couldn’t see him copying photos for a personal collection or giving them to a civilian. Just thinking a cop—former or active—would share confidential case information set her redhead temper ablaze. It was unforgivable if it had factored into Felicity’s murder. And while Dennis had made that trespass, she was more concerned that Felicity’s contact may still be active with the PWCPD. “Regardless, we need to plug that leak if it’s still in the department.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
Amanda was just lost on a next step in that regard. She grabbed one of the photos that showed Chapman and the peninsula. “Why would the intruder even bother to go that way?” She traced a finger through the kitchen. “If Chapman was at her counter having a drink, wouldn’t the perp just shoot her from the back door? But that’s not what the trajectory shows.” She was referring to a diagram that laid all that out.
“They were only about three feet away.”
“On her side of the counter. Though it is possible, I suppose, that the perp got closer and then something made them pull the trigger on Chapman.”
“Then she knew the intruder, or was told to stay put at gunpoint.”
“Either way or both?” Amanda’s shoulders sagged, frustrated. “If only we could find out what Felicity saw in all this—whether it was something in the photos or the case in a broader sense.”
“I think we should keep going with this and we might find out.”
