Blood Flag: A Paul Madriani Novel by Steve Martini Page A

sheriff’s detectives are going to find anything relating to Robert Brauer’s death since they aren’t even looking for it and are not involved. I look at them. “Better yet, tell you what: I’ll take you to the house on one condition.”
    “What’s that?” Noland looks at me.
    “You take us to the crime scene where you found the body, myself, my partner, and our office PI and let us look around . . .”
    “Can’t do that,” says Noland. “Can’t have you tramping through the evidence.”
    “We won’t. We’ll keep our distance. We can probably help you.”
    “How?” says Owen.
    “What was she wearing when you found the body?”
    He scratches his head. “Yellow dress of some kind and a jacket.”
    “It sounds like what she had on Friday afternoon when she left here. But I can’t be sure unless I see the body, as it lies.” I want to know who killed Sofia and why. The place where she was murdered might give us some answers.
    The two detectives look at each other. “He could identify the body,” says Owen. “Save her parents some grief.”
    “I can do that,” I tell them.
    “Why not?” says Owen.
    Noland’s not sure. “We need to check with the lieutenant. We’ll call you a little later. They’ll still be working the scene. First we have a few questions.”
    “Go ahead,” I tell him.
    “This client of yours is a woman. You said ‘she’ has an alibi.”
    “Slip of the tongue,” I tell him. “She was in jail all weekend since Friday afternoon. She’s still there.”
    “And you say there’s no one else living in the house with her?” asks Noland.
    “As far as I know. That was the reason Sofia was headed to pick up the dog.”
    “But you don’t know if she ever got there?” says Owen.
    “One way to find out.”
    “What’s that?” he says.
    “See if the dog’s still there.”
    This catches their attention. They look at each other as if it hadn’t dawned on them.
    “Could be dead by now,” says Noland. “Three days without food or water.”
    “We don’t know that. But I’ll be sure to find out, and when I do, I’ll let you know.”
    “If that’s a crime scene, you’ll need to stay away from it,” says Noland.
    “We’re not gonna know that until we go look.”
    “Let me ask you,” says Owen. “Did you hear anything from the girl after she left the office on Friday?”
    I shake my head. “No. As far as I know, no one else in the office did, either. We were worried about her when she didn’t show up for work this morning. We called her cell phone several times, but there was no answer. Did you find her phone?”
    “We’re still looking,” says Owen.
    “About your client,” says Noland. “You say she was in jail. Is she married? Any boyfriends, any males who might have had a key to her house, maybe lived there with her at one time?”
    “She’s not married and has no boyfriends that I know of.”
    “You’re sure of that?” says Owen.
    “As sure as I can be.”
    Noland asks: “What is she in for?”
    “That I won’t tell you. But I’m sure you’ll find out, sooner or later.”
    “How long did Sofia work for you?” asks Owen.
    “Eight months, maybe nine. I’d have to check our records.”
    “Who sent her after the dog? To the woman’s house?” asks Owen.
    This is a sore point. Ever since they walked in and told me what happened I’ve been asking myself the same question. Did I send her out there? “I’d have to think about that,” I tell him.
    “What does that mean?” says Owen.
    “I’m not sure if anyone actually sent her.”
    “Are you telling us she went out there on her own?” says Noland.
    “No. Not exactly. You had to know Sofia. She was a self-starter. If something needed to be done, she did it. She didn’t ask. It was one of the things I liked about her. You didn’t have to sit there and tell her what to do. But . . .”
    “But what?” says Owen.
    “Like every other good thing in life, it had its downsides. There