Blood and Motive

7

Jeanine was Cassidy's close friend; they went everywhere together. She'd even followed us out to dinner. Sometimes I wondered who was the third wheel.

“Jeanine was Cassidy's friend. I'm sure you know her,” he sniffled.

"Yes, I know her,” I shifted in my seat.

“I think she met her 2 or 3 years ago; I don't remember. It was good she had a new friend. Friend. They were always out and about.”

“Always out,” he said bitterly.

I just sat there listening. You could see the grief in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice.

“Cassidy started spending so much money, but it wasn't a problem. I had enough money for both of us, and I didn't want to ask her questions.”

“Always buying clothes, flying out to Paris, Spain, or BoraBora, Mexico; it was one place or the other, but she always came back home to me, her husband, her best friend,” he paused.

“Until she met you,” the color drained out of my face as he said that.

“I don't know how she met you or why, but she started going out Wednesday and Saturday; she wouldn't tell me where she was going; she always told me where she went; even if I wouldn't agree, she'd tell me anyway.”

Saturdays? I never met Cassidy on Saturdays, so who was she meeting?

“She'd go out on those nights I wouldn't be able to reach her; she'd come back home and sneak into bed like she wasn't fucking another man,” he croaked.

“Went on for a year till I confronted her. She didn't lie about it; she said yes, blamed it on me always being away, but knew it was a lie; it was Jeanine that got into her head.”

“That fuckin evilbitch,” he swore.

“I let it go; she'd been through a lot, I wanted her to be happy, I should have made her stop seeing you.”

“She'd still be alive if I did,” he sobbed.

I wonder if it was a mistake coming here; he's going through a lot of pain, but I need answers.

“What about Cassidy's parents?” I ask

“They are both dead.” He wipes the snot from his nose.

“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Cassidy or any other of her friends?” I ask

He wiped his nose again with the back of his hands before he replied.

"No, not that I know of. Cassie never liked confrontation; I don't..."

“So why did she ask you for a divorce, Daniel?” I interrupted

“She didn't love me anymore, I guess; she didn't want to make it work; she wanted to fuck who she wanted and not feel bad about it,” he sniffled.

“I'm so sorry about everything." I apologize

“Yeah right,” he rolls his eyes and stands up from where he's seated.

“I hope you rot in jail for all I care; you can go to hell.”

“Leave my house,” he drops the glass on the center table and disappears up the stairs.

I get a text from Michael telling me to come to the apartment, it's urgent.

I rush over to the apartment, and when I open the door, it's like a hurricane ran through here.

Michael is sitting in the kitchen when I get in.

“What the hell happened here man?" I barked

Michael hands me a piece of paper, and I go through it.

It's a search warrant.

“The police came and handed me that,” he says, pointing at the paper.

“And they started tearing everything apart. . . I tried to stop them, but they said they'd charge me with obstruction of justice, so I texted you.”

“Where were you, man?” he asked.

“I went to see Cassidy's husband, Daniel,” I replied.

He stares at me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“I'll tell you everything as soon as we clean this place up.”

We started to arrange and place everything in its rightful position. I asked him about his day and if they had taken anything from the apartment.

He tells me they looked at a lot of stuff and searched everywhere, even the trash.

When we are done organizing, we order takeout and I tell him everything I learned today

“Holy sh*t man,” he says, his mouth agape.

“Who's the Saturday guy?” He asks me bug-eyed.

“That, my friend, is what I'm going to find out.” he relaxes.

If I can find out who Cassidy was meeting on Saturdays, I can turn the focus to him; maybe he's her killer. I still suspect her husband but he loved her so much, who knows?

He does have a motive for her cheating and asking for a divorce; she would get half his company; that's how high-profile marriages work.

I'm going to find out who this person is, and I know exactly who I'm going to ask.