Asshole. Her crime scene, her approval needed. From the tight, anxious look on Mills’ face, she had to know she’d screwed up again. Gerri just sighed and stomped off. With every intent to question Patrick on her own time.
Now that Ray confirmed murder and Kinsey cleared the weird out of her case—aside from the necklace, which she chose to shunt aside for now—Gerri was ready to poke and prod the son into telling her everything she wanted to know.
His apartment wasn’t in the best part of town, but it was middle class enough Gerri took notice. The tree-lined street was host to a pair of young moms pushing baby carriages, dressed in the latest workout fashion, in contrast with a fresh wash of graffiti on the side of a public post box. What had once been a downturn neighborhood looked like it was being reclaimed and revitalized by young professionals, the less desirables being pushed out further into the periphery of the city.
While Gerri might not have been a resident of Silver City long enough to vote for Mayor Alfred Peck, she approved of his initiatives. Including hiring her, if indirectly. The popular young mayor had made giant inroads in improving the city, from street level cleanups to fleshing out the police force with next generation officers and detectives, offering generous retirement packages to encourage the turnover.
Gerri liked progress. It made her happy. Especially when it meant law and order came first. As long as he didn’t fall prey to the usual political idiocy, Peck would have her vote next time around.
She parked her dark blue Charger across the street from Patrick’s, crossing with long-legged strides ahead of slow-moving traffic. The area felt sleepy to her, quiet in the warm afternoon. A thin trickle of sweat formed a funnel down the middle of her back, slipping into her waistband as she climbed the wide, stone stairs to the brick front building and pressed the button marked SONNICKER.
She could have shed her coat in the car and left it behind. But her father taught her the more professional she looked, the more seriously she’d be taken. Her choice of cowboy boots and dark jeans had to balance out somehow. A dress jacket in 90 degree heat was her only option.
The intercom buzzed. “Who is it?” The girlfriend’s voice. Gerri wasn’t surprised she was here, considering the circumstances. But, it would have made things a lot simpler if Natalie wasn’t around.
“Detective Meyers to see Patrick,” she said.
There was a long pause, so long Gerri gritted her teeth and raised her hand to buzz again, when Natalie’s voice finally answered.
“Come up, Detective.” The door buzzer sounded, freeing Gerri to exert her irritation on jerking the heavy entry open, thudding it forcefully against the wall.
Her therapist Cici—who was now avoiding her for some reason, and had been for a few days since the mysterious phone call the detective received from her at home—would call that excessive anger channeled into passive-aggressive behavior. She’d be right.
Made Gerri feel better, anyway.
A wide, wooden staircase filled most of the entry, hall on one side leading to doorways down the length of the narrow building. Gerri took the steps two at a time, her boots thudding dully on the surface, the scent of pine cleaner and cooking wafting over her as she ascended to the second floor. At least the interior was air conditioned, the sweat cooling and drying on her forehead. By the time she reached apartment 204, Gerri’s annoyance was mostly dissipated.
Her heavy knock summoned footsteps, the door pulling open to reveal Natalie’s frowning face. The slim young woman blocked the entry with her body, as though to show Gerri she was in charge. The detective almost laughed.
Time to change her understanding of events.
“I have questions for Patrick.” Gerri slipped her hands under the sides of her jacket, resting them on her hips, exposing her badge and the butt of her gun in a subtle and yet not-so-subtle show of authority. Natalie’s gaze flickered downward, to both items, then back up to Gerri’s face.
“He’s been through a terrible ordeal,” the girl said.
“And, no doubt, wants to know who killed his parents.” Gerri let her tone drop to a deep rumble. “I’m not asking, Miss Street.”
“It’s all right, Nat.” Patrick appeared behind her, face red, eyes bloodshot, but with a faint, aching smile for Gerri. “Please, Detective, come inside.”
