Free Last Known Victim by Erica Spindler

a gun’s serial number rendered it virtually untraceable.
    Patti looked at Spencer; she saw from his expression that he was thinking the same thing as she.
    Sammy had carried a Glock. It’d never been found. But they had retrieved a bullet from his body.
    â€œI want ballistics done on—”
    â€œI’ll call the lab.”
    â€œGood. Keep me posted.” She reentered the room and caught the suspect picking his nose. She sat and slid him the box of tissues. He had the decency to look embarrassed. “My colleague just informed me of something very interesting.”
    â€œLucky you.”
    â€œSorry I can’t say the same about you.” She leaned forward. “Tell me about the gun.”
    Under the tan he seemed to pale. “What gun?”
    â€œThe Glock. The one hidden under the driver’s seat of your van. The one you filed the serial numbers off of.”
    â€œIt’s not mine.”
    That brought a smile to her face. “No? Then whose is it?”
    â€œA friend.”
    â€œI need a name, Ben.”
    He pursed his lips, as if deciding whether or not to answer. She supposed he was doing a mental scan for someone to pin this on.
    â€œWhat if I told you that gun had been used in a murder?”
    She saw that she had gotten his attention by the way his expression altered. She could almost hear the “Oh, shit, I’m totally fucked!” running through his head.
    â€œI wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said.
    She laid her palms on the table. Her cell phone vibrated but she ignored it. “What if I told you it had been used to kill a cop?”
    Now he looked ill. “I want a lawyer.”
    â€œOf course you do. You need one, Mr. Franklin. I can assure you of that.”
    â€œI found the piece.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œIn City Park. It was half buried, folded up in a towel inside a black garbage bag. I tripped over it. I swear!”
    City Park. Where Sammy’s badge and the Jane Doe had been found. “Where in the park?”
    â€œThe lagoon. The one by the art museum, along City Park Avenue.”
    A ways from where the badge had turned up. But considering the size of the city and where Sammy had been killed, suspiciously close.
    â€œWhen was this?” she asked.
    â€œA while ago.”
    â€œHow long? Best guess.”
    â€œA year. Yeah, that’s right. It was starting to get hot.”
    â€œYou have the towel?”
    â€œPlease.” He shifted. “Besides, it was a mess.”
    â€œA mess. What does that mean?”
    â€œStained.”
    â€œBlood?”
    â€œDunno. I tossed the towel and kept the piece. I’ve never fired it.”
    â€œWhy’d you file the serials off?”
    â€œI didn’t!”
    â€œMaybe because you knew the gun belonged to a cop?”
    â€œNo! I found it that way—”
    â€œI guess you’re just an all-around bad guy, aren’t you, Ben? A rapist and now a cop killer.”
    â€œThis is bullshit! I’m not saying another word until I have a lawyer.”
    Patti wanted to push more but knew better. Besides, until the ballistics report came back, she was operating on little more than wishful thinking.
    â€œThen let’s get you some representation, Mr. Franklin.”
    Patti pushed away from the table, stood and crossed to the door. There she stopped and looked back at him.
    â€œYou never told me, where were you during Hurricane Katrina?”
    â€œStuck on a fucking roof for three days. Where were you? Looting stores?”
    â€œNo, Mr. Franklin. I was rescuing assholes like you from rooftops.”

13
    Saturday, April 21, 2007
2:50 p.m.
    S tacy sat slumped behind the wheel of her parked car, watching the house. Nice place. Very upscale. Garden District address.
    Location. Location. Location. Wasn’t that a Realtor’s mantra, after all? Seemed Mr. Gabrielle followed his own advice.
    She reviewed what she knew about