Free On a Killer's Trail by Susan Page Davis Page B

packages. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
    “That’s okay,” Neil said. “At least we’ve been thorough. Let’s get some lunch.”
    They stopped at a fast food place for burgers. Kate left him to return to the newspaper office afterward, and Neil went back to the station.
    Tony Carlisle was running the ballistics on the Hepburn case. “Neil, can you come look at this?” There was an edge to Tony’s voice.
    Neil went over and stood behind him. “Did you match it to a gun?”
    “No, but it brought up the images from the bullet you ran yesterday. Look.” He toggled between them. “Riley. Hepburn. Riley. Hepburn.”
    “Yikes.” They had the same configuration. The same groove on one side. There wasn’t any doubt. It was a definite match.
    Neil called Connor’s cell phone.
    “The bullets match but we still don’t have a weapon,” he told Connor.
    “No, but we’ll get one. Tell Tony I said good work. At least now we know these two murders were committed with the same gun.”
    “Right,” Neil said. “How’s Adri doing?”
    “Okay. Slow progress.”
    Neil didn’t think he wanted any more details. He hung up and checked on what the other detectives had learned.
    “Do you have a time of death on Hepburn?” he asked Jimmy Cook.
    “Between five and nine p.m. Sunday night.”
    “And Mrs. Riley died between eight and nine a.m. Saturday.” Neil sat down in his chair and leaned back, thinking about that.
    “Tony mentioned there might be a witness,” Jimmy said.
    Tony shook his head. “Some girl saw a guy walk down the street Sunday evening. Nothing, really. She couldn’t describe him, and there was no reason to think it was peculiar. It was about five-thirty, and I suppose it could be significant.”
    Neil nodded. “Harry and Lance are still canvassing the neighborhood, trying to find someone else who saw him.”
    “Was this Hepburn rich?” Jimmy asked.
    “No. Definitely middle-class. His house was appraised at a hundred and thirty thousand, but I think most of that was for the location. It’s not in very good shape. His furniture was run-down, utilitarian stuff. I saw his checkbook. Three-hundred-dollar balance, checks this month for phone and lights, insurance, one credit card. Not a big spender, for sure.”
    “The Rileys were pretty well off,” Tony said.
    Jimmy threw Neil a sympathetic look. “Too bad you had to unwrap all the packages.”
    Tony chuckled. “Yeah, Kate Richards is pretty, but I don’t think she’s so brilliant. Come on, a killer wrapping up a gun in a Christmas present?”
    Neil shrugged. “It’s okay. We should have checked them anyway. And we know for sure now the gun didn’t stay in Riley’s house.” He had a sudden thought that made him want to scream. “Oh, no.”
    “What?” Jimmy asked.
    “What if the shooter stole one of the packages?”
    Tony and Jimmy stared at him for a moment.
    “No,” Tony said. “Kate sent you off on one wild-goose chase. We’re not going down another road to nowhere.”
    “Thank you,” Neil said.
    “You’re welcome.”
    “I suppose we could ask Mr. Riley if any are missing, just in case.”
    Neil reviewed Mrs. Riley’s medical records and obituary. He opened his notebook and went over the information they’d taken from the family.
    Everyone loved Edna Riley. She attended garden club and volunteered for medical causes and fund-raisers for the Animal Protection Society. She collected money for breast cancer research and walked dogs for the shelter. She’d worked for a few years as a typist in the dean’s office at the college where her husband had taught, but hadn’t worked outside the home in years. Neil felt he was spinning his wheels. She was just a sweet old grandma, and Mr. Hepburn was an old man who liked cats. So who would kill them?
     
    At eight that evening, Neil laid down his latest Police magazine to answer his ringing cell phone.
    “Hey, Neil, it’s Connor. It’s a