Gerri ignored the glare from the girlfriend, nodding to Patrick before moving forward. Her confident motion forced the girl to step aside or be trampled. Gerri wasn’t above using her size and confidence as a battering ram, as much as that made her a bully sometimes.
She had a job to do. Natalie Street could just lump it.
Patrick’s apartment was a wide-open concept feel with exposed ceiling beams and expensive leather furniture, though the show of wealth was as understated as his parent’s house had been. Still, the fact they were able to afford such an expensive apartment for a twenty-year-old college student made Gerri wonder where they made their money. John Sonnicker was a real-estate developer, yes, but his wife wasn’t working. And their own home seemed averagely appointed for a family of real wealth.
So, maybe they put all of their money into their son. Why?
“I’m sorry about Natalie.” Patrick’s hand rose and fell with a thud against his thigh as he gestured toward the sofa under the huge bank of windows. Potted plants dangled their greenery, bathing in the sunlight streaming through the glass over the hardwood floor. “She’s just worried about me. But, you’re right, Detective.” He snuffled, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand while the girlfriend rushed forward with a tissue. “I need to know who killed my mom and dad.”
Real grief. Her gut tingled. He was either an excellent liar, a sociopath who knew how to fake empathy, or he really loved his parents and didn’t kill them. Didn’t keep Gerri from asking her questions.
“You accused your father’s partner, Abel Crombie, of killing your parents.” Gerri’s harsh question was intentional. Patrick had lots of time to process their deaths, to make up his story if he was, in fact, the murderer. If he didn’t kill them, pushing him could reveal hints she needed to chase the real killer. Gentle coddling rarely worked with men.
Patrick’s face contorted into a frown. “I was just angry,” he said, sinking to the padded arm of the couch. “They’d been fighting over money. It was a new partnership, just a few months old. I didn’t know who else to blame.”
“Did their fighting ever come to blows?” Gerri pulled out her notebook.
Patrick shook his head. “I just never trusted Abel, that’s all. He always made me feel like he wasn’t telling us everything.”
“How did your father meet him?” Fresh partnership, money problems. Motive.
“I don’t know.” Patrick turned his head, shining dark hair catching the light, staring out the window with slumped shoulders. His bare toes peeked out of the hem of his jeans, tapping anxiously on the floor as he spoke. “Dad didn’t talk to me about business. All I know is, one night Abel came for dinner and Dad seemed… different. Uncomfortable about it. Mom, too.” Patrick sniffed, smiled a bit at Natalie who stroked his cheek. “But when I asked them about it, they wouldn’t tell me anything. Said it was just business.”
“You weren’t involved in your father’s operations?” Gerri’s gut twinged. Sure, parents kept things from kids all the time. But, didn’t most fathers want their sons to follow in their footsteps?
And oldest daughters, her gut whispered.
“Patrick is a writer.” Natalie’s arrogant statement fed Gerri’s irritation all over again. “His parents encouraged his talent.”
The young man shrugged. “I don’t have much of a head for business.” He sounded embarrassed by the fact. A bone of contention with his family?
“You pay for this place yourself?” Gerri knew the answer before he shook his head, slightly embarrassed.
“My parents,” he said, simple and honest.
So, they set him up here, and didn’t seem to begrudge him the outlay of cash
.
“Do you know what kind of money problems they were having?” Time to talk to Abel Crombie again.
Again, Patrick shrugged. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have paid more attention. They were always trying to protect me from the bad stuff.” Looked like he’d replaced Mommy and Daddy’s overprotectiveness for Natalie’s. The girlfriend glared at Gerri as she snapped her notebook shut.
“Thank you, Patrick.” Gerri turned toward the door. “If I have more questions, I’ll give you a call. In the meantime, call if there’s anything you can think of that might help.” She left her card on the small table by the door and left to the sound of renewed weeping.
