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“So, Mr. Holland was married but separated, didn’t wear his ring, and lived across town from his wife.”
“Maybe the killer just doesn’t like cheaters,” Michael said.
“That’s great, Michael,” Faith said, “but without knowing anything else, it doesn’t narrow it down all that much.”
“Well, we know he’s based in the Tucson Metropolitan Area.”
“Tucson’s a little bigger than Cedar Hills, Michael.”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Michael said irritably.
Faith sighed. “I’m sorry, Michael, I’m just pissed off. I knew there was going to be another victim within a day or too.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too. Sucks to be right sometimes, huh?”
Faith shook her head. “We need to go talk to the wife. Derek, Travis, you in?”
The cops shook their heads. “We got a scene to process,” Travis said, “but do me a favor, you get a solid lead, you give me a call.”
In the car, Michael asked, “Are you sure we should go talk to Mrs. Holland now? It’s not even three in the morning.”
“Her husband isn’t going to be any less dead at nine in the morning,” Faith said, “and I think we’ve learned the hard way that we need to move quickly on this case.”
“Good point,” Michael said. “I just hate thinking that she’s going to wake up to hear that her husband’s dead.”
“Well, my point still stands. He’s dead no matter what we do, and she has to find out eventually.”
“I know, I just hate it.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They reached Lucinda’s house at three-thirty. This neighborhood was even nicer than Katherine Navarro’s. The sculpted landscapes and multi-story houses with spacious yards reminded Faith of Cedar Hills, the site of her last case. That reminded her of Horace Greenwood, which reminded her of Jared Greenwood, the potential copycat killer, and she was in a thoroughly bad mood by the time Michael parked the car. She pushed her irritation down and reminded herself to be compassionate. Lucinda was technically a person of interest, but it was better to approach her as though that weren’t the case. If they acted suspicious, it could put her on guard.
Michael knocked on the door. There was no answer until after the third knock when Michael called, “FBI!”
A light came on in the living room. The blinds in the window cracked open, and whoever was inside peered out the window at the two agents. Turk surprised Faith by barking agreeably and wagging his tail.
“I guess Turk’s ruled her out as a suspect already,” Michael said.
Faith shrugged. “It was a long shot that she’d be our killer anyway.”
The door opened, and Lucinda Holland greeted them. She was a petite woman with dyed, brown hair and sharp, green eyes. She glanced beyond the agents at the police cruiser and asked, “Are you FBI or Police?”
“FBI,” Michael replied. “I’m Special Agent Michael Prince, and this is Special Agent Faith Bold. We’re working with the Tucson Police Department.”
“Do you have IDs?” she asked.
They presented their ID’s, and Lucinda nodded. “Is this about Elmore?”
Faith lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Actually, yes.”
Lucinda sighed. “You’d better come inside.”
They followed her into the house. Inside, it was tastefully decorated with a region-appropriate Southwestern theme that managed to avoid garishness. The furniture was very high quality but not opulent or ostentatious. Overall, it looked exactly as Faith would expect the home of a well-to-do, middle-aged woman to look.
Lucinda led them to the kitchen and gestured for them to sit. “Would you two like some coffee?” she asked.
“I’m all right, thank you,” Faith said.
