“I’ll be finished in a minute,” Spats called out.
He stared at the photos of Cody and Caitlyn. They had the same blue eyes and smiles. In one, Cody had an arm draped around her shoulder, the older brother looking out for his little sister. Spats narrowed his eyes. Caitlyn knew more about what Cody was up to. Spats gave the room a final look, took the laptop, and returned to the living room. He stared at McBain.
“Was that helpful?” McBain asked. He was still leaning against the wall near the door.
Spats answered with a question. “Did you interact with Cody or Austin much?”
McBain shook his head. “There are a lot of units here, so I don’t see people much, unless they have a problem with something in their apartment. They even pay the rent online, so I don’t even see them then.”
Something in McBain’s face told Spats he was holding back.
“Any trouble with Cody and Austin?”
McBain twisted up his lips. “Things were okay until about a month ago. Then there was an altercation between the two. The neighbor next door called me and said she heard fighting. I was tempted to call the police, but I really didn’t want the two of them to get in trouble.” He held up a hand. “I mean, from what I could tell, they seemed like good kids.”
“But you didn’t know them that well,” Spats observed.
McBain shrugged. “Yeah, I didn’t want the police around, you know? It doesn’t look good.”
“So what happened?”
McBain wrinkled up his face. “I came up, told them to cool it, and I threatened that I would call the police. That seemed to do it for that night, although Cody stormed out of here. I don’t know where he went, and I didn’t see him for a few days. But after that, things seemed to be okay.”
That matched with what Caitlyn Sheen had told him. Spats thought for a moment. “Have you seen anybody suspicious coming in and out of their apartment?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t see much. And when I’ve been up on this floor, I haven’t noticed anything like that.”
“How much do you know about Austin?”
McBain considered that. “Like I said, he’s in school, and he works. He’s gone a lot anyway, and he has money. I only know about the money because one night when they came home, I overheard him and Cody talking about some money they had. I think Austin’s father helps him pay the rent. Other than that, I don’t know much about him.”
Spats waited to see whether he’d say anything more. When McBain didn’t, Spat turned and went back to the sliding glass door. He was looking across the street when he heard a voice.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Can you take a look at this?” Ernie asked Tara Dahl as he walked into her office.
She looked up from her computer. “Is that Sarah’s personal laptop?” She pointed at the desk.
“Yeah,” Ernie said as he put it down.
“I’ll get to it asap.” She sat back and rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been going through Sarah’s work laptop and I don’t see anything unusual. No strange emails, no suspicious notes, certainly no one threatening her. I’ve got some scans running on all the data now, and I’ll let you know if I find anything I think you should know about. Otherwise, I’ll send a report with everything later today.”
“That sounds good.”
“Have you heard anything from the hospital?”
“No update. I’m hoping she wakes up later, and then we can talk to her.”
Tara smiled. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Ernie thanked her and left.
Ernie parked on Fairfax Street in front of a small blue bungalow with a covered porch. He stared at the house. It was cute, with a postage-sized front lawn just beginning to green, spring flowers pushing their way out of the ground. A long driveway led to a detached garage at the back of the house. No one would have thought that anything bad had happened behind those doors. But that’s where Cindy Olinger lived, the wife of Pete Olinger, who was now sitting behind bars. Ernie hadn’t met Cindy until later in the investigation, but he’d interviewed some of her neighbors. Most painted a rosy picture of the couple, but one man finally told the detective that he’d heard fights coming from the Olinger house, and he even suspected that Pete abused his wife. Ernie thought about that. Once the evidence mounted against her husband, Ernie thought that she’d have been furious with her husband for cheating on her, but as he recalled, Cindy had been most upset when Pete had gone to jail, and would likely end up in prison. She hadn’t cared about the murdered woman, the mistress. Ernie’s thoughts turned to Liz and their fight this morning. He’d been blindsided when he realized what Liz was getting at – that she was worried about his relationship with Sarah. Ernie pondered that. He did have a good relationship with Sarah. Hell, he liked her a lot. But was there something more? He gnawed his lip and pictured some of their past investigations and how Sarah handled herself. She was smart, funny, and yeah, she was really attractive. And yet she held things back. He held things back, too. Then he snorted. Liz knew that. He stared out the car window and thought about Liz. They’d had their ups and downs in their marriage. It wasn’t easy, but he had no idea what he’d do without her. He’d never once thought about cheating on her, and he certainly never thought of leaving her. She put up with a lot. She knew he didn’t say a lot, that he held a lot of things inside, and that his job could be difficult. For better or for worse, that was Liz. And him, too. As for Sarah, she was a great co-worker and friend. But that was all. Ernie needed to make sure Liz knew that.
Ernie let out a sigh as he got out of his car, shut the door, and walked up the sidewalk to the Olinger front door. He rang the bell and stepped back. He heard rock music playing loudly, but then it ceased and Cindy Olinger opened the door. She looked older than her mid-forties, with gray hair, wrinkles around hazel eyes, and red cheeks reminiscent of a heavy drinker.
