by Edwin Dasso
“I guess you have to get beaten up in order to get away in the middle of the day,” Andy said. “You should be off for a week, by the looks of you.”
“I’m waiting for the autopsy,” Jill answered, ignoring the comment. “Not mine, I might add.”
“I knew what you meant,” he said, grimacing.
Andy didn’t make more inquiries after that. Thinking about the case, Jill knew Albert would be going over what they found at the crime scene and as much as he could do online, looking at Cynthia Caldwell’s Facebook page and email accounts. Her parents were devastated, driving in from the suburbs of Grand Rapids to view her body one more time.
“Nicole seems very nice,” Jill said, changing the subject. “She came to see me in the ER. Tell me about her.”
Andy perked up. “I met her online. She’s great. So you thought she was nice?”
“I did, considering she sat politely through dinner,” Jill answered. “Between Aunt Liz’s crying jags, Estelle’s laughter and Aunt Maria’s antics, I’d have to say she’s great. Mark, too. What is with our family dinners anymore?”
“I’ve heard they are all like ours. Especially European family dinners. She’s Greek, so she knows. Anyway, I was afraid her weight would be an issue,” Andy confessed.
“Now that really pisses me off,” Jill hissed. “I guess nowadays everyone better be underwear models.”
Laughing, Andy shook his head. “It would be nice, but no, that’s not true. Let me finish. After I met her, watching how poised she is, I was immediately attracted to her. She’s funny and smart, and voluptuous. I even caught Uncle Nick licking his chops. That was validation. So I’m seeing her again tonight.”
“Already? It must be a match! I saw you wiping the drool off your mouth whenever you looked her way.”
“I liked Mark, by the way. What happened to Fred?” The mention of his name sent a shiver through Jill.
“He wanted me to spend Christmas Eve with him, but I declined. I think it was over before that anyway.” Jill didn’t mention his appearance on her doorstep on Saturday.
He nodded, understanding that their family traditions around Christmas were very difficult to ignore.
“If my friendship with Nicole makes it through the week, I’ll be inviting her to mass. She showed up on Sunday, and it was nice having her next to me.” His late wife, Dana, refused to do anything in Greektown or with his mother and father, and they spent every holiday with her parents and siblings. Andy would never allow that to happen again.
Jill looked at Andy with compassion, aware he was in a similar place as she was spiritually; sadly bereft. But in spite of it, church was still important to them both because it was important to the family. “All it takes is faith the size of a mustard seed. Eleni used to say that to me constantly.”
“Well, I might have that much,” Andy said dubiously, holding up his thumb and finger with a tiny space in between. “Estelle said my separation from God might be why my wife was murdered.”
“She didn’t!” Jill gasped. “Andy, you know that’s bull crap. You aren’t responsible for Dana’s death. If it were true, we’d all be dead.”
He smirked. “Yeah, I know, but it’s still hard to listen to. She’s got my ear all day, never shuts up.”
“How’d she even know about your relationship to God?”
“That was exactly what she said to me. ‘How’s your walk with God?’”
“Well, I hope you told her it was none of her damn business.” Jill was shocked. No one had ever complained to her about Estelle, and then suddenly, the whole world had an opinion. Poor Papa.
10
The Centreville Mall was decked out for Christmas weeks before Thanksgiving, so by the time Black Friday rolled around, the decorations were already slightly windblown, a little shabby. Harried shoppers rushed by, loaded down with bags and packages. It was a hectic, noisy atmosphere, and something would really have to stand out to rise above the mass confusion.
“Gosh, I haven’t talked to you in weeks! What a surprise!” Stopped in his tracks, Fred Cooper had forgotten all about Cindy Caldwell once he met Jill over Labor Day weekend, and now almost three months later, here she was at the mall. As they stood looking at each other in the middle of chaos, he remembered why he was so attracted to her in the first place. Not a classic beauty, Cindy just knew how to dress to please a man. He couldn’t help but compare her to Jill, who always looked like she was ready to investigate a murder scene.
