Free Lethal Confessions by V. K. Sykes

to life down here. She misses Montana. Misses her family bad.”
    “So, your wife thought you were letting her down,” Poushinsky said. “That must have sucked.”
    Noble looked like he’d swallowed battery acid. “God, yeah. I was injured and killing myself to get back in shape, then I’d have to come home and get bitched out by the person who’s supposed to be my biggest supporter. Well, I didn’t have to stick around to take that crap, so I’d just get out—go have some beers with the guys.” He blinked, still fighting back tears. “But that just fucked things up more.”
    “When did the game end last night?” Amy asked, changing tack.
    He pursed his lips. “About nine-thirty, I guess, give or take ten minutes.”
    “What did you do after the game?”
    “Took a shower and got dressed. Then I went to a club with a few of the guys. Typical night on the road.”
    “Which club?”
    “The Fast Lane.”
    “And you stayed there until…?”
    “Around one, I think. Then I headed back to the hotel.”
    “Were you inside the hotel all night, right up until you called home this morning?”
    Noble jerked upright in his chair and gave her a resentful scowl. “There you go again, thinking I just whipped home and killed Carrie myself. How did I get home, then? Why don’t you check the rental car companies?”
    “We will, Mr. Noble,” Amy said. “Let me tell you one more time that we’re not drawing any conclusions at this stage. None. But you’ve admitted your marriage was in difficulty, and you’d had a fight with your wife a few hours before she was murdered. Under those circumstances, we need to know your exact whereabouts between your phone call with her yesterday afternoon and the discovery of her body this morning. Have I made that clear?”
    Noble gave his head an angry shake. “Fine. But, hell, I loved her, Detective. She drove me crazy, but I could never hurt her.”
    “Please answer my question for the record,” Amy said. “Did you remain in the hotel in Viera through the entire night?”
    He slumped, looking defeated. “Yeah. I was a little drunk, and I fell asleep with my clothes still on. When I woke up, I called home right away.”
    They’d check with the hotel’s night staff and the car rental agencies, but Amy had a feeling Noble was telling the truth. “All right. Do you know Kevin Kasinski?” she asked. “He plays for the Lakeland Flying Tigers.”
    Noble’s head jerked back up and his brow furrowed. “Kasinski? Yeah. Well, I don’t really know him, but I know who he is. He’s their starting second baseman. We’ve played them a few times. Why?”
    Before either she or Poushinsky could say anything, Noble sucked in a deep breath as the realization hit him. “My God, Kasinski’s wife was murdered last month. Are you telling me this is the same guy? What the fuck is going on?”
    Amy knew she had to find the answer to that very question, and fast.

 
    10
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    Thursday, July 29
    1:55 p.m.
     
    When Amy and Poushinsky returned to Sea Chase Drive, the look of the curving street had changed dramatically. The Crime Scene Unit van, along with one of their SUV’s and two PBSO patrol cruisers, had parked in front of the Nobles’ town home. Yellow tape cut down the middle of the concrete driveway and looped around the front of their yard to separate the house from the neighbors on both sides. A few women stood in the middle of the street, talking and gesturing toward the house.
    Matt Noble had been pissed when they told him he couldn’t go home until the Crime Scene Unit had completed its work, but said he’d go to a friend’s and start making calls to family. The web of tragedy would soon extend widely as the awful news spread from family member to family member, friend to friend. How many lives would be touched—devastated—by this one perverse act of violence? Amy’s insides churned as the memories of her own family’s tragedy roared back to the surface, the pain of