“Gabby’s Cabbies.”
“Hello. This is Officer Mike Jackson. I was wondering if I could speak to someone about a taxi that was dispatched to Savoy’s on Saturday night.”
“Dispatched where?”
“Savoy’s.”
“Sahoy’s what?”
“Savoy’s Bar and Grill.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s on Creek Boulevard in Madisen Township.”
“Never heard of that either.”
“Do you keep a log?”
“A log?”
“Yes, a log.”
“Why would I keep a log? For what purpose?”
“In case you need to know who got dispatched where and to know how much money your cabbies should’ve collected.”
“Oh, that kind of log.”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to know what other kind of log she thought I meant. I mean, it wasn’t Christmas. I wasn’t asking about a yule log.
“You’ll have to talk to Peter.”
“Who’s Peter?”
“The manager.”
“When will Peter be in?”
“Tomorrow.”
“This is urgent. I’m conducting a murder investigation.”
“Murder?!”
“Yes, murder.”
“Oh, my.”
“Does Peter have a cell number I can try to call?” Speaking of trying—she was trying my nerves, but my training told me to be patient. You get more flies with honey. And when patience doesn’t work and the honey dries up, then bad cop takes over.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Look, I really need to get in touch with him. It’s imperative. One of your cabbies drove the deceased home.”
“How could a deceased person get into the cab?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ma’am, he wasn’t deceased when he got into the cab.”
“Are you saying one of our cabbies killed him?”
I was getting nowhere with…“What did you say your name was?”
“Sheila. Sheila Davis.”
I was getting nowhere with Sheila. “Sheila, did you work on Saturday night?”
“Yep, I work every Saturday night.”
“Do you remember anyone calling for a cab on Saturday?”
“Lots of people.”
“How about a bunch of drunk guys from a bar named Savoy’s?”
“Oh, yeah. Now that you mention it…I did get a call from that bar. A bunch of guys, too drunk to drive.”
“Great job, Sheila. This is extremely helpful.” I rolled my eyes again, then I smiled because I read somewhere online that smiling on the phone made your voice sound less harsh. “Do you remember what time that call came in?”
“Hold on, let me check the call book.”
I rolled my eyes a third time. She had a call book, but I had to talk to the manager about the call log. If I could’ve reached through the phone and slapped her upside the head, I would have.
Sheila came back to the phone after a few minutes. “Says here we got the call at twelve forty-seven. A driver was in the area. Ralph. He would’ve gotten there within five minutes.”
“Sheila, you’re about to break our case wide open!”
“What case?”
I gritted my teeth. This woman was living proof that evolution could go in reverse. “Our murder investigation case.”
“Ooooohhhhh.”
“All I need is to talk to Ralph.”
“He’ll be in tomorrow, but he’s usually on the road.” I shook the phone. It was the closest thing I had to shaking Sheila’s head.
“Does he have a cell phone?”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
“May I have it so I can ask him about that pickup at Savoy’s?”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose.”
Sheila left me on hold while she located Ralph’s phone number. She eventually came back and gave it to me. I thanked her before I hung up, then I dialed Ralph’s number. The number wasn’t in service. If the rest of this investigation was going to be like my interaction with Sheila, they might as well lock me up now. I’d never find the killer before the police found me.
One thing was for sure. I could officially cross Carl off the list of suspects. It appeared he was home before we ever left Savoy’s. One suspect down, several left to rule out.
Chapter 5
Chelsey
The tiny Village of Coral Beach was becoming quite the opposite of a sleepy shore town. It was gaining a reputation as the murder capital of New Jersey. And now, with the murder of a government employee—the head of the police, no less—its tourism income was sure to plummet.
A busy morning was ahead of me. Bryce was still out cold when I had left, and I hadn’t wanted to wake him. After what he’d been through, I was sure that exhaustion had taken hold. He needed his rest.
I, on the other hand, was accustomed to waking at the crack of dawn from having a toddler. Instead of loafing around the house, I decided to cross some things off my list.
