footprint in his cottage, only from a different angle. Then he realized that the crisscross-patterned sole print was on a marble floor and in a layer of what might have been finely granulated sand. The metal tracks of a sliding door ran across the top of the photo. This one hadn’t been taken in his cottage. It was only a partial, and faint, but it did look similar to the footprint found at the cottage, the print probably left by Bette’s killer.
He looked up at Deni. “Where was this taken?”
The startled expression on his face must have been just what she was hoping for. She grinned and said, “Long ago and far away. At another homicide scene.”
“Give me the facts and save the hype, will you?”
“Sorry, but you’ll admit this is pretty dramatic.” She was still smiling, aiming the bright ferocity in her dark eyes at him. “Same shoe, same killer.”
“Same kind of shoe,” Coop said. “Maybe. Neither footprint is clear.”
“Clear enough,” Deni persisted.
Coop knew she was right. Or maybe he wanted to believe that. It was at least something that had to be considered. “Where was the second photo taken?”
“Two years ago in Sarasota, Florida, at the scene of Marlee Clark’s murder.”
“The tennis star?”
“The same.”
“Then the Sarasota police are aware of the footprint.”
“They saw it, all right. But they didn’t think it was important. And it didn’t fit their theory of the crime, or the person they arrested and who was later convicted.”
It was coming back to him now. The case had been widely covered in tabloid newspapers and the more sensational TV news shows, which had played up the sex and scandal. Deni Green was probably planning to give the Clark murder more of the same treatment in her book. What did she have in mind for Bette? Coop’s stomach tightened. He asked, “Wasn’t Marlee Clark killed by a woman?”
Deni Green nodded, keeping her chin down and grinning up at Coop in a way that made her look especially malicious. “Clark supposedly was killed by Sue Coppolino, her lesbian lover. They arrested her even though her shoe soles didn’t match the footprint. They had plenty of other evidence against her, the way she’d been sneaking on and off the property, conducting a secret affair with Marlee Clark. The prosecution said the murder was the result of a lovers’ quarrel. Coppolino was convicted.”
“Then most likely she did the deed.”
“Typical cop thinking,” Deni snapped, irritated. “Tell you one thing—she didn’t kill your daughter. She’s in the penitentiary in Florida. Your daughter and Marlee Clark were killed by this guy, the one who left these footprints.” She tapped the two photographs with the back of a knuckle, but Coop didn’t look down at them. He was draining his coffee, thinking he might be leaving soon. He was about through with Deni Green.
“You’re building a lot on this similarity. What possible connection could there be between my daughter and Marlee Clark?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me.”
“There’s none that I know of,” Coop said. “Bette wasn’t even a tennis fan.”
“I still think they were killed by the same person.”
“On the basis of a similar footprint?”
“And the fact that in each case there was powder residue that was most likely from latex gloves.”
“Latex gloves are worn for everything from cleaning the sink to brain surgery, by millions of people. And whatever brand shoe made those prints, there were probably thousands of them sold.”
“They look to be pretty much the same size,” Deni said.
“The approximate size millions of other men wear. Including me.”
“There’s something else,” Deni said.
Coop was sliding out of the booth, but her tone stopped him. He watched her open a briefcase and take out an envelope from which she drew an eight-by-ten photo. Her movements were slow, grudging almost. He realized she hadn’t intended to show him this. Not yet. Coop’s
He looked up at Deni. “Where was this taken?”
The startled expression on his face must have been just what she was hoping for. She grinned and said, “Long ago and far away. At another homicide scene.”
“Give me the facts and save the hype, will you?”
“Sorry, but you’ll admit this is pretty dramatic.” She was still smiling, aiming the bright ferocity in her dark eyes at him. “Same shoe, same killer.”
“Same kind of shoe,” Coop said. “Maybe. Neither footprint is clear.”
“Clear enough,” Deni persisted.
Coop knew she was right. Or maybe he wanted to believe that. It was at least something that had to be considered. “Where was the second photo taken?”
“Two years ago in Sarasota, Florida, at the scene of Marlee Clark’s murder.”
“The tennis star?”
“The same.”
“Then the Sarasota police are aware of the footprint.”
“They saw it, all right. But they didn’t think it was important. And it didn’t fit their theory of the crime, or the person they arrested and who was later convicted.”
It was coming back to him now. The case had been widely covered in tabloid newspapers and the more sensational TV news shows, which had played up the sex and scandal. Deni Green was probably planning to give the Clark murder more of the same treatment in her book. What did she have in mind for Bette? Coop’s stomach tightened. He asked, “Wasn’t Marlee Clark killed by a woman?”
Deni Green nodded, keeping her chin down and grinning up at Coop in a way that made her look especially malicious. “Clark supposedly was killed by Sue Coppolino, her lesbian lover. They arrested her even though her shoe soles didn’t match the footprint. They had plenty of other evidence against her, the way she’d been sneaking on and off the property, conducting a secret affair with Marlee Clark. The prosecution said the murder was the result of a lovers’ quarrel. Coppolino was convicted.”
“Then most likely she did the deed.”
“Typical cop thinking,” Deni snapped, irritated. “Tell you one thing—she didn’t kill your daughter. She’s in the penitentiary in Florida. Your daughter and Marlee Clark were killed by this guy, the one who left these footprints.” She tapped the two photographs with the back of a knuckle, but Coop didn’t look down at them. He was draining his coffee, thinking he might be leaving soon. He was about through with Deni Green.
“You’re building a lot on this similarity. What possible connection could there be between my daughter and Marlee Clark?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me.”
“There’s none that I know of,” Coop said. “Bette wasn’t even a tennis fan.”
“I still think they were killed by the same person.”
“On the basis of a similar footprint?”
“And the fact that in each case there was powder residue that was most likely from latex gloves.”
“Latex gloves are worn for everything from cleaning the sink to brain surgery, by millions of people. And whatever brand shoe made those prints, there were probably thousands of them sold.”
“They look to be pretty much the same size,” Deni said.
“The approximate size millions of other men wear. Including me.”
“There’s something else,” Deni said.
Coop was sliding out of the booth, but her tone stopped him. He watched her open a briefcase and take out an envelope from which she drew an eight-by-ten photo. Her movements were slow, grudging almost. He realized she hadn’t intended to show him this. Not yet. Coop’s
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