Paid in Full by Ann Roberts Page B

feel he was shoving the ring in her face, a reminder of her lack of a college diploma. They did have one thing in common: they were the only two minority detectives in the division. Molly thought it was less than coincidental that the black man and the lesbian had been thrown together.
    “Let me get this straight,” she reviewed, more for Andre’s benefit than her own. “Kristen Duke says she was at the Speedy Copy until eight thirty.”
    Andre glanced at his notes, not wanting to misquote in front of Molly. “Right. At which time Miss Duke left Mr. Watson there and went home to a townhouse on Hardy that she shares with two other coeds.”
    Molly quickly calculated in her head. “That still left time for Watson to get back to central Phoenix and kill Thorndike. Did you interview the roommates?”
    He frowned. “No, I didn’t see the point. They aren’t the suspects.”
    “It’s called follow-through! Interview the girls tomorrow,” Molly snapped.
    Andre nodded and scribbled a reminder. He knew better than to argue with Molly. They were partners, but she was certainly more experienced.
    “I also finished canvassing the neighbors, but no one claims to have heard anything, and no one saw anything. Most everyone seemed to be out.”
    Molly shook her head, not surprised. The murder had occurred on a Saturday night, and even if anyone had heard a shot, they would have discounted it. Such was the case of city living.
    “What about Lily Watson?” she asked.
    “She was at a charity function. Several people saw her at dinner.”
    “When was dinner?”
    Andre rifled through some pages. “Six o’clock.”
    “What about after that?”
    Andre fidgeted uncomfortably and finally met Molly’s seething stare. He suddenly longed for his former life as a patrolman. “I’ll double-check,” he said. And before she could ask, he volunteered, “I also spoke with the people at the movie theater. A guy running one of the cash registers remembered the deceased’s wife, Deborah Thorndike. He even knew that she bought a large popcorn and Diet Coke.”
    Molly sighed. “Great. Nobody killed Michael Thorndike.” She closed her eyes, trying to remain patient. She’d been a rookie, too, she reminded herself. But she certainly didn’t remember being this incompetent. When Andre didn’t resume the conversation, she barked, “Don’t you have something you could be doing?” He jumped up and darted out the door.
    Molly groaned. She’d gained little from her trip downtown. There were still no leads on Bob Watson, and Deborah Thorndike had dismissed her after five minutes, claiming she was too distraught at the moment to be questioned again. All Molly had learned was that Thorndike had been at home alone working, refusing to join his wife at the movies.
    It was a crappy day, and she’d taken out her frustrations on other people, a character flaw she desperately needed to improve. Her eyes wandered to the newspaper on the desk. Michael Thorndike’s face stared at her from the front page. She’d found it on her chair earlier in the day, and Captain Ruskin had circled Thorndike’s picture several times in red marker. The message was succinct and clear.
    Molly closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Her cell phone chirped in her pocket, and she smiled when she saw the name on Caller ID.
    “Hey,” she offered casually. “Hey yourself, sis.”
    Molly sighed. Talking with her brother Brian was one of the great pleasures in life. She kicked off her flats and put her feet on the desk. “What’s goin’ on?”
    “You made the front page again. Sounds tense.”
    She grinned at Brian’s simple statement. He never sugar- coated anything and always used as few words as possible.
    “Tense is one way to describe it,” she said, her eyes scanning the antacid wrappers that littered her desk.
    “So you’re living at work again,” Brian concluded.
    Molly knew what he was really saying. Her personal life was of constant concern to