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She glanced at Conrad. He and Barrow remained deep in conversation. Might as well handle Ashley. She knew what to say. Rather than reply to the text, Jane dialed the reporter’s number.
“How’s Mr. Ryan?” Ashley asked, in lieu of a greeting.
“He’s good, thank you.”
“I’m so glad.” Relief coated the other woman’s tone. “When I heard about the shooting on my scanner, I raced to the hospital to get the scoop. I was so shocked to see the paramedics wheel in Mr. Ryan.” She laughed. “At this point, I might as well just call him Conrad.”
Ah. A scanner. That explained how she’d known what happened. Note to self: Buy a scanner. The best part? Jane hadn’t even needed to ask to gain an answer. But, though she waited, the reporter didn’t launch into another story, answering Jane’s other questions.
As innocently as possible, she tried stealthily maneuvering things in the direction she wished to go. “I’m so grateful you knew nobody else would call me.”
To her surprise, Ashley snorted. “Okay. I know a leader when I hear one.”
“Leader?” As in a monarch?
“A query meant to inspire me to talk. You suspect me of being involved somehow.” Amusement saturated the words. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that. Here’s the story. I knew the guys weren’t going to call you because I overheard them talking about it. Since you’re working to find the person who threatened my life, I’m happy to help you any way I can.” She released a frustrated noise. “Fine! I guess that means you can except a story without a quote. People need to know there’s a shooter running around rather Conrad goes on record or not.”
Dang it. No way the reporter had killed the deputy. She was a pretty okay person, and Jane was seriously growing to like her. Although, the last time she’d fallen into friendship with a suspect, she’d inadvertently helped a bank employee steal fifty thousand dollars.
She sighed. “Why couldn’t you be a supervillain to my superhero?” Unlike Tiffany, Jane wore an invisible cape. The cloak of justice! “I think I was looking forward to having a worthy nemesis,” she admitted.
Ashley laughed outright. “Maybe next time.” Then her laughter sobered. “I have to ask. Did Conrad get a letter before the shooting?”
“No. He never did. I haven’t either. Have you gotten a second?”
“Nope. According to my very handsome bodyguard, I haven’t been followed, either. Nobody has stalked me through dark alleys, tried to break into my home, or planted a bomb under my car. I had Trick check. I even let him borrow the mirror with an articulated arm I ordered.”
Hold up, that did sound cool. Conrad would adore it. Was it V-Day surprise perfect, though?
“Tom Cat Bennett. Allen. The Thackers. The Garfields. Unnamed mobsters.” Ashley sighed. “Every lead has been both a dead end and a bridge to a thousand other possibilities. There’s something off with this whole thing.”
Jane smacked her palm on the dashboard in triumph. “Exactly what I said!” Though she might change her tune when she got her first full look at the crime scene. “The problem is, not a soul seems to know anything about the Gentleman or have firsthand experience working with him.”
Should she test the waters of Beau’s theory with Ashley? “Maybe there isn’t a Gentleman,” On a roll, Jane voiced other thoughts rapid-fire. “What if Deputy Gunn made him up? A reason to follow and harass Tom? Or maybe control Tom.” Not even Sheriff Moore had trusted the man.
“Whoa there,” Ashley said. “That’s some imagination. I’m impressed.”
Conrad nodded to his former partner, and the two men stepped apart. Staring at Jane, he headed her way.
“I’ve got to go,” she told the reporter. “I’m about to tour the crime scene.”
The other woman bellowed, “What! You can’t make a statement like that without explaining—”
“Thanks for the tip,” she interjected before hanging up.
Conrad opened the car door and helped her exit. Cold swamped her as they raced up the stairs, joining Barrow.
The agent captured her gaze. “Touch nothing, and only step where we step. Wear these just in case.” He passed her a pair of latex gloves.
“I’ll be good,” she assured him, securing the protective covering in place.
Past the tape and through the foyer they went. A musty odor tainted the air. They stopped at the edge of the living room, giving Jane her first, err, second glimpse of the crime scene. She took in everything at once before concentrating on the finer details. The outline of the body. The broken mug. The thick black coffee dried on the wood floor planks.
Natural light slipped through slats int he metal blinds covering the windows. No curtains. No TV, but he had devoted a wall to a series of family photos. Across from that was a large bookshelf filled with forensic textbooks and dozens of mysteries. Everything from police procedurals to likable gumshoe private detective novels. Besides the side tables likely put together with instructions in an unknown language, there was a couch that looked brand new and a matching recliner more worn than a pair of cowboy boots at a Texas rodeo. Clearly the recliner was his favorite spot.
