Read Online Dead on the Dance Floor by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page B

on which she lay. Other than the sewn Y incision that marred her chest, there was no sign of any violence. She hadn’t even bruised herself when she’d gone down.
    â€œI couldn’t find anything but the prescription pills and alcohol. She’d barely eaten, which surely added to the pressure on her heart. That’s what killed her—the heart’s reaction to drugs and alcohol.”
    â€œLike Nell.”
    Frowning, Duarte stared at him. “Not exactly. No alcohol in Nell. Why, what do you think you’re seeing?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œIs that why you’re on this?”
    â€œMaybe. I found out that Nell Durken had been an amateur dancer and took lessons at the same studio where Lara Trudeau sometimes practiced and coached.”
    â€œBut the police arrested Nell’s husband. And his fingerprints were all over the pill bottle. You were the one who followed the guy, right, and gave the police your records on the investigation?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œArt Durken has been in jail, pending trial, for over a week. He sure as hell wasn’t at that competition.”
    â€œYeah, I know.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI don’t know. There’s just…something. That’s all.”
    â€œDurken still denying that he murdered his wife?”
    â€œYes.” Quinn met Anthony Duarte’s eyes. “Admits he was a womanizing bastard, but swears he didn’t kill her.”
    â€œYou think a dancer is the killer?” Duarte shook his head. “Quinn, the circumstances were odd enough for the police to investigate, but you’ve got to think about the facts again. Lara Trudeau didn’t argue with anyone at that competition, and she walked out on the floor to dance without the least sign of distress. When she fell, she did so in front of a huge audience. The pills she took were prescription, the vial had no prints, and the prescription was written by a physician she’d been seeing for over ten years—and to the best of my knowledge, he wasn’t a ballroom dancer.”
    â€œYeah, I know. I read the report. I’m going to pay a visit to Dr. Williams, though I know he was already interviewed and cleared of any wrongdoing.”
    Duarte grimaced. “If the cops blamed a physician every time a patient abused a prescription, the jails would be spilling over worse than they are now. This is a tough one, Quinn. Strange, and tough. I just don’t see where you can go. There’s simply no forensic evidence to lead you in any direction. If it is a crime, it’s just about the perfect one.”
    â€œNo crime is perfect.”
    â€œWe both know a lot of them go unpunished.”
    â€œYeah. And this time, I agree, there’s nothing solid to go on. Unless I can find someone who knows something—and that person has to be out there.”
    â€œWish I could be more helpful,” Duarte said.
    Quinn nodded. “Nell Durken hadn’t taken a lesson in the sixth months before she died. With Nell…there was nothing else, either, right? No…grass, speed…anything like that?”
    â€œNo, sorry. There were no illegal substances in either woman. Just massive overdoses of prescription medications and, in the Trudeau case, alcohol.”
    â€œWell, thanks,” Quinn said. “Sorry to take up your time.”
    Duarte offered him a rueful smile. “You never take up my time. I really believe in the things you read and see on television. The dead can’t speak anymore. We have to do their talking for them, but sometimes we’re not as good at interpreting as we want to be. If I’ve missed something, or if I haven’t thought to look for something, hell, I want to know.”
    â€œYeah. Thanks.”
    â€œYou going back to the Keys tonight?” Duarte asked.
    â€œNo. I have my boat up at the marina by Nick’s, doing some work. I’m still there.”
    â€œMaybe