Read Online Surface Tension by Christine Kling - Free Book Online Page A

Detective.”
    Collazo stood in the center of my living room looking around at the mess with a slack, almost bored expression on his face.
    “Miss Sullivan, we will take your report, and we will investigate, and we will draw our own conclusions.”
    I walked over to the laptop computer picked it up, and held it in front of his face.
    “Does this make any sense to you? Or the TV there, or any of the other stuff in here that would be so easy to sell?”  
    He turned his back to me and walked over to the easel and my torn painting.“This is your work.”
    “Well, it was. It’s garbage now.”
    “Such a shame.”
    Neal had always admired and encouraged my painting. He was forever telling me to take a few paintings to this gallery owner friend of his over on Las Olas. “Yeah. I am surprised he would do that.”
    “He . . . you mean Garrett.”
    “Of course. I mean, what about the money? What other possible answer could there be?”
    “You claim he tossed the place just to cover the fact that he was stealing your money.”
    “Obviously. That’s the only thing missing.”
    “Garrett was a reasonably intelligent man.”
    “In a street-smart kind of way, yes.”
    “Yet you are saying that he wanted you to believe a stranger trashed and robbed your cottage here, but he did not take these valuables.”
    “Maybe I surprised him and he wasn’t able to take everything he wanted to take. Maybe he was still in here when I pulled into the driveway, and he had to run when he heard my Jeep.” Or just maybe, I thought, he wanted to make it look like a burglary, and then that anger of his took over again.
    “Perhaps you surprised some other burglar or kids, vandals, or—”
    “But it had to be somebody who knew where that money was, don’t you think?”
    He didn’t speak at first, and I was determined to wait, to make him answer that. When he did finally speak, he did so without turning around. His voice was so soft, I could barely make out the words. “Perhaps you overestimate the cleverness of your hiding place, Miss Sullivan. Many of the criminals in this town have worked in the marine industry at some point. Or yes, perhaps it was someone who knew where that money was.” He turned slowly and looked at me with those black eyes. “You knew where the money was.”
    “Oh, come on, you don’t think I would do this to my own place?”
    “I consider all possibilities.”
    “Seems to me like you’ve only been considering one possibility ever since this whole mess started, Detective.”
    “Garrett is gone, Miss Sullivan. The blood on the boat, the distance to shore ... how could he have made it?”
    “Detective, Neal used to be a Navy Seal. He was probably wearing scuba gear. If you don’t think he could have swum that distance underwater, you don’t know the Seals.”
    “I see no evidence to convince me the man is still alive, and”—he waved his arm to indicate my cottage—“a little event like this is not going to change my mind on that count.”
    “Little event? What are you talking about? Neal was in here tonight, I’d bet my life on it.”
    “I see.” He slipped his gold pen from his pocket and began to write in those tiny letters on the pages of his notepad.
    I pointed at the officer taking photos of the mess. “Have them check for fingerprints. I know you’ll find Neal’s prints in here.”
    He looked up at me and squinted his eyes. “Yes, you’re quite correct there, I’m sure. You said earlier that Garrett lived with you. This place will still be covered with his prints.” He picked up my torn canvas of the Stranahan House painting. “It would take a very desperate person to destroy things just to try to throw suspicion off himself.” He walked up very close to me and said, almost into my ear, “Or herself.”
    “Jesus.” I stepped back from him, putting distance between us to give me some measure of comfort. “Wait a minute. Hold on. Somebody breaks into my home, and when I call you