***
***
EXT. – SONNICKER HOUSE - AFTERNOON
The Sonnicker house was still taped off, but the unis were gone, the kerfuffle of this morning’s discovery long over. While she had Abel Crombie to interrogate again, there was time for a walkthrough, to get her head straight. Gerri parked on the street rather than in the driveway, circling the house to think. She liked to visit crime scenes alone, once all the techs and cops were gone. The quiet helped her process, honing the instincts she relied on to a sharp edge.
Gerri paused by the flower bed with the ladder imprints. The dirt was smudged around the edges where Binks took a plaster cast, the ladder also gone from the shed for in-lab comparison. Gerri had no doubt the two would match. But, again she wondered, why the double points of entry? Her boots left tracks in the grass as she crossed to the back door and climbed the stairs. And froze, hand going for her gun. The tape was torn, the broken lock no barrier to an intruder. Someone was here, or had been.
She wasn’t taking any chances they were gone.
Gerri slipped inside, narrowing her eyes to force them to adjust to the lower level of light indoors. She sniffed the air, catching the scent of cologne, a smell she recognized. But, from where? Her boots tracked silently across the hard wood floor, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. She stared down the sight of her Glock .45 auto, elbows bent, focus on the end of her barrel. Someone moved upstairs, the soft scuff of feet on carpet. Gerri eased into the hallway outside the open concept kitchen and padded sideways up the flight of steps, back to the wall, eyes fixed on the lip of the second floor as it appeared through the railing.
She knew damned well she should call for backup. Grinned away the idea as her heart pumped extra blood and oxygen through her muscles, the hyper-focus of the hunt sharpening her senses. The odor of cologne was stronger here and she made the connection where she’d smelled it before just as her gaze fell on the figure crouched on the other side of the double doors to the master bedroom.
“Mr. Crombie.” Her tone was light, casual, but loud enough it made him jump, leaping to his feet with terror on his face, reinforced when he realized he looked down the barrel of her weapon. “Curiosity killing the cat, Mr. Crombie?”
He shook his head, took a step toward her, then seemed to think better of it as she gestured for him to leave the room. He did as he was told, glancing in at the giant pool of John Sonnicker’s blood.
“I needed something from the safe.” Abel had taken the time to dress, shower, even shave. His suit was well-cut enough it hid some of his middle-age portliness, though the gel in his hair did nothing to disguise his thinning problem. “It’s time sensitive.”
“Oh, I get it,” Gerri said with a grin. “You didn’t want to trouble the police with business. So you broke into an active crime scene only hours after the bodies of your business partner and his wife were found murdered, to access their private safe.” He paled further, skin ashen. “Sounds legit.”
“I swear, it’s not what you think.” He wiped at his sweating forehead with his right hand, confirming to Gerri she what she’d noticed this morning. While he might not be left handed, his actions just put him at the top of her suspect list.
“Let’s have a chat about what I think downtown.” Gerri slipped her cuffs out of the case on the back of her belt. “Turn around, Mr. Crombie.” He did as he was told, offering his wrists behind him. Gerri holstered her weapon, tightening the bracelets before dialing her phone.
“I need a unit at the Sonnicker scene,” she said to dispatch and hung up. “Why don’t I just read you your rights while I wait for the uniforms to get here?”
“It’s not what you think.” He was sweating heavily now, shaking. “Please, Detective. I need to get in the safe. My business depends on it.”
“That so.” Gerri gave him a soft push, just to make him sway. She knew she came across as a bully this time, too. So what? Her attitude got her what she wanted often enough. And it was hard at times to make men respect a woman cop, even someone of her stature. “You have about five minutes to explain it to me before I have you carted off downtown.” He didn’t comment, still shivering. “Great then,” she said, nice and bright so he’d know she didn’t give a shit. “You, Mr. Crombie, have the right to remain silent—”
“John was holding out on me.” Abel gasped the words, turning to face her. He looked just desperate enough he might be telling the truth. “He was holding our business hostage.”
“Keep going, I’m listening.” To her, it sounded like a good reason for murder. Let him dig himself a hole.
Abel sagged forward, licking his damp lips. “I made a bad deal with a contractor,” he said.
