Criminal Negligence

by Danielle L Davis

  “Where?” My heart raced, and I held my breath. Maybe this visit hadn’t wasted our time after all.

  She tugged on her lower lip. “I’m not one hundred percent positive, but …”

  “Where?” My impatience kicked in. “Where did you see her?”

  “I think she’s been to the Frakes Realty office a few times. Looking for a job, maybe? I don’t know why exactly, but she was talking to one of the agents who used to work there. I don’t remember the agent’s name, but she was kind of loud, and they were laughing a lot. It bothered me.” She gave me the picture. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Sharon Carter,” I said.

  “Okay. Do you think she killed Vincent?”

  “I doubt it. She’s someone we discovered during our investigation.” I didn’t intend to say more.

  “Wait a minute!” Monica hurried to the end table and picked up the envelope containing her copy of the will. She slid the pages out then flipped through them. “It’s her.” She tapped a section of the page.

  I nodded.

  “I don’t understand.” She dropped the papers on the table. “Did Sylvia kill her, too?”

  “It’s still an ongoing investigation. I’m sorry. That’s all I’m able to tell you.” I turned toward the door.

  “We’ll let you know when we can,” Bernie said.

  Bernie and I left.

  “What the hell was Sharon Carter doing at Frakes Realty?” My brain felt fuzzy, and I struggled to make my mind work. Maybe Monica was right. Sylvia might well have been involved.

  I yawned hard. “We need to go talk to Sylvia right now.”

  We parked in front of Sylvia’s house and marched to the door. Although later in the day, the heat still sizzled.

  A curtain in the front window flickered. “Did you see that?” I looked at Bernie.

  “See what?” Bernie rang the doorbell.

  “The curtain moved. Somebody’s here.” I banged on the door, but nobody answered and the curtains were too thick to see through.

  “Maybe she has a cat. They like sitting in windows. You call Frakes Realty, and I’ll call Sylvia’s cell.” Bernie looked through his notebook.

  “Didn’t see a cat when we were here before. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one, though.”

  I flipped through my notebook, found the phone number, and dialed. Voicemail. I disconnected then searched for the new address she’d given us for Frakes Realty, which was on the way to the station. “Let’s check out the new Frakes Realty offices. Any luck with the phone number?”

  He shook his head. I gave him the Frakes Realty address, and we got back on the road.

  My phone buzzed. “Valentine.” It was Dr. Moore. We’d been meaning to talk to him again. I hit the speaker button.

  “Detective Valentine, would it be possible to speak with you tomorrow morning at nine?”

  After glancing at Bernie for confirmation, I said, “We can be there.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” I disconnected.

  “Good. It’s about time we spoke to Dr. Moore again.”

  Bernie turned onto the street of the new location of the Frakes Realty office and rolled into a space in the empty parking lot.

  The two-story building had large windows. A sign on the lower level indicated Frakes Realty occupied those offices, and the upper level belonged to an insurance agency. The lights were off. We got out of the car and walked up to the entrance anyway. Bernie pulled on the door. Locked. I considered the journey a bust and hoped we’d have better luck tomorrow with either Dr. Moore or Sylvia. We also had Kelly to deal with. I called Mavis Carter and left her a message indicating we’d like to stop by. I wanted to search Sharon Carter’s bedroom.

  28

  First thing the next morning, Bernie and I dropped in on the Moores. They led us into their living room.

  I had no intention of mentioning Sharon Carter to them right away and started with a soft ball. “Have you spoken to your daughter over the past few days?”

  Dr. Moore glanced at Joan before answering. “I believe we discussed this at our other house. I haven’t spoken to my daughter in several weeks.”

  I recalled thinking of him as a rooster. He’d lost a few pounds since then. From stress?

  “Things change, though.” I looked at Joan. “What about you?”

  “Me? What about me?” She frowned. “I try to reach her when I can, but I haven’t been able to for a while. She’s avoiding me.”

  “Why?” I looked up from my writing.

  “Because she doesn’t want to hear it.”

  “Hear what?”

  I knew what.

  “The same thing I’ve been saying for quite some time. She’s wasting her life out there on the streets. She had so much potential.” And there it was—just as Jennifer told me. Mrs. Moore was disappointed in her daughter because she didn’t fit a preconceived life plan she’d created for her, probably before Jennifer’s birth.

  I looked at Dr. Moore. “How long has she been living on the streets?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve lost count. She used to come home for a while then leave again.”

  “Why did she stop coming home?”

  His gaze slid to Joan once again and then returned me. “Because I told her she needed to get herself together or don’t come back. I’d had enough.”

  Joan’s face turned pale. She bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring.

  I turned to face her square on. “Tell me. What is it?”

  “He pushed her away. It’s his fault. Everything.” She stiffened.

  I had to disagree. Although there was plenty of blame to go around, Jennifer was an adult, and she’d made the decision to use drugs and stay away from home. I kept my opinion to myself, however.

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Dr. Moore leaned forward. “What’s going on with the investigation? Joan said we might be able to start showing the house again soon?”

  “Yes, I mentioned that to her.”

