High Noon

him.
    “The cops.” His horse tossed its head at the impatience in Sanchez’s voice, and automatically he stroked a hand over its cheek to soothe. “The cops saved her life. Men like that? Men who’d kill a mother trying to protect her baby? What’s to stop them from doing the same to a little girl? Cops saved Marissa. It’s why I’m a cop.”
    No possible way this is the guy, Phoebe thought, and when she exchanged a look with Liz, saw they were in agreement. “I was the hostage negotiator in the crisis situation with your niece.”
    “You?” Some of his color drained, then poured back again, deeper, darker. “I didn’t know there was a negotiation.” His voice had thickened.
    “You didn’t ask for details?”
    “I…when I got here…everyone was in shock, in mourning. It was like a blur. Then I had to go back, finish my tour. When I was discharged and came home, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to look back at that. I wanted—I wanted—”
    “To be one of the ones who saved lives, who helped people in trouble.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he managed after a moment, and nodded to Liz. “You asked where I was last night. I stayed the night at my girlfriend’s apartment. Here.” He took out his pad, his pencil. “Here’s her name, her number, the address. Is there anything else you need to know?”
    “This is fine. Thank you, Officer Sanchez.”
    When she took the paper, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. “Marissa’s ten now. She’s ten years old now. Here’s her picture.”
    He flipped it open, and Phoebe looked down at a dark-haired, dark-eyed little beauty. “She’s gorgeous.”
    “She looks like her mother.” He put the wallet away, held out a hand. “Thank you, from my sister.”
     
    “Life’s a strange ride, isn’t it?” Liz commented as they walked the wide path back to Phoebe’s car. “You changed the direction of his life. Never met him, never spoke to him before today, but he’s doing what he’s doing, maybe is what he is, at least partially, because of what you did one day five years ago.”
    “Maybe. It’s just as true that due to someone’s perception of what I did some other day, two people are dead.”
    Liz followed the direction of Phoebe’s gaze toward the house on Jones. “Do you want to go in, check on them?”
    “No. Let’s go talk to the husband, just to tie this one up. Then we’ll try Brentine.”
    Delray was a quiet, gentle-eyed man. After five minutes, Phoebe decided he’d have a hard time squashing a spider much less killing a man in cold blood.
    She had a much different impression of Joshua Brentine.
    He kept them waiting twenty minutes in the reception area of his river-view offices. Clouds the color of angry bruises roiled in from the northeast, Phoebe noted. A wicked storm was just waiting to happen.
    They were ushered in by Brentine’s glossy, narrow-hipped assistant to an office with a wide view of the river that had been furnished more as an elegant parlor than a place of big business.
    The mix of elegance and power reflected the man, to Phoebe’s mind, who looked as if he’d been born wearing a perfectly cut suit. The burnished hair waved back from a high, aristocratic forehead; the hawk-sharp brown eyes didn’t mirror the smile his mouth offered.
    “Ladies. I apologize for keeping you waiting.” He rose from behind an antique desk, gestured to a seating area with curved settee and wing-backed chairs. “My schedule is well packed today.”
    “We appreciate the time, Mr. Brentine. I’m Lieutenant Mac Namara, this is Detective Alberta.”
    “Please, sit. I’m forced to admit I have no idea why I’ve warranted a visit from two of our city’s most attractive public servants.”
    “The bank robbery which resulted in the tragic death of your wife has come up in a current investigation.”
    “Is that so?” Settling back in his chair, he looked politely puzzled. “How so?”
    “I’m not able to divulge the details of an ongoing investigation. According to the information in the file, you weren’t in Savannah at the time of your wife’s death.”
    “That’s correct. I was away on business. In New York.”
    Phoebe glanced around the office. “You must travel extensively, given the nature of your business.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “And the bank where your wife was killed. Am I correct in saying that wasn’t the bank you used, at that time, for your professional or personal businesses?”
    “No, it