“A few months in and already screwing up.” Gerri tsked. “Patrick was nice enough to inform me of your instant head-butting with his father."
Abel nodded. “We were working on our first development. The deal was about to fall through. I stood to lose millions. I had contacts willing to front the cash to fund the property.” Legit? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not. She’d look into it. “But, John refused to sign the contract.” Pathetic, the way his jowls jiggled, the lost hope in his eyes. “If he just signed the paperwork, we could have moved ahead.”
“Why did he say no?” Gerri heard a car pull up, the thud of boots on the front step. The door opened, two voices downstairs coming closer.
“He didn’t want to work with my partners,” Abel said, almost in tears, eyes shining.
“So, why not just walk away, Abel?” And why did John Sonnicker agree to a partnership with someone like this? She smelled rotten brewing.
“I couldn’t.” His jaw tightened as he looked away. Hiding from her. There was more to this story than he was telling, still. “He was going to ruin us both.”
Time to investigate him and the people he was involved with. “You do realize,” Gerri said as Officer Mills and her partner, a burly black guy, Porter, joined her on the second floor, “you’ve just made yourself suspect number one in this investigation?” Not to mention the backers of his. Would they have killed John Sonnicker over a sour deal? Could be ties to mafia or some kind of organized crime.
Abel nodded, jerky and sad. “I know,” he said. “But I swear, detective, I’m not a murderer.” His voice sounded defeated, but Gerri knew there was more he wasn't telling her.
“Take care of him for me,” she said to Mills, pulling gloves from her pocket. “I’ll see you at the 9th.”
Mills saluted, her partner already half way down the stairs with Abel. “You need me to stay, Detective?”
Gerri shook her head, her focus already shifted to the bedroom. Whether she had her man or not, there was one thing she wanted to take a look at. Mills must have gotten the message because, a moment later, Gerri heard the front door close.
She was already crossing to the pentagram of pink salt, to the end table Emma Sonnicker had ended up dying against. The silver frame perched precariously on the edge, the photo inside off-kilter, just like Kinsey’s photo showed. Gerri pushed back thoughts of her friend and the damned necklace in favor of real police work, thank you.
The frame was heavy, deceptively so, feeling more like cast iron chromed over than what she expected. The back side was painted black, the tiny flaps holding the cover flipped open. Only one sat on the edge, keepi
ng the panel from flying off. Gerri eased it the rest of the way and popped the back off.
The photo’s image reflected through the paper at her, with an odd shape in the upper right corner. Gerri popped the picture out and took a closer look. The faint indent of a key was pressed, not only into the photo paper, but the backing as well.
A hiding place, hmm? But a key to what? And where did it go?
Gerri’s phone rang. She answered it absently, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Detective.” Binks’s tone of voice told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Hit me,” she said.
“The ladder imprint doesn’t match.” He sounded apologetic, as if this was his fault.
Gerri swore softly to herself. “Thanks, Binks.” She hung up. Okay, so the Sonnicker’s ladder wasn’t a match. She’d have the unis patrol the neighborhood and check every one on the block. Maybe they’d get lucky.
She stood, paced to the window, looked closer at the indent in the photo. Definitely a key.
The second time her phone rang, Gerri answered with more reservation. But Ray’s voice on the other end made her perk.
“I found something odd on Mr. Sonnicker’s X-Ray,” her friend said. “Halfway down his throat, lodged at the bottom of his esophagus.” She seemed contrite. “I don’t know how I missed it.”
Gerri’s eyes narrowed as she traced the impression on the photo with one gloved finger. “Let me guess,” she said. “He was in the process of swallowing a key when he had his throat slit.”
Ray’s silence ended with a heavy sigh. “Why do I bother with the big reveals? You always ruin them for me.”
Gerri laughed, slipping the photo and frame into a plastic bag from her back pocket. “I have to go to the precinct. Caught the business partner in the house.”
Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Page 4