  “Do we have to tell potential buyers that somebody died on our property?” he asked.

  “You need to discuss that with Frakes Realty,” Bernie said.

  Dr. Moore looked at him. “Why? You’re cops. Don’t you know?”

  “You should discuss it with your agent,” Bernie repeated.

  Joan sneered. “We don’t have an agent anymore. I fired them.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She thinks they let that girl in our house. The girl who died.” Dr. Moore answered.

  “Is that true?” I asked Joan.

  “Why would they do that?” Bernie asked.

  “I don’t know. How else could she have gained entry? There were no broken windows, and the officers told my husband the patio door was open.”

  “She was found in the backyard,” I said. “We saw no indication she entered your house. It doesn’t mean she hadn’t been inside, though.”

  Dr. Moore nodded. “That’s what I keep telling her. We don’t even know if the gate was locked. The gardener may have left it unlocked. Perhaps Sylvia or Monica left the patio door open. We simply don’t know.”

  “Is that why you called me yesterday? To ask whether you had to tell buyers someone had died on the property?” I asked.

  “Yes. That’s it,” Dr. Moore said.

  He could’ve asked that over the phone. I still wasn’t ready to talk about Sharon Carter. I wanted to search her bedroom first. Bernie and I stood.

  “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.” Bernie went outside, and I followed him out.

  “Have a nice day.”

  Thanks for wasting some of mine.

  From there, we headed to Mavis Carter’s house. My gut told me we wouldn’t be wasting our time there. Sometimes, my gut was right.

  When we arrived at Mavis Carter’s, we found the interior door open. Bernie knocked on the screen door. She appeared, dressed in a black pantsuit, and her hair ha
d been brushed out. The difference between the woman we’d met previously and this one was shocking, in a good way. She opened the screen door to let us in.

  “How are you?” Bernie stepped into her home, looking around.

  I followed him and did the same. It smelled of soup and baking bread, and I was surprised by how homey it felt. I envisioned myself picking out the same type of furniture in soft fabrics and earth tones. The hardwood floors needed refinishing, but the home was neat and uncluttered. She hadn’t answered Bernie’s question. I stopped gawking at my surroundings and looked at her. Mavis was gazing at an elementary school portrait of Sharon on the wall. In it, Sharon had pigtails and uneven bangs cut too short.

  I approached Mavis. “Are you okay?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  “Have you been able to make arrangements?” Bernie asked.

  “I’ve started to. There’s no other family. Her grandparents are gone, and her mom passed before I met her dad. Too much tragedy in that family.” She shook her head and moved toward the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I know you married her father. What was his name?” Bernie asked.

  “William Carter. Will was a good man—the best of all of my husbands. He raised Sharon for a while on his own. Did I tell you that?”

  I shook my head. “What happened to her mother?”

  “She died in a car accident. Sharon was in the car and had some injuries, mostly bruises and scratches from broken glass. She was too young to remember the accident or her mother.”

  My head snapped up. “What was her mother’s name?” My heart raced.

  “Freda. Will called her Freddie.” She smiled sadly.

  I glanced at Bernie, who was searching through his notes, looking for Freda’s name, I guessed. He hadn’t been with me when Monica told me about Freda. I tried to process what I’d just heard. Bernie was frowning. He didn’t recognize Freda’s name. I put up a finger for him to give me a moment.

  “Mavis, can we take a look at Sharon’s bedroom, please? We may find something to help us figure out who … what happened.”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  I handed her a waiver, acknowledging she’d given us permission. She signed it and gave it back.

  “Follow me.” She stood and led us out of the living room, stopping at a room with pale-pink walls. A full-size canopy bed took up a large portion of the space. Dozens of stuffed animals cluttered the bed, floor, and every other surface. Based on our conversations with Mavis about Sharon, I’d never imagined anything like that. It must’ve showed on my face because I turned to see her watching me.

  “Will showered her with stuffed animals. He bought her the bed when she was eight. She loved it and kept it when she grew up. I think it was her way of holding on to him. They were very close. She said she wanted to save the bed for when she had her own …” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” She hurried away.

  Bernie and I pulled on our gloves and walked around the room, getting a feel for where Sharon might’ve kept her secrets.

  Bernie whispered, “Who’s Freda?”

  “She was Vincent Frakes’s sister.”

  Bernie’s eyes widened. “Sharon was his niece.” Scratching his chin, he walked to the other side of the room. “So that’s why she’s mentioned in his will. Interesting.” He spun toward me, a question in his eyes.

  “I have no idea if Sylvia knew about her.” I pulled open a drawer on the pink dresser and looked inside. Sharon had turned from a princess to a con artist, and it had probably gotten her killed. I felt under the drawer then pulled out another and did the same. Finally, I found a large white envelope taped to the left side of the track on the bottom of the final drawer. I took a cell phone picture before prizing it free. I sat on the bed and shook out the contents.

  “Shit.”

  Bernie had been searching the nightstand. “What?”

  I pointed to the pile. “Checks and fake IDs. Dozens of them.”

  Bernie picked up several items. “Real estate agent licenses and driver’s licenses. Some social security cards, too. In different names, including Kelly’s. Sharon’s, too.” He looked at me, frowning, and handed me an evidence bag he’d brought from the car.

