LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

pull yourself together. This is important. It will help Chelsea.” Louie’s voice held a firm gentleness, which seemed to bring the grieving woman around.

      “I called her kids today. It was a difficult conversation. What can you say at a time like this? Everything seems trivial.”

      “I’m sure they appreciated the call. What time did you both leave work on Friday?” Louie asked.

      “We left at four-thirty.”

      “What did you do when you left the office?” Jake listened, content to let Louie run the entire interview. Sara seemed more at ease with him.

      “We went over to the Four Seasons for drinks before dinner. We’d decided last week to dine there.” She stopped, gathered her thoughts. “We were seated around six o’clock. Chelsea’s girlfriend joined us a little after six.”

      “I thought you always ate at the Hills?” Jake interrupted.

      “Most times we did, but that night we decided to change it up.”

      “Who was the fourth woman who went to dinner with you?” Louie questioned.

      “Jora Stein. She works with us.”

      “How long were you at the Four Seasons?”

      “Dinner took about an hour. We sat in the restaurant another hour and talked to kill time. We didn’t want to head out to the club too early. We were feeling no pain and enjoying each other’s company. We had cocktails before we ate and then switched to wine with dinner. I had a nice buzz on.”

      “Was Chelsea also…flying?” Louie asked.

      “No, she always paced herself. One drink lasted her the whole night. Our perpetual designated driver, we called her.”

      “What time did you leave the restaurant and head over to the club?” Louie prodded.

      “Around eight-thirty because we got to the golf course about eight forty-five and the band hadn’t started yet.”

      “What did you do when you got there?” Louie asked.

      “Well, we sat at the bar and ordered some drinks. I could tell we were losing Chelsea.”

      “How do you mean, ‘losing her’?” Louie questioned.

      “Well, she was bored. Chelsea wasn’t a clubber. She used to go out to dinner with us once a month when she was married but always headed right home afterward. After her divorce, she started to go out with us after we ate because Julie pushed her. Chelsea’s a real homebody.” Sara looked up, devastated. “I mean was a real homebody. Her bastard of an ex left her for a twenty-something bimbo.”

      “What time did Chelsea leave the bar?” Jake took over.

      “She left around ten o’clock. She didn’t even give the band a chance. Said she had a headache. We tried to talk her into staying. She wouldn’t hear of it.” Sara’s tears started again. “It was the last time we saw her.” Guilt washed over her face. Jake sympathized. You couldn’t change the past though he wished and prayed like a little kid when Eva had died that he could. “We should have walked her to her car,” Sara sobbed.

      “Did you usually walk each other to your cars?” Jake asked.

      “No, we didn’t unless the bar was in a crappy neighborhood.”

      “Don’t beat yourself up, Sara. Monday morning quarterbacking never accomplished anything. Did she mention whether she planned on meeting anyone after she left there?” Jake continued the questioning.

      “No, not Chelsea. If she said she was going home, she went home.”

      “Was she talking or flirting with anyone at the bar who she blew off when she left?”

      “No, Julie hooked up with some loser from high school. I don’t know his name, Julie would. Chelsea would never ever hook up with someone.”

      “Here’s my card if you remember anything else. We’re sorry for your loss,” Louie said.

      Once outside of Sara’s apartment, Jake said, “The woman appears to have floated through life without a blemish.”

      “Yeah, a quiet woman, one who’s admired, and now she’s dead. It’s pointing to someone she knew. Somewhere on her way home, she met her death—a practical woman doesn’t stop for a stranger.”

      “Agreed, let’s reach out to the Neptune Police in Florida. We need to pin down her ex’s whereabouts last Friday night.”

      “Next up is Jora Stein,” Louie said, making notes next to Sara’s name.

      Stein’s phone continued to ring until an answering machine picked up. Louie left a message and stressed the importance of a return call. They got the same response, and left a similar message when they tried to call the victim’s friend, Julie Cahns.

      * * * *

      Jake returned to the station and placed a call to Neptune, Florida. A receptionist with a thick southern accent that was too southern for the area answered. He figured her for a transplant.

      “This is Lieutenant Carrington, from the Wilkesbury, Connecticut, Police Department. May I speak with one of your detectives?”

      “Hi, Lieutenant.” She stretched out the second part of lieutenant, adding a few n’s along the way.

      “I didn’t catch your name.”

      “Because I didn’t throw it—it’s Samantha, but most people call me Sammy.” Sammy’s infectious laugh lifted his spirits.

      “Sammy, who would I speak with to get a follow-up on someone’s whereabouts last Friday?”

      “I’ll give you to the chief. He can direct you to the right person.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “Beau Taylor. Hold please while I get him.” Sammy put him on hold.

      He wasn’t kept waiting long. “Well hello, Connecticut, what can I do for you?”

      “Chief, I have a homicide here. If it’s possible I need you to check on the whereabouts of the ex-husband,” Jake asked.

      “It’s Beau, please, we’re not formal here. I’d be happy to. Give me the pertinent info on him and the times and dates you want checked out. I’ll do that today.”

      Jake supplied the information.

      “Do you also want to know the whereabouts of the new wife?” Chief Taylor asked.

      “Yes, I hear she wasn’t happy with the alimony settlement.”

      Jake’s radio crackled to life. “Any units in the vicinity of Highland Avenue and Chase Parkway respond to a two-one-one. Shots have been reported, along with hostages.” The next code put the fear of God into every cop. It was a ten-one-o-eight.

      “Chief, I have to go. I’ll get you back later.” Jake ended the call without waiting for an answer.

      He grabbed his jacket. Louie was already up and running as he slipped into his jacket. Jake caught up to him. The bullpen also emptied as every available officer rushed to the scene. A ten-one-o-eight or one-o-eight meant officer down. No matter what department they belonged to, the wall of blue would be there to protect their own.

      The drive to the bank located on Highland Avenue took Jake a little over ten minutes with traffic. Not everyone bothered to pull over at the sound of his sirens. Louie checked his gun while Jake navigated traffic. Armed bank robberies had increased across the nation along with the violence used by the suspects in desperate attempts to secure the cash.

      “When was the last time you checked your gun, Jake?”

      He appreciated Louie’s concern though sometimes it baffled him when Louie asked an obvious question. He shrugged his shoulders. No matter what, Louie had his back.

Скачать книгу