AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I didn’t need to skip ahead to the summation to know how the prosecution was going to turn this around. The DA was going to tell the jury that Andy Showalter was an unlikely person to ask to get a gun… and that’s why he was asked. The fact that they weren’t friends made him the perfect person for this task. That Andy’s isolation and desire for the approval of someone popular like Larry made him vulnerable. The fact that Larry wasn’t exactly popular himself is something the DA would gloss over.
And the fact that Andy wasn’t telling the truth, which was obvious to me, ended up not mattering at all.
15
April 11, 1996
Thursday afternoon
Iwas familiar with Naples. Ronnie and I went there every Christmas. It was a tradition. For the holiday, the neighborhood went all out so it was worth spending a Thursday night in early December wandering around gaping at the amazing decorations. I wondered if we’d ever gaped at Candy Van Dyke’s place. The address was East Naples Lane, but that was little more than an alley. The houses faced the canal, separated from the water by a sidewalk. Many of them had slips with boats moored there, waiting. Rarely used.
The house was a starkly modern box with few windows on the alley and nothing but windows on the canal side. I walked down the sidewalk along the canal until I found the front door. I rang the bell.
A few moments later, Candy opened the door. She was nearly forty, or perhaps just past. She wore a severely cut suit in a large black-and-white herringbone tweed. Her glasses had red frames and covered most of her face. They quickly reacted to the sunshine by turning gray.
“You’re Dom Reilly?”
“I am.”
“Come in, come in,” she said as she walked away from the front door. I stepped into the house, which was elegantly furnished in creams and beiges. Not to my taste—or rather if I had taste it wouldn’t be this. I didn’t want to live in terror of spilling something.
“I knew who you were the minute you said your name on the phone. I know Ronnie. I’m with Century 21. I do Seal Beach, Sunset Beach, Huntington Beach. I almost never get to work with Ronnie,” she frowned dramatically, “but I see him at events and things. You’re always working. He’s such a little charmer. You’re a lucky man.”
“I am.”
“It’s so odd that you’re involved with this whole mess about Joanne’s rape. Poor thing. I’ve heard she won’t leave her house. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. I spoke to her there. She didn’t say.”
“Brenda came to see me about a month ago. Of course, I feel terrible. I know it’s afternoon, but would you like coffee? I have a pot already brewed. I drink it all day long… can you tell?”
“Um, sure, why not?”
“Come into the kitchen. I’ve been in this house for almost three years. There’s so much I’d like to do to it, but I never seem to have the time!”
The house—which was flawless—covered almost every inch of the property, and the kitchen, situated between the living room and a family room, was spacious.
“Have a seat at the bar,” she said. There was a breakfast bar on the family room side of the kitchen. I took a seat while she poured coffee into a gigantic mug. “Cream, sugar?”
“Just black.”
She set the cup down in front of me.
“So, what exactly can I do for you?”
“I work for the attorney who represents Stu Whatley, the man you identified as Joanne Yardley’s attacker.”
“Oh, God. Should I send him an apology?”
He didn’t seem the sort who’d appreciate that.
“What I’d like to talk about is Det—Brenda. Do you remember if she influenced your identification of Mr. Whatley in any way?”
“I’m not sure. I remember thinking at the time that she was ambitious. And that was good. We needed more women police officers. We still do. Don’t you think?”
I nodded.
“I’m glad you agree. I don’t know if a man would have been as empathetic. Don’t think I don’t like men, I love men. It’s just... Men are good at lots of things. I don’t know that empathy is one of them.”
