"She's next on my list to interview."
"Slick work, Goddard. Only five days after the murder and already you're thinking about talking with the principals in the case."
Goddard knew he had screwed up by not developing secondary suspects. Norma Martin might even have skipped town by now or destroyed evidence. "I was heading out there when you called me back in." That stretched the truth.
"Reid isn't some jealous lover. He was paid to do this," Moran said. "Get out of here and find the big boys who hired him."
Goddard left and headed for the Jardin Café beyond the edge of town. He had taken far too long to contact Norma Martin and wasn't happy with himself about that. He didn't know her connection to all this. He did know that she was fronting for some corporation. And now, she's had plenty of time to run.
Fortunately, she was still around. The restaurant wasn't open so he waited at the back door while a worker went to find Mrs. Martin. She appeared dressed in the customary hostess-style dark dress with a white collar, all covered just now with an oversized apron. In her late fifties, he guessed. Slim, attractive, with a slightly exotic look. She greeted him and motioned toward a booth at the rear of the main dining area. She lit a cigarette as soon as they sat. "Sign says no smoking," he said to get the conversation going.
"Rank has its privileges."
"So you own this place?" He knew she didn't.
"Lock stock and fish barrel, been at this since I was a little girl."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"Most likely Senator Towson, it's all over TV. What's happening to our quiet little town?"
"How do you know him?"
"He made reservations and brought guests here. Not often, but enough for me to know who he was."
"Where do you live? I couldn't find you in the directory?"
"Been living in my cook's place, nice condo and she's never there."
"Give me her name. I need some kind of address for you."
"Elena Duarte, on Banyon Street," she said with some hesitation. "But this is really my address. I've an office here, get all my calls and mail here. On nights when I'm exhausted, which are most nights, I even sleep here."
"Where were you last Saturday, the day Towson was killed?"
"Saturday? I would have been grocery shopping and everyday I'm back here by four."
"Ever been in Towson's apartment?"
"No!" She nervously crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. "Be right back." She slid out of the booth.
After she disappeared into the kitchen, he picked up her cigarette butt with a napkin and slipped it into his shirt pocket.