Free Mercy by David L Lindsey

and wiped her face so often with damp tissues that her makeup was disappearing, and a light spattering of freckles was now visible trailing across the top of her nose, disclosing an air of youthfulness that seemed incompatible with the mature clothes she had chosen to wear. She started tugging anxiously at the wad of tissues, her hazel eyes riveted to Palma’s. “Do you have family or friends who can come get you, maybe stay with you?”
    “I have friends…at the office. I’ve already called them.” Palma was a little surprised at her tone, which had a sharp edge to it.
    “Ms. Samenov was a friend of yours?”
    “Yes.”
    “How long have you known her?”
    “A long time.” Her voice cracked, but she got control of it. “Four years, maybe three…or four. We worked at Computron together.”
    “Was she married?”
    “Divorced.”
    “How long?”
    “Uh…maybe…I don’t know…five, six years.”
    “Does her ex-husband live in the city?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you know his name?”
    It took her a second. “Dennis…Ackley.”
    “Did she see him very often?”
    She hunched her shoulders. “It wasn’t that kind of a divorce. It wasn’t friendly.”
    “Do you know where he works, or where he lives?”
    “He works…I think…at a paint store.”
    “Do you know the name?”
    She shook her head. “I only remember her saying that’s what he was doing now.”
    “Do you happen to know if he was ever in the military?”
    Kittrie closed her eyes and shook her head again.
    “What about relatives? The coroner’s office has to notify someone.”
    “There’s nobody in the city. I wouldn’t bother with Ackley. She’s from South Carolina. She was away from home.” Kittrie’s eyes were still closed, her hands holding the tissue without fidgeting.
    This last remark seemed an odd choice of words in light of the fact that Samenov was obviously in her mid-thirties, had been married a number of years, divorced a number of years, and certainly had lived in Houston long enough for it to be regarded as her home. The phrase would have seemed more appropriate in reference to a college student.
    “But…well…” Kittrie added, “I’d like to tell them myself.” She cleared her throat.
    “Do you know them?”
    “I’ve met them before. They’d remember me.” Her eyes were still closed.
    “I’m sure the coroner’s office would appreciate that. You should check with them.” Palma paused, signaling a change of tone in her questioning. “What about boyfriends? Did she have anyone special?”
    “No.” Kittrie opened her eyes. She seemed sure of it.
    “Had there been anyone special, in the recent past?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “What kind of men did she date in the last year or so?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. After a while they all seem the same…just guys.” Spoken like a woman twice her age. Kittrie couldn’t have been more than twenty-three.
    “Can you give me the names of some of the men she’d been dating so we can check with them as to when they last saw her?” Palma made it routine.
    “I know she dated a guy at Computron, Wayne Canfield. He was in marketing. There was another guy, Gil—I think it was—Reynolds, I met him at her place a few times. I don’t know anything about him.”
    She stopped.
    “Is that it?” Palma asked.
    Kittrie sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Uh, let’s see. There was a Dirk she knew from a night class; she took an accounting course at the University of Houston.”
    “When was this?”
    “Oh, last year, spring semester. For a while she dated a bank vice president…” she frowned. “…the bank…I don’t know the bank, but I think his last name was Bris…Bristol. Yeah, Bristol.” She looked at Palma, irritated. “I don’t know. That’s all I can remember.”
    “She live alone?”
    Kittrie nodded, her hands working the wadded tissues once again.
    “I understand that on Thursday evening, the last time you saw her, a group of people