Cindy was on the right side of flashy. Always perfectly coifed with impeccable makeup, he’d never seen her look unkempt or dowdy. Dressed completely inappropriately for the mall, Cindy wore a tight, low-cut sweater and skirt. Running into her was strange; he rarely mall shopped, rarely during the week and never in the middle of the day. Yet here he was, and here she was.
“You look great!” he said. “What are you doing here?”
She looked confused for a moment, looking around the mall at all the stores. “Why, I’m Christmas shopping, of course! It’s the day after Thanksgiving. Isn’t that why you’re in the mall?”
Fred had to think for a moment why he was there, flustered. “Oh! No, not me. No Christmas shopping. I’m here to pick up my contact lenses,” he answered. “Not very festive.”
“Tonight is the employee dinner at the country club. I need to get a gift for my boss.”
“How’s old Becker doing, anyway?” Fred asked. Her boss gave sleazy a bad reputation.
“The same,” she replied, looking away. She didn’t want to start talking about James Becker, who’d been a constant source of stress between Fred and Cindy when they were dating.
“I hear he’s running for city council again. Didn’t he already do that once and lose?”
“Yes,” she answered shortly. “And he’s trying again.”
“Some things never change,” he said, looking at his watch. He had to get his lenses and get back on the road. Close to losing his job for mishandling evidence, Fred had used up all the favors his commanding officer was willing to grant him, including personal shopping during work hours. “Look, Cindy, it was great seeing you again. I need to get moving, but I’d like to meet you for a drink soon. Give me a call when you’re free.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love that.” Not sure why she was even giving him the time of day, she had just gotten over his abandonment of her. He’d stopped calling her in August, and when she finally broke down and called him, he never returned the call. For weeks, she cried herself to sleep every night. Getting through the day was agonizing. She tried calling the barracks and was told he was out on patrol; it was the only reason she knew he was even still alive. She’d heard later from another state cop that he was dating someone from Detroit, a cop he’d picked up on the beach. Cindy was broken hearted at first, but every day she felt a little better about it, grieving, but never getting angry about it. Now seeing him again brought back those old feelings. It was still love, as much as she hated to admit it.
“Do you want to go with me to the club tonight?” She couldn’t resist, hoping he’d say yes. “They’re doing a drawing again for a new Ford truck.”
“Aw, thanks anyway,” he said. “I better pass. But call me before you go. I might be able to slip away for a drink.”
She stood on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek, and then waved goodbye, conscious that he was probably watching her as she walked away, so she gave just a hint of a wiggle in her tight skirt.
After Fred got his lenses, he finished his patrol for the day. As he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, his phone rang. It was Cindy.
“Well, it’s the end of the day. You ready for that drink?”
He thought what it might mean to Jill if he saw an old girlfriend. Although he didn’t think she’d approve, there was a slim possibility she would find out. But they had no plans to see each other again, so he was willing to take the risk. A drink with Cindy wouldn’t hurt Jill, and it would fill his need for companionship.
Albert was going to the morgue alone to meet Cynthia Caldwell’s parents because Jill’s bruised face might be too unsettling for them. He wasn’t happy about the decision; she was better at interviews than he was, always zeroing in on facts he thought unrelated. And he hated the morgue, loathing autopsies. It was a depressing, run-down facility, and it smelled bad, too.
Caldwell’s parents, Elizabeth and William, were young; Albert estimated their age to be mid- forties. He went in with them to view the body, standing off to the side, looking away as they clung to each other and pawed the sheet that covered her body. Albert knew there was a plastic sheet under the white sheet that would prevent body fluids from leaking through to the surface, but it still concerned him, imagining blood seeping up, the stain getting darker and wider. There was a rank metallic odor in the air, of blood and body waste, old snow, death. The bad lighting, flickering fluorescent bulbs in wire cages, added to the depressing scene.
