Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

delay of several days.
    “Works for me.” Sheila glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the weeping woman. “Have you talked to the wife? Widow,” she corrected herself. “Mrs. Kirk.”
    “You want to handle that?” Bartlett was diffident, and Sheila knew why. Next-of-kin conversations were always tough. He didn’t want her to think he was dumping something unpleasant on her plate. “The county photographer will finish up pretty quick and the forensic tech is ready to get started. I’d like to keep an eye on the scene. And I haven’t walked the house yet. There might be a note somewhere.” He gave her a testing look. “Of course, if you’d rather take over inside, I’ll do the interview.”
    “I’ll have a look when you’re finished.” Sheila took out her notebook, thinking ahead. The scene was important, but so was the wife. The Department of Justice had recently reported that, in spousal murders, women represented 41 percent of the killers. If this turned into a homicide, Dana Kirk was automatically a suspect. And if she had killed her husband, her defense—when the case came to trial—might be spousal abuse. That was what made this first interview so critical. It would tell them something about both the victim and the woman he left behind, who could benefit from his death. The
how
and
when
were easy—forensics would tell them that.
Why
was another matter. And
who
, if this turned out to be homicide.
    “Anything special you want me to check out with Mrs. Kirk?” she asked.
    “Find out what guns her husband owned.” Bartlett glanced at his watch, frowning. “You know who this guy is, right, Chief?” She saw his jaw go red. “Uh, Sheila,” he said, in a lower voice.
    She nodded. “The owner of the computer shop that George Timms broke into.”
    “Yeah.” He shifted his weight. “I’m wondering about Timms’ arrest. He was supposed to be booked over an hour ago, and both of us should have been notified. I’d better see what—” He reached for the radio clipped to his belt.
    She put out a hand. “Don’t bother, Jack. Timms is a no-show. Charlie Lipman called my cell phone a few minutes ago, looking for him.” She grinned wryly. “You know Lipman. He was hoping we had his client so he could accuse us of holding him incommunicado.”
    “I’ll bet,” Bartlett muttered. “I can hear him now.” He looked back at the house again. “Hey, maybe we should—”
    “I called in the APB right after I got off the phone with Lipman,” she said, reading his intention. “I saw your interim report on the break-in. After his surrender, Timms is supposed to come clean about that blackmail business—his so-called motivation for the burglary. Did you get any sense from Lipman of what that’s about?”
    “Nope. In fact, I got the idea that Lipman himself didn’t have the full story, although you never know with that guy.”
    “Did you uncover any sign of a personal connection between Timms and Kirk?” Sheila asked. “Anything—” She hesitated. “Anything suggesting that maybe Kirk was helping himself to a little blackmail on the side?”
Was
, she thought. Past tense. “Might not be too hard, if he had Timms’ computer in the shop for repair or cleanup and happened to notice something incriminating on it.”
Happened to notice, or went looking on purpose
. Maybe it was part of an ongoing racket, and Timms wasn’t the only victim.
    Bartlett shook his head. “I didn’t pick up any personal connection. It looked like Timms got out of Kirk’s shop without finding what he wasafter. Kirk himself wasn’t involved, so far as I knew, anyway. But this—” He jerked his head toward the house. “This is something else. And I don’t like coincidences.”
    “Here’s another thing,” Sheila said. “I just ran into China Bayles, out there on the drive. She’s a friend of the woman who stumbled onto the body. She told me that Kirk had emailed her about a stalker—his word. China is a former criminal attorney and one of Kirk’s computer clients. He was looking for some inside advice on how to deal with the situation, maybe thinking he needed a lawyer.”
    “A stalker, huh?” Bartlett’s head jerked up, his eyes bright, alert. “Interesting. Wonder what that means, exactly. Male, female?”
    “Kirk didn’t give her any details. I’ll get her to forward his email. And it’s likely on his computer.”
    “Yeah.” Bartlett pursed his lips. “I wonder if the widow