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Jack looked from Nita to Finley. “Stow it, the both of you.”
Finley and Nita shared a laugh. Nita wandered back to her desk, and Finley resumed enjoying her coffee.
“Did you hear back from that lab?” Finley asked.
“I sure did. Just before you arrived. Johnson’s results are in.”
“Now,” she said, “we just have to make this official with Houser and we can get this part over with.” Not that any test was going to convince her that Ray Johnson was guiltless in the murder of Lucy Cagle. He may not have murdered her, but he was involved on some level. Had information or simply had covered for his younger brother. And he had threatened her father. Finley had a problem with all of the above.
“Let’s make the call,” Jack said.
Finley tugged her phone from her jacket pocket and tapped Houser’s name. She put the phone on speaker and placed it on Jack’s desk.
“You okay this morning?”
Jack frowned.
Finley flinched. “Hey, Jack is here with me, and I have you on speaker.”
Houser cleared his throat. “What’s up? You two have something for me? Like DNA results?”
“Let’s go over the rules first,” Jack said.
“We’ll meet at the lab,” Finley said. “You provide the test results you have from the cigarette butts to the technician, and he does the comparison. If our client, as he insists, is not a match, you have to clear him from your list—at least as far as the evidence you have now is concerned.”
“If he is a match,” Houser pressed.
“Then we may or may not have a problem,” Jack said. “But the man was willing, so I’m guessing he knows how this is going to go down.”
No question. Only a fool would agree to a test like this without being certain.
“Keep in mind,” Finley reminded them, “that there is a strong possibility the butts were planted by someone who wanted to frame our client or prove he was there when Lucy was—in a building he owned.”
“Got it,” Houser grumbled.
The guy wanted so badly to get the Johnson family. Finley hoped he could. But, sadly, she felt confident it would not be with this meager evidence.
“So, do we have a deal?” Jack asked.
“Deal,” Houser said. “Let’s do this. What’s the address?”
Finley gave him the location and ended the call. To Jack, she said, “I should get going.”
“Hold on there, kid. You’re not getting away that easy. Why would Houser want to know if you were okay this morning? Did something happen last night? Something you’re not sharing with me?”
Why fight the inevitable? “The guy following me. Black hoodie, dark glasses, black sedan. Last night he came all the way up to my car, banged on my window.”
“Where did this happen?” Outrage had already started its climb across Jack’s face.
“I stopped by the cemetery to visit Derrick’s grave on the way home last night. It got dark on me, and when I was leaving, he nosed up to my car and—”
“First of all,” her boss cut in, “you don’t go anywhere isolated like that alone. Particularly at night. You hear me? Not until we know who this guy is and who he’s working for.”
“Houser already read me this riot act. Matt did the same.”
“You better listen to one of us,” Jack warned in his sternest voice. “Think of your folks and Matt. You can’t do this to them.”
She nodded. “Got it.” Pushing to her feet, she put her hand over her heart. “You have my word.”