“Yes?” she asked. She looked perplexed, lips parted into a hesitant smile, as if she knew she should be able to place Ernie, but couldn’t.
“Mrs. Olinger?” Ernie asked. “I’m Detective Moore with the Denver Police Department.”
Her smile vanished, replaced with not just a frown, but a look of total irritation and disgust.
Oh boy, Ernie thought. He tried for a polite smile. “I hope I can take a few minutes of your time for a few questions? It’s about a homicide investigation.”
“I thought I’d dealt with enough of you people before,” she said, her low voice cold.
Ernie held his ground and waited. A long silence stretched between them as he stared at her through the screen door. Then she finally shrugged and opened the door, then stepped back.
“I’m working, so I can only give you a few minutes.”
He entered a small living room. She jabbed a finger at a loveseat while she took a matching stuffed chair. Then she looked at him expectantly.
“What’s this about?” Not even close to polite.
Ernie glanced around the room. It was tastefully decorated in light blue tones, hanging shelves loaded with paperbacks on one wall, a TV on a little stand, and a tall ficus in the corner. He smelled air freshener that was unsuccessfully masking cigarette smoke.
“You like David Baldacci?” Ernie asked, trying to establish some rapport with her.
She studied him, seeming to wonder if the question had some kind of nefarious meaning behind it. She finally answered.
“I like to read thrillers. I have a Kindle, too, but I like the feel of a book in my hand.”
Ernie nodded. “Yeah, me too. I haven’t gotten around to embracing a Kindle.” He laughed. “My kids are the ones into technology.”
His attempt at creating some affinity fell flat. She stared at him and made no comment.
Ernie worked gingerly. “Do you have any kids?” He remembered that she didn’t, and he waited, knowing the answer.
She shook her head. “No, Pe
te and I never did have any.”
Ernie shifted in his seat, but before he could bring the conversation around to her husband, she did it for him.
“You have to be here about Pete.” The tone was sharp.
“Yes, that’s true,” Ernie said. “He’s being detained with the Department of Corrections while he awaits trial?”
“Just call it jail,” she snapped.
“Okay, jail.”
“Yes, he is. Surely you didn’t come here just to confirm that.”
Ernie didn’t let her attitude deter him. “As I recall …” He hesitated, still trying for some rapport, or at least trying not to further irritate her.
“Oh, just get to it,” she cracked.
Ernie stared at her, then gave up trying to play nice and did as she requested. “As I heard, you weren’t that upset about the mistress, Portia Zywicki, being killed.”
She crossed her arms. “She slept with my husband. What would I think about that?”
Ernie kept his voice even. “I would think you wouldn’t want her to lose her life over that.”
Her eyes remained chilly. “I know it’s not a popular opinion, but she got what she deserved.”
“And for what happened to your husband?” Ernie arched an eyebrow. “Did he get what he deserved?”
“Obviously I’m not happy about that. I still love Pete, and I didn’t want to lose him over an affair. And I sure didn’t want to see him go to prison over this whole thing. Now I have to drive over an hour each week to visit him. And of course visiting hours aren’t that long.”
She was just as he remembered, no sympathy for the other woman, no demand for accountability from her husband. Ernie studied her closely. “As I recall, your husband was upset because Portia Zywicki was going to come clean, tell you about their affair. He didn’t want that, so he murdered her.”
The tension level in her body visibly amped up as he talked about the case. She rolled her neck for a moment, as her hands gripped the loveseat cushion. “That’s a version of what happened. What the police and the courts didn’t understand was that she forced Pete’s hand.” She hesitated. “My husband has a bit of a temper, I’ll admit that. And they got in a fight about the affair, and he accidentally shot her.”
“That’s not what was determined during the case. Your husband said there were witnesses that saw them arguing in a car, and that she grabbed a gun and he was forced to defend himself, but we never could find anybody to corroborate that. All we found was that she was shot in her car and left in a field east of Denver.”
She sighed dramatically. “As I said, that’s the case you all built against my husband. That’s not what really happened.”
Ernie nodded slowly, feigning sympathy, while actually feeling as disgusted with her as she was with him. Then, from somewhere within himself, he acknowledged a little compassion for her being so deluded and desperate enough to stay with a man like Pete. Ernie understood abuse issues, that women feel trapped with very few options. But when your husband commits murder, that would be the time to cut him loose.
“You sound upset with the police,” he observed.
She wasn’t holding anything back. “That detective, what’s her name? Spellman? Wait, Spillman. She had it in for Pete right from the get-go. She didn’t look anywhere else, just at him. Of course I’m angry with her.”
“You remember her name.”
She threw up a hand. “Yes. She was on the news and all over the internet. And Pete talked about her, too. He kept saying that she wouldn’t believe him, that she was setting him up. And I believe that.” Then realization crossed her face. “Oh, wait a minute. I heard something this morning about a police officer who was shot last night. Was it her?” The tone was indifferent, without much surprise. Ernie was having a hard time reading her.
