Free Caged by Hilary Norman

helpful,’ Sam told her, ‘our lives would be a whole lot easier.’
    ‘I just hope it does help,’ Ally Moore said. ‘Those poor people.’
    ‘If it doesn’t give us anything directly,’ Martinez said, ‘it’ll help by elimination.’
    ‘I guess that’s something.’ She hesitated. ‘I was taking a look through the old catalogues – I mean, I didn’t really know what to be looking for, except for what I heard about the weird plastic thing – but there was an acrylic sculpture exhibit two years ago.’
    ‘Where did you hear that?’ Sam asked.
    ‘It’s there,’ she said, ‘in one of the catalogues.’
    ‘Detective Becket means where did you hear about the “weird plastic thing”?’ Martinez’s antennae were up too, because there had been no moment on Saturday when the scene in the backyard could have been visible to her or her boss.
    ‘I don’t remember,’ the young woman said. ‘I think it was one of the people milling around – Crime Scene people, I guess.’
    There was a moment’s silence.
    ‘If there’s anything you want to tell us, Ms Moore,’ Sam said, ‘now would be the best time.’
    ‘There’s nothing,’ she said.
    Sam watched her, saw something that might have been evasiveness or plain old-fashioned nervousness because she was being quizzed by detectives in a grim double homicide.
    ‘Something you saw, maybe?’ Martinez said.
    ‘You never know what’s going to make a difference.’ Sam was gentle.
    ‘I guess not,’ she said. ‘If there were anything.’
    ‘But there isn’t?’ Martinez said.
    ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Or I’d tell you.’
    ‘And you can’t remember exactly who mentioned the “weird plastic thing”,’ Sam said.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Maybe it’ll come back to you,’ Martinez said.
    Moore shook her head in a helpless gesture, her red hair bouncing a little. ‘I was just hoping I could help.’
    ‘You already have.’ Sam gestured at the paperwork on the table. ‘Though there is one more thing, if you don’t mind.’
    ‘Anything,’ she said.
    ‘A little blood was found in the house,’ Sam told her. ‘Not much, and almost certainly unconnected to the crime, but same as with the fingerprints, it would make sense to ask you to provide a voluntary sample for DNA purposes.’
    Now Moore looked downright edgy.
    ‘Just a simple swab,’ Sam said. ‘Not blood.’
    ‘Do you remember cutting yourself at any time in the gallery?’ Martinez asked her.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’
    ‘It could have been no more than a scratch,’ Sam said. ‘Something you hardly noticed at the time.’
    ‘That’s why it’s better to be sure,’ Martinez said.
    ‘Only if you give your consent,’ Sam said. ‘Nothing for you to be worried about.’
    ‘Sure,’ she said.
    ‘Thank you,’ Sam said.
    ‘Did you find my fingerprints in the house?’ she asked.
    ‘Sure did,’ Sam said.
    ‘So if you hadn’t had my prints to compare, you’d have been looking for some unknown person,’ Moore said.
    ‘You got it,’ Martinez said.
    Sam and Martinez returned to that moment later, after they’d finished trawling through the material Moore had set out for them, finding, at first sift, nothing of apparent use, the acrylic exhibit having been of animal sculptures that Sam thought looked like poor imitations of Steuben Glass.
    ‘So where’d she get that from,’ Martinez said, ‘about the plastic?’
    They were sitting in the Chevy out on Collins, tourists and locals flowing by, enjoying the sunny late morning, checking out places for lunch before some of them headed back to the beach.
    ‘Beats me,’ Sam said.
    Neither of them buying her story about a Crime Scene tech having blabbed in earshot.
    ‘Think she might have been listening at keyholes?’ Martinez said. ‘So to speak.’
    ‘Uh-uh,’ Sam said.
    ‘Me neither.’
    ‘Maybe the gardener called her first?’
    ‘Why wouldn’t she tell us that?’ Martinez said.
    No