  “Yeah.” I dropped the envelope and its contents inside the bag and sealed it. “Let’s keep looking.”

  Bernie went into the walk-in closet and whistled. “Wow. Khrystal would love this. She’s complaining we don’t have enough storage.”

  I took a look and couldn’t believe it. The carpeting in there was thicker than the one in the bedroom. The well-lit closet, almost as large as the bedroom, contained a rectangular chandelier in the center of the ceiling. I wondered if it was a bedroom that had been converted into a closet. A wide upholstered bench occupied the center. A dressing table and tall mirror with gold braided trim took up a large portion of one wall. Shelving had been built on every wall. Compartments ran up and down the length of several rows. The closet had places for shoes, jewelry, belts, purses, and anything else imaginable. I wished Mac could have seen it in person. I slid my phone from my pocket, took pictures of everything, and left the closet to Bernie.

  Back in the bedroom, I mentally added a closet like that to my own wish list.

  I finished checking the dresser and found nothing else of interest. To be thorough, I looked under the bed and in the other nightstand.

  A few minutes later, Bernie carried a small plastic storage box out of the closet and set it on the bed. “Let’s see what we have in here.” He opened the box to find a Dell laptop inside. Police procedure dictated we turn it over to Computer Forensics without booting it up.

  Bernie set aside the laptop, and we reentered her closet. He moved her clothes, looking for hidden compartments. I got down on my knees to check the floor and found another plastic storage box in the far corner, hidden behind a large hamper filled with clothes. I dragged out the box, surprised by its weight. Once I’d pulled it to the middle of the room, I sat on the bench and popped the lid.

  “Bernie, you need to see this.” I knelt beside the box.

  “What is it?” He looked over my shoulder then knelt next to me. “Oh.”

  “Containers of acetone, safety goggles, rubber gloves, a plastic bucket, and a stainless-steel tray. Everything a person would need to erase ballpoint ink from personal checks. It makes more sense now. This is why I use a gel ink pen when I write checks.”

  “Me, too.” Bernie nodded. “Let me show you something. Come over here.” He walked to the other end of the closet and pointed to an open cabinet.

  “A scanner, color laser printer, and a laminating machine. Yeah, it all fits.”

  “Who should we talk to now?” Bernie asked.

  “Kelly Milton, since Sharon’s not talking to anyone.”

  We left Mavis with an itemized receipt for the boxes and items we’d taken from the bedroom, took it to our car, and locked everything in the trunk.

  Bernie slid behind the wheel. “Did the Simons’ neighbor, Leslie Carmichael, ever call you to let you know they came home?”

  “No, she didn’t.” It bothered me because she may have told the Simons we were looking for them. We’d already had a difficult time tracking Kelly down. If Leslie Carmichael said something to her parents or to Kelly, we might not find her for a while. I never told the woman not to say anything, so I couldn’t fault her. My phone buzzed. “Valentine.”

  “Hi, Sydney.”

  “Hi, Brad.” Darn it, I’d forgotten about him. “I was just thinking of calling you.”

  I am such a liar.

  Bernie looked at me sideways, a smirk creasing his face.

  Yeah, like he’d never told a white lie.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’ve just been super busy with this case.”

  “Any chance you’ll have time to join me for
dinner soon? You still have to eat, right?”

  “Sure. I’m not certain about tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “I guess it will have to be. How’s seven o’clock sound? I can pick you up.”

  “Can we eat in? I’m in the mood to stay home and relax. It’s been a tough few days.”

  “That would be great. I can bring a pizza, if you’d like.”

  “Perfect! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sydney, be careful out there.” He hung up.

  I stared at the phone. He’d never told me to be careful before. I put the phone away and gazed out the window.

  “What’s wrong?” Bernie asked.

  “He just told me to be careful.”

  “And?”

  “He’s never said that before.” I shrugged. “It’s weird.”

  “Why is it weird? People usually say that to people they care about. Khrystal says it to me all the time.”

  “Yes, but you’re in love. You live together. You’re having a baby.”

  Bernie smiled. “And?” He pulled onto the Simons’ street.

  “Wipe that stupid smile off your face, buddy. What’s so funny?”

  “He’s falling for you.”

  “Look, there they are!” I pointed ahead. “Kelly and Jake are at the stop sign. Catch them before they drive away!”

  Bernie floored it and pulled in front of their car, blocking them in. I hopped out and circled around to the driver’s side where Kelly sat.

  The window was down, and she had her hands on the steering wheel. “Did I do something wrong?”

  The innocent look had run its course with me.

  “Hi, Kelly. How are you?” I forced a sunshine-and-roses smile.

  “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” She peered up at me. “Thanks for asking.”

  “That’s good. We’ve been looking for you.” I leaned on the door, peeking inside the car.

  “What for?” She glanced at Jake. He hadn’t said a word and simply stared straight ahead.

  Bernie stood on the opposite side of the car, near Jake’s window. He’d placed the recorder on top of the car, but I wasn’t sure if it could pick up anything from there.