Free Key Witness by Christy Barritt Page B

Murdered.”

SEVEN
    M urdered? That puzzle piece didn’t fit with the rest. Denton stood, a sense of foreboding haunting him. “Manner of death?”
    The senator’s gaze, suddenly weary, locked with Denton’s. “Bentley said there was blood. A lot of blood. And a knife on the floor. The police are there now, gathering evidence. Bentley has to stay until they finish questioning him.”
    “Did he give you any other details?” Denton’s mind raced through the possibilities, the connections, the links.
    “Bentley guessed, based on the way he found Nancy, that she’s been dead...for a couple days. That’s based purely on the way he found her, the state of her body. He’s not an expert, mind you.”
    “When was the last time you were up in D.C., sir?” He didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to cover every angle.
    The senator’s gaze snapped toward to Denton. “You’re not implying that I’m behind her death, are you?”
    “No, sir. But the media might. I just want to know what we’ll be up against.”
    Elle stepped forward, lines evident at the corner of her eyes. “You haven’t been up to D.C. in a week, right?”
    Her father’s gaze shifted ever so slightly. Most people would have missed it, but Denton didn’t. “When did I have time to go up there? Life has been in overdrive lately with the campaign.”
    The senator had been there. The questions were when and why? Denton would save them for later, when Elle wasn’t around. She’d already been through enough. Denton didn’t want to burden her further.
    Denton grasped Elle’s elbow. “It’s even more urgent now that we keep you guarded. Three people have died.”
    Her face lost all of its color. “They’re not connected.”
    “We don’t know that.”
    Her fingers went to her temples again and this time she rubbed her skin there. “That’s crazy. Why would a bank robber who’s angry with me kill someone who was photographed last week with my father? It wouldn’t make sense.”
    “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
    Elle shook her head. “You’re wrong. There’s no connection.”
    “Elle, everything is a possibility right now.”
    “Dad—” She stopped midthought and shook her head as if coming to terms with her ideas.
    He raised his hands. “I know nothing about this. I told you. I haven’t spoken with the woman in a week. I certainly know nothing about her death.”
    “How would someone know about that photo? It was taken before the bank robbery.” She sank into a chair. “This is getting creepier and more confusing by the moment. I don’t like it.”
    Denton sat beside her. “No one does. But we’re checking out every angle. The FBI will probably be called in, and they’ll put all their resources into figuring this out.”
    Elle said nothing, but he could tell she was still turning her thoughts over and over.
    She was right about one thing—the pieces weren’t fitting together, especially if that photo was taken last week before the bank robbery.
    He didn’t believe in coincidences. So just what were these madmen doing?
    * * *
    Elle lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had too much on her mind, too many unanswered questions and unresolved fears to sleep.
    Finally, she threw off the covers and pulled on a robe over her pajamas. Maybe a midnight snack would give her just enough sustenance to help her drift to sleep. If not, at least she’d break out from the prison of her thoughts for a brief moment.
    She opened her door and listened. Nothing. Good. Hopefully she could slip out without being heard.
    She tiptoed through the hall and down the stairs. In the kitchen, she poured a tall glass of milk and grabbed two leftover cookies. The massive windows in the kitchen—at one time a favorite aspect of the room—now felt intruding and dangerous. Instead of settling at the breakfast table, she tucked her cookies into a napkin and turned to go to the library.
    She gasped at the figure leaning casually in