“You touched the knife, leaving your fingerprints on it?” I asked.
She nodded, watery eyes filled with fear.
“But you didn’t kill Colby Winslow.”
She nodded again—meaning she didn’t kill Colby Winslow.
“This woman who came in with the knife, can you describe her?” Frank asked.
Tall. Thin. Flat. About thirty. Kinda cute in a tomboyish way. An athlete. Raven black hair. She remembered seeing her several times over the years in Colby’s office. She was sure the tomboy was another investor.
“Okay, we’ll find her,” I said, nodding and turning to leave. “But just to let you know, Ms. Valenski. Right now your number one on our suspect list. If I were you I’d call daddy up and get him to find you a good lawyer. A team of good lawyers.”
On the way down in the silence of the elevator I half tu