“That’s right.” He put his hands on his knees, a different perspective to study her while they talked. “You don’t seem that disturbed about it.”
She smirked. “It’s not like I shot her, but if you want to know the truth, no, I’m not upset. Because of her, everything has been turned upside down. My whole life was exposed, and because of all the scrutiny, I had to get a different job. The neighbors stare at me, and everybody hates Pete. It’s been difficult.”
“Where do you work now?”
“A place downtown, although I work from home a lot.” She shifted in the chair. “And speaking of work, I need to get back to it.”
“Where were you last evening around 5:30?”
Now she understood the purpose of his visit. The sneer remained, but her expression went wary. “You’re not going to plant that shooting on me. I was taking a Zumba class at the gym. I have plenty of witnesses, and the person at the front desk can verify that I was there as well. I got there a little after five, and I left about seven. Then I came home.” She pointed out the front window. “I’d be willing to bet some neighbors saw me drive up and go into the garage. Feel free to ask them.”
Ernie wanted to say that he didn’t need her permission, but he held that in check. “What gym?”
“Go Fit. It’s on Colorado Boulevard.”
“Thank you, I appreciate the information.”
“Some other person shot that detective, not me.” She clearly didn’t want to say Sarah’s name. “Look, I know you guys have to do your job, but you shouldn’t be pinning a bad rap on someone like my husband. Or me.”
“I’m confident in what the DA found, as well as the jury,” Ernie said evenly.
“Of course you are.”
“Do you know Cody Sheen or Nick Armistead?”
Her brow furrowed and she seemed genuinely puzzled. “Who?”
“Pete never mentioned them?”
“No.”
“One more thing. Do you or Pete own any guns?”
She shook her head. “No, we don’t. I know what you’re thinking, too. That Portia was shot. But that wasn’t Pete’s gun.”
“Right.” Ernie nodded. “We weren’t able to establish who owned it.”
“See?” she said defiantly. “One more reason to doubt his guilt.”
Ernie got up and looked at her. “Thank you for your time.”
She slid off the loveseat and stomped to the door. “You’re not fooling me. You think I’m cold and heartless. But I’m just a realist, and I wasn’t happy with what happened with my husband. It was all an accident, and that’s that.”
Ernie didn’t say anything else as he stepped onto the porch. The door slammed behind him, and as he walked back to his car, he felt eyes on him. He got in the car and rooted through the glove compartment.
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction as he jammed a cigar in his mouth and chewed on it. But the relief was short-lived. It didn’t taste right, maybe because he hadn’t chewed on a cigar in a while. He tossed it on the passenger seat and pulled out his phone. While he watched Cindy’s house, he called the two friends of the Olingers that were in the case file. Both were available, and both said that they weren’t aware of Cindy holding any kind of grudge against the police department. They also didn’t know whether she owned any guns, and neither reported that she’d ever talked about guns, or going to a shooting range for target practice. However, both also admitted they didn’t know what Cindy had been up to since the trial, and neither one knew what she’d been doing the previous evening.
Ernie pocketed his phone and eyed the cigar again. Then he picked up and chewed on it while he mulled over his conversation with Cindy. Just because she hadn’t admitted to owning guns, or knowing how to shoot didn’t mean she wasn’t lying. Ernie needed to check her alibi. If witnesses could confirm she was at the Zumba class, that would clear her, at least as the actual shooter. But did he believe Cindy could or would hire someone to go after Sarah? He wasn’t so sure about that. But Cindy didn’t seem to have a connection to Cody Sheen or Nick Armistead. Ernie again tossed the cigar down. Things weren’t adding up.
He pulled out his phone, called the statio
n, and asked for some detectives to look into Cindy’s background, to see if she associated with anyone who owned guns, and to check into her finances. If she had paid someone to shoot Sarah, they might find a money trail. He ended the call and glanced back at the Olinger house. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her at the front window.
“What a piece of work,” he muttered as he started the car. Then his cell phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. “Moore,” he barked.
“It’s Detective Esposito, at Denver Health. Detective Spillman is awake and talking.”
Chapter Twenty
“I said, who the hell are you?” The young man enunciated carefully, each word punctuated with anger. He glared at Spats and the manager.
Spats locked eyes with him to let the kid know that he wasn’t intimidated. Then he walked over with a hand held out. He was neither overly pleasant, nor threatening.
“I’m Detective Youngfield,” he said. “I have a warrant to search the apartment.”
Austin was trying for tough, but his eyes betrayed him. He was scared as he shook hands with Spats. “You’re here about Cody, aren’t you?” he asked.
Spats nodded. “I’m sorry about your roommate.”
“Yeah, it sucks, man,” Austin said. He had longer dark hair, and he tugged at the end of it. He didn’t appear particularly sad about Cody.
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