They’d have to say the final goodbye soon, and he was at the end of his tolerance, trying for compassion and barely succeeding. “Can I speak to you about Cynthia?” he asked as he corralled them to leave the morgue. He usually avoided touching others, but gave up, putting his arm around the father and physically turning him toward the door.
“What could we say that would make any difference?” Elizabeth said, wiping her eyes.
“Anything you can tell me about her life recently may help us to find out who did this to her. I’d like to know about her friends and job. Who she spent time with when she wasn’t at work.”
“I need more information,” Elizabeth Caldwell said. “I mean, I know she was found dead with a gunshot wound on Belle Isle. But why was she there? It’s not something Cindy would do, walking around Belle Isle in the middle of the night. Was she with anyone?”
“We don’t know. The police who found her car discovered her body. We don’t know who witnessed the murder. Do you know what brought her here to the city?”
“We have no idea,” William Caldwell answered. “She’s never been to Detroit before as far as we know, and we wish she’d never come. This is a horrible place. No one’s safe here. I don’t even feel safe with you.”
“What did she do for a living?” Albert asked, ignoring the safety evaluation.
“She’s an event planner for our country club,” Elizabeth said proudly. Then her expression changed again. “They rarely planned an event outside of Kent County. Many of the members are older, and a trip to Detroit would hardly be something they’d be interested in. I personally hate it here.”
Albert looked up from his writing pad, glad Jill wasn’t there.
“She had an event planned for Saturday and never showed up,” William Caldwell said. “Her boss was frantic.”
“What kind of event?”
“A wedding. Saturday night. At the club. She never showed up, and Jim Becker called for her at our house.”
“Did you try to contact her?”
“Of course we did. We called her cell phone every ten minutes, went to her house, called her friends.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No. It never occurred to us to call the police,” Elizabeth Caldwell said. “She’s an adult woman. Many weekends passed where we didn’t hear from her. If her boss hadn’t called looking for her, we wouldn’t be any wiser.”
Albert thought it odd that they didn’t call the police after the boss called. “Was it like her to miss events she’d planned?”
“Never, to my knowledge,” William Caldwell answered.
“When was the last time you spoke with her?”
“We talked Friday, briefly.”
Albert was calculating possibilities in his head. She was alive on Friday, missed an important event on Saturday night. Had she been murdered that early? Lain in the snow for two, cold days?
“Was she dating anyone?” Albert asked.
Her mother and father looked at each other.
“Not seriously,” Elizabeth said. “Well, there was somebody, but they broke up last fall.”
“She started seeing him again for dinner or drinks after Thanksgiving,” William Caldwell added, looking at his wife.
Albert waited for them to continue when they seemed pensive, Elizabeth Caldwell flashing her husband a look Albert couldn’t quite decipher. “What’s his name?”
“Fred Cooper,” William answered. “He’s a state trooper.”
Trooper Cooper, Albert thought. This was news that got his attention, but the connection didn’t register, yet. “He’s almost forty, and she’s only twenty-six. We worried about the age discrepancy at first, but he was very nice and treated her well until he stopped calling her unexpectedly. Didn’t break up with her, just disappeared.”
“What were the circumstances which led to them seeing each other again?”
“She said they ran into each other in the mall,” Elizabeth Caldwell said.
“And it was going well?”
“I’m not absolutely sure, but I don’t think so. She didn’t come right out and say anything to us, but I could see a change in her. She was sad and anxious all the time when we spoke on the phone. They were still seeing each other, but she didn’t have anything to report, and that wasn’t like her. I used to hear all the details of their dates.”
Albert couldn’t wait to meet Fred Cooper. As soon as he was done with the Caldwells, he’d pick up Jill. They were going to Grand Rapids.
“You ready for a road trip?” Albert called Jill as soon as the Caldwells left for home. He had an uneasy feeling about them, that they might not have been completely honest about their daughter.
