A Specter of Justice by Mark de Castrique

family of Miss Staton,” Brooks began. I paused the video.
    â€œI think they’re wearing TV makeup,” I said.
    â€œBrooks is a slick son of a bitch,” Hewitt said. “He’s staged an appearance that parades Cletus and Nelda Atwood out as the most responsible child-rearers since June and Ward Cleaver. I know for a fact Cletus has been cited for numerous DUIs. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to him and Clyde.”
    I clicked play. Brooks shook his head solemnly. “But as horrible as these events are, we will continue to pursue the Atwoods’ rights to their grandchildren.” He turned his gaze from the offscreen interviewer and peered straight into the camera. “Helen Wilson might have that hotshot Hewitt Donaldson but the Atwoods have Jesus.” The coverage cut back to the reporter at the bridge who wrapped up stating that the investigation was just beginning and that the TV news team would be working around the clock to bring us all the latest developments.
    Hewitt snorted. “I can smell a con man through the computer monitor.”
    â€œA con man, yes, but is he a murderer?”
    â€œHe is if his rhetoric drove someone to murder Molly. I wouldn’t defend the bastard if he offered me the keys to the Pearly Gates.”
    â€œWhat do you think about his voice?” I asked.
    â€œKinda of preachy, but that’s to be expected. The voice on your phone was deeper.”
    â€œToo deep for Brooks to mimic?”
    Hewitt moved to the corner of my desk. “Play it again, Sam.” A chuckle broke through his exasperation as he realized he’d uttered the oft-quoted line. “Actually Bogart said, ‘Play it, Sam.’”
    We listened again, this time for pitch. And I caught a sound between “your black harlot” and “be warned” that I’d not noticed before.
    â€œI can’t make a judgment since the voice is disguised,” I said, “but did you hear a higher-pitched background sound?”
    â€œAll the way through it?” Hewitt asked.
    â€œNo.”
    I told him the spot where to concentrate and played the message again. Hewitt bent and put his ear next to the blaring speaker.
    When the message ended, he said, “Glasses. I think it’s the tinkle of glasses and some distant conversation.”
    â€œI agree. Which means Newly’s more sophisticated audio equipment should be able to enhance the ambient sound.”
    Hewitt ran a palm over his gray hair and tugged at his ponytail as if trying to stimulate his brain. “What about Cletus? Do you know if Newland is looking at him for this phone call?”
    â€œNo. But frankly the call is a flea on the tail of the dog. His first priority is checking out everyone who knew Molly Staton would be at that bridge. It’s unlikely Cletus Atwood had that information.”
    Hewitt stared out the window to Beaucatcher Mountain in the distance. “Maybe. You said you and Newly believe Molly was killed elsewhere.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen how do we know her murderer didn’t force that information out of her? That could also explain why she wasn’t in the dress she was supposed to be wearing.”
    As an investigator, my modus operandi sought to narrow the suspect pool. Hewitt’s question came from the mind of a defense attorney; even though he had no client, his first line of action was to increase the number of possible perpetrators.
    â€œThat’s a good point,” I said. “I’ll raise it with Newly.”
    He turned to face me. “On the other hand, we have evidence of careful planning. Do we know when Molly was last seen alive?”
    â€œI’m sure Newly’s running that down.”
    â€œThe closer to her time of death, the less likely the Helen’s Bridge spectacle was orchestrated after her killer extracted the information. Too much to do and too many props to