Free Kill For Me by M. William Phelps Page B

understand that you knew [Sandee Rozzo]?” Ski said.
    “Yes,” Humphrey offered.
    Ski mentioned that they wanted to interview him about something extremely sensitive and important. As he watched Humphrey, Ski noticed how big—or juiced up—Humphrey appeared. He spoke softly, in a low monotone. But, man, was he jacked!
    “I’m working the case…where Sandee was killed and I’d like to talk to you about it all,” Ski said, putting it out there.
    “I was wondering why,” Humphrey said, “ever since you called. Huh! I thought it was that maybe something happened to my ex-wife or daughter, who live in the Pinellas Park area. There’s nothing wrong with them, right?”
    Ski noticed how “robotic” Humphrey was acting, like he had practiced the conversation. Rehearsed it. Been over it in his head.
    “No, no,” Ski said reassuringly. “This involves a homicide investigation we’re conducting, Mr. Humphrey. Not your family.”
    “Homicide?” Humphrey asked with raised eyebrows, quite a forced reaction.
    Ski asked Humphrey in general terms about his life.
    “I just got married, like three days ago. My wife’s name is Ashley.”
    Ski went to ask Humphrey another question, but the big man cut him off with raised hands. Things were getting too personal, obviously. Humphrey wanted no part of the conversation.
    “Listen, because this doesn’t involve my ex-wife, wife, or daughter,” he said, “I—I already spoke to my attorney, Vanessa Nye, last night after you called. She advised me, because of the ongoing case with Sandee Rozzo, not to make any statements unless I make them in front of her. Sorry.”
    Okay…, Ski thought. Red flag number one.
    Sandee’s death was nothing more than a page-two mention in all the newspapers. But there was no doubt that Humphrey knew why they were there.
    Ski and Lynch looked at each other. Shook their heads.
    “I do want to cooperate one hundred percent,” Humphrey added. He took out a piece of paper and wrote down Nye’s phone number. Handed it to Ski. “Call her. Set up an appointment, a time, so we can get together. Be glad to help you out, as long as she’s there.”
    Yeah, right, Ski thought as he took the paper; then he and Lynch left.
    Driving away, Ski and Lynch had the same feeling.
    “Now he’s definitely more of a suspect that we need to dig more into,” Ski recalled of that moment when they walked out of the building and started talking.
    “He’s involved, Mike, huh?” Ski asked.
    Lynch nodded.
    “It doesn’t take a great amount of detective work to figure that out,” Ski added.
    Yet, the PPPD had no idea, really, of what they were about to uncover as they began to take a serious look at Mr. Timothy Humphrey—nor did they realize, when looking back, where the case would head and how it would eventually turn into one of the most remarkable cat-and-mouse chases many of the detectives had ever seen.

15
    Detective Paul Andrews heard from forensics that technicians had found an additional shell casing inside Sandee Rozzo’s BMW and a bullet fragment lodged in the passenger-side door of the interior of the vehicle.
    These were important discoveries. If a shell casing had made its way into the car, there was a good chance that their shooter had his hand inside the vehicle as he fired. If that was the case, Sandee’s killer wanted to make damn sure she wound up dead. It lent credence to the most popular theory of payback as motive.
    Tracey Humphrey.
    Paul took a call that morning from the former prosecutor who had been building the sexual assault case against Humphrey. The prosecutor couldn’t believe Sandee had been murdered. It had to be retaliation for her testimony in the sexual assault trial coming up, the prosecutor suggested. There could be no other explanation for someone to want Sandee dead. She had no enemies besides Humphrey.
    Paul and Ski drove to the prosecutor’s office and spoke to the new prosecutor in charge of Sandee’s sexual assault