“Where’re we headed?” she asked. “Grand Rapids?”
“Yep. Are you at Gus’s? I’ll be right there,” he replied.
“Lunch is over,” she said to Andy, putting her napkin down. “I’m headed to the west side of the state. Could I have a sandwich for Albert?”
In a few minutes, Andy had the sandwich ready and Albert was waiting out front. Jill said goodbye to Gus and Andy, walking out of the store waving the brown paper bag, which brought a big smile to Albert’s face.
“How’d it go?” she asked, getting into the car.
“Okay, but maybe not. Here are my notes.” He pushed a file folder over to her. “I feel like the parents were holding back about something. The post is happening now, but I’m not expecting any surprises. Are you?”
“Not really,” she said. “I’ll call Sam.” Sam Wasserman was on speed dial.
“You’re on speakerphone, Jill. We’re doing the post now.”
“Can you give me a time of death?” she asked.
“Not exact, of course,” he answered. “She was in the snow, but not frozen through. It was below freezing on Saturday, but Sunday was in the upper thirties. Using her core temperature, we can estimate she’d been dead for thirty-six hours or longer. Maybe as long as forty-eight. She had steak in her stomach, steak and fries. Time of death: between six Saturday morning and three in the afternoon. She’d had sex recently, but he must have used a condom because there was no semen, and it didn’t appear to be an assault.”
“So dinner was her last meal,” Jill stated.
“Yes, unless she ate an early steak breakfast.”
“Thanks, Sam. Anything else?”
“Oh yes. I’m not quite finished. I hear you already know cause of death was a hollow-point bullet gunshot wound.”
“Metal fragments were scattered over the snow,” Jill replied.
“Your team needs to search for something else,” Sam said.
Jill frowned, holding the phone out from her sore mouth. “Like what?”
“Another bullet,” he replied. “She was shot twice. Her left coat sleeve has a hole shot through it by a bullet that grazed her arm. I wouldn’t have noticed the mark on her arm if I wasn’t looking for it.”
“Her arm could have been across her chest,” Jill said. Albert listened to the one-sided conversation, looking at Jill.<
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“I don’t think so,” Sam replied. “The angle is all wrong. In addition there’s no blood on the sleeve.”
“The team brought snow in from the scene. Hopefully, if there’s a second bullet, they’ll find it in there. We weren’t looking for another bullet.”
“Well, when it melts, let me know,” Sam said.
“Okay, I will. Thank you again, Sam. Talk to you later.” She hung up the phone, thinking through what Sam had said.
“Well, what happened?” Albert asked.
“There’s a twist,” Jill said and told Albert the news.
“A second bullet hole is only good if we find the second bullet,” Albert said.
“This is true. We’ll just have to wait and see. How’d the parents seem to you?” she asked, distracted.
“Young,” Albert answered. “Mid to late forties. I couldn’t get a read on them, but there was something under the surface. It was like they were embarrassed about their daughter being murdered.”
“That’s weird,” she said, distracted. Jill started reading Albert’s notes from the interview. Following line after line of Albert’s neat handwriting with her pointer finger, she read silently as the car bounced along the pot-holed and salt-covered road. In silence for the next few minutes, Albert got on the expressway leading out of the city. Suddenly, Jill looked up through the windshield at the traffic in front of them speeding bumper to bumper.
“Wait, her boyfriend’s a state trooper?” Jill asked. She continued to read. “Oh, my God.” She put the folder down in her lap.
“What is it?” Albert asked.
Jill kept her eyes straight ahead. “Fred Cooper is my state cop boyfriend, Albert. I can’t go any further with this case.”
He came to an exit and pulled off to the side of the road once they got off the expressway.
“Now that is too much of a coincidence,” Albert said, turning to her. “What are the odds?”
“I can’t believe it. It get’s worse,” Jill said. “Fred came to my apartment Saturday morning. That means he was in town during the time of death.”
