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Enough said.
Houser’s shiny silver sedan rolled up next to her dusty Subaru. How did the man keep his car so clean?
Finley got out and tucked her fob and cell into her back pockets, leaving her bag in the car. She tapped the door handle to lock it up before strolling to the front of Houser’s vehicle.
“Sorry I’m late,” he offered as he emerged. Houser wore his trademark suit. Dark trousers that fit snuggly as was fashionable for men his age. Same with the jacket. The charcoal color looked good on him.Beneath the jacket he wore a sweater over a collared shirt. All of which was perfectly coordinated, as if he’d come to a fashion shoot rather than a possible crime scene.
“No worries.” She glanced around. “There are a lot of houses and businesses around here. Was this place secure?” She flashed him a doubtful look. “Seems to me like anyone could have walked in and left that handbag.” She gestured to the exterior of the warehouse. “I don’t see any security cameras. But I do see lots of broken windows, making for easy access points.”
He made a distasteful face. “You sound like a defense attorney.”
Finley laughed. “Just pointing out the holes in your theory.”
He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “So you’re already convinced your client is innocent?”
“You’re already convinced he’s guilty?” she tossed back at him.
He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want him to be guilty.”
“Because he’s not a good Catholic boy?”
His eyes narrowed and his brow lined with frustration or maybe impatience. “Why would I care about his religious status?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember googling you back when we first met, and there was some mention of you being Catholic. Maybe it was the photos from your older brother’s wedding.” Houser had been accompanied by a blonde female, but Finley hadn’t found a photo in the lot that showed the woman’s face. Honestly, she had no clue why she had even mentioned it. Maybe the jealousy ping she’d felt yesterday had her wondering why he wasn’t married himself.
None of her business. Clearly her brain was not operating on all cylinders this morning. More coffee. She’d had one cup before getting caught up in a second review of the case file Houser had sent her yesterday, and then she’d lost track of time.
“We going in or what?” He jerked his head toward the warehouse.
Obviously, she’d struck a nerve. “Just waiting for you to lead the way.”
As she followed him to the entrance, she wondered if maybe it was the mention of weddings rather than religion that had hit a nerve.
Houser removed the tape that sealed the door and marked the warehouse as a crime scene. He unlocked the door and opened it, then gestured for her to go inside. All the windows, even the ones grimy from years of neglect, prevented the interior from being very dark. A good thing since the electrical supply would have been disconnected before demo started. The partially demoed wall on the west end also allowed extra light to filter in. Most of the missing brick had fallen from the second floor. Someone had added support on that side of the building to prevent the upper floor from falling down since the building was now a crime scene. Orange construction fencing had been installed to keep out the curious. Like that would actually work.
Unlike most newer warehouses, the floor was wood. The kind found in old gymnasiums. The floor was remarkably clean in spite of the current circumstances. Apparently, someone had kept the place swept out. She supposed the cleanup was necessary when the place went on the market. There were no shelves or leftover boxes or containers. The space was empty. This also made sense, she supposed, considering the sale. But why leave the purse and the cigarette butts behind?
“The purse was found in a janitor’s closet.” Houser headed toward the rear of the ground floor.
Finley followed. The closet was located beneath the staircase leading to the next floor. It was smaller than she had expected. Enough room for mops and brooms and the large sink that hung on the wall but not much more. A narrow door next to the sink stood open. The space beyond it was lined with shelves for storage.
“The purse was found on the top shelf.”
“May I?” Finley indicated the small closet.
“Sure.” He said nothing more. Just looked away, busying himself with surveying the space he had no doubt thoroughly inspected already.
Houser was apparently still miffed. Who knew the man was so sensitive about religion or wedding photos? Maybe he’d been engaged to the blonde and they’d broken up. Or maybe he’d left the church and didn’t like talking about it. In her experience working with Houser, this was the first time she had found him to be so sensitive.
She stepped inside the tight space. The top shelf was above her head. “Who found the purse?”
“One of the construction team members.”
“In here,” she asked, “on that top shelf?” Sounded sketchy to Finley.
“The guy said he always goes through the buildings about to be demoed. Claims you find all sorts of things. Money, jewelry. His boss backed him up.”
Okay. Finley could see that. “That explains how he found the purse, but what about the cigarette butts?”
