Split Second by David Baldacci

a personal level. So Loretta the maid had been in the supply closet on that day. Who would have thought it, after all these years? And yet he had to put that aside for now. He slowly turned the car around and followed Michelle. He felt certain she was going back to the hotel. And after hearing her conversation with Loretta Baldwin, he understood why.

CHAPTER
    17
    K ING WAS AT his office desk going over a file when there were footsteps outside his door. Neither his partner nor his secretary was coming in today, so he rose and, armed with a letter opener, went swiftly over to the door and opened it.
    The men staring back at him looked grim. There was Todd Williams, the Wrightsburg chief of police, the same big uniformed U.S. marshal and two gents who flashed FBI credentials. King brought them all into the small conference room adjacent to his office.
    The marshal leaned forward in his chair. His name was Jefferson Parks, he said, and he did not go by “Jeff,” he told King firmly, but by “Jefferson,” although he preferred simply “
Deputy
Marshal Parks.” “U.S.
marshals
are political appointees. The deputies do the real work,” he said.
    He held up a pistol in a plastic evidence bag. “This is the pistol that was taken from your home,” he said in a flat, low voice.
    “If you say so.”
    “It
is
your pistol. Chain of custody intact.”
    King glanced at Williams, who nodded his head.
    “Okay,” said King. “And you want to give it back to me because…?”
    “Oh, we’re not giving it back,” said one of the FBI agents.
    Parks continued, “We dug the bullet that killed Jennings out of the wall of your partner’s office. It was jacketed, so there was little projectile deformity. We also found the shell casing. The shot that killed Howard Jennings was fired from your gun.Pinprick, land, groove and even shell ejector mark. A perfect match.”
    “And I’m telling you that’s impossible!”
    “Why?”
    “Let me ask you a question. What was the time of Jennings’s death?”
    “Medical examiner says between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M. the night before you found him in your office,” replied Parks.
    “At that time I was making my patrol rounds. And that pistol was in my holster.”
    One of the FBI agents perked up. “Do we take that as a confession?”
    King’s look made it clear what he thought of that comment.
    Parks considered this and said, “We’ve been checking your movements that night. Your vehicle was seen on Main Street around the time Jennings was killed.”
    “I probably was there. My rounds include the town area, so it would be logical that someone saw my truck then. But you don’t have a witness that saw me at my office, because I wasn’t there.”
    One of the FBI agents was about to respond until Parks put a big hand on his arm.
    “That’s not something we have to discuss with you at the moment,” said Parks. “But we do have a positive on the ballistics, and with your background you know that’s as good as a fingerprint.”
    “No, not quite as good as a print. It doesn’t place me at the crime scene.”
    “On the contrary, we have your gun at the scene, and we have you nearby the scene. That’s pretty strong evidence.”
    “Circumstantial evidence,” countered King.
    “And there have been convictions on a lot less,” shot back Parks.
    “We should have done a trace metal test when they took the gun from you,” said one of the FBI agents.
    “Wouldn’t have done any good,” said King. “I handled my gun the night before you came, so there would have been microscopic traces in my skin from the metal.”
    “Convenient,” said the agent.
    Parks’s gaze was on King. “May I ask why you were handling your gun? You weren’t on duty.”
    “I thought there was a prowler around my house.”
    “Was there?”
    “No. Just an old acquaintance.”
    Parks looked at him strangely, but apparently decided against pursuing the matter.
    “Care to tell me my motive?” asked King.
    “The