A Guilty Mind Read Free

“I think she’s pretty torn up. Blames herself for letting him work late.”
    Cancini arched one dark eyebrow. “Why would that be her fault?”
    Smitty shrugged his thin shoulders. “She’s sort of the mother-­hen type, I think. The lady says the doc only worked late when his wife was out of town. Otherwise, he left at six like clockwork. Last night he worked late.”
    Each of the men let that sink in. The time of death would be pinned down by the medical examiner, but if the secretary was telling the truth, the doctor was murdered sometime between six the previous night and eight-­thirty that morning.
    â€œHas anyone located the wife yet?”
    â€œThe secretary says the wife was speaking at some convention in Chicago. I tracked down her hotel room, but no one answered,” Smitty said. “I’ve got a contact up there who’s gonna try and find her at the convention and have her give me a call. Then we’ll get her back here as soon as possible.”
    â€œWhen did the wife leave for Chicago?”
    â€œYesterday morning.”
    â€œOkay.” He nodded, facing Smitty. “Let’s confirm the time she departed and find out if she was seen by someone, anyone, last night.”
    White-­blond hair fell over the slender detective’s face. He seemed about to say something, thought better of it, and grunted in agreement. “Anything else?”
    Cancini considered the dead man sprawled on the floor. He guessed late forties or early fifties. Plenty of time to make enemies. “Yeah, go ahead and start a check on the guy’s family. Find out if there were any kids, ex-­wives, bitter siblings. Also, find out what kind of relationship the doctor and his wife had.”
    â€œYou suspect the wife, boss?” Wilder asked, flinching under the detective’s dark gaze.
    â€œJesus, Wilder. You’re giving me a headache,” he said. “I have no evidence, remember? I’m just following procedure.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œStop saying you’re sorry.” Cancini rolled his eyes. “Sometimes the insurance money looks good or someone’s playing around. Who knows? Let’s check on both of those. Still, considering what this guy did for a living, listening to ­people pour out their personal problems . . . like I said, who knows?” Wilder’s head bobbed up and down. “It’s wide open right now.”
    Smitty spoke up. “The secretary keeps the appointment book, knows all the patients by name. She might be able to tell you a few things.”
    â€œGood.” Cancini scanned the outer office again. His eyes came to rest on the jumble of items pushed to one edge of the secretary’s desk. He wanted the crime scene preserved as quickly as possible. “Where’s the photographer?”
    â€œOn his way,” said the uniformed officer with the tree-­trunk body. He checked his watch. “He should be here any minute.”
    â€œGood. Can you wait for him and make sure he gets everything in this office?” The man nodded. “I want the coffee room, office door, and every angle around this desk and the body.”
    â€œSure, no problem.”
    â€œWilder, I need you to wait for the coroner. And stay with the print guys, too. I don’t want anything missed this time,” Cancini said. Wilder sucked in his breath but said nothing, nodding.
    Cancini looked toward the doctor’s private office. He had a lot of questions for the secretary, but he didn’t relish the task. She could be in shock, fragile. She’d had no time to grieve and was about to be bombarded by a pushy homicide detective. Yet it had to be done. She would be at her most revealing without intending to be. Later, when she had time to think about things, she would most likely clam up and hide behind a lawyer, even if she was guilty of nothing. Or worse, she would invoke all the