Freshly showered with shaved legs, I threw on cotton shorts and a t-shirt and took care of Snickers. I didn’t have to be at work. Freddy let me make my own hours for the most part. So long as I got the work done, he didn’t care when I did it. It was a blessing today particularly, because I wasn’t sure I could report in to Freddy without mentioning something about Bryce. I was dying to tell him because I knew he would help. But Bryce didn’t want that.
My parents lived over the bridge from me in the town of Sunshine. They were early risers too, so I knew I wouldn’t wake them if I showed up. I slid into my car and drove to their house.
My mother hadn’t slept. She was distraught about Archie’s untimely death. She and my father had gone to the retirement party and never dreamed something like that could’ve happened.
“It’s a crying shame,” my dad commented. My mother mostly wept.
They hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious at the retirement dinner and didn’t know most of the attendees. They didn’t go to Savoy’s afterward. I questioned them about Archie’s ex-wife, Martha, and his current wife, Pamela.
Archie had been married three times. Martha was his first. Jennifer was his second and Pamela was his third. Martha left Archie after she learned he cheated on her with Jennifer, who was seven years her junior. That was when Archie was thirty. Martha was bitter. Archie married Jennifer only days after his divorce. A quick ceremony at the courthouse. It wasn’t meant to last. They divorced eight months later when Jennifer discovered that Archie was cheating on her as well.
Archie met his third wife, Pamela, when he was thirty-five. They married, had a daughter, and they seemed happy according to my parents. I wondered if the cliché once a cheater, always a cheater was true. If so, it would give Pamela a motive for killing her husband. With his passing she’d get everything—the house, insurance money, pension. Another motive. I wondered who would know if Archie was cheating.
That opened up the idea of another suspect. What if Archie had a current girlfriend? She would be a suspect too. Maybe she killed him in a jealous rage. My suspect list was growing, and I still didn’t have any answers.
The topic of Archie’s daughter came up next. They told me she was fifteen years old. Her name was Brittany. She was a good girl, in honor society, and she also played soccer. They said Archie had a good relationship with her. He attended all her soccer games and whenever my parents saw her, she was a happy-go-lucky kid. It was sad that she now had to grow up without a father. That furthered my belief that Bryce was innocent. He wouldn’t have taken a teenager’s father away from her.
I left my parents’ house, declining a breakfast invitation. Bryce would wake up soon and be hungry. Fruit Loops or Cocoa Puffs weren’t going to hold a grown man until lunchtime. Plus, I didn’t feel like being mocked again for only having food fit for a toddler in the house.
Bagel Street was on my way home, so I stopped and ordered two egg and cheese sandwiches on bagels. I picked up a daily newspape
r and read it while I waited for breakfast to cook. It said Archie had been stabbed forty-three times with moderate force. I made a mental note to ask Bryce what “moderate force” meant in police lingo. Did it indicate if the killer was male or female?
Archie had to be unconscious because the reporter noted there were no defensive stab wounds on his arms. So he didn’t try to block the knife or grab it with his hands. Was Archie drugged too?
The article also said the wounds were not self-inflicted. I rolled my eyes. Even a chimpanzee would conclude that the normal human wouldn’t stab themselves forty-three times. If Archie was stabbed forty-three times, why didn’t Pamela and Brittany hear anything? The reporter must’ve had that same realization, because the article indicated that the wife claimed she and her daughter did not hear anything unusual. She said that when her husband came home with a friend after a night of drinking, she turned on the fan in her room—to drown out their voices so she could sleep. She also claimed her daughter had bad allergies and always slept with a noisy ionizer. So, Pamela didn’t have an alibi. Neither did Brittany. The last paragraph of the article mentioned that the medical examiner suspected the cause of death as exsanguination as a result of sharp force trauma, but noted that his report would be finalized after an autopsy and investigation.
The server behind the counter called my name. The bagels were ready. I paid for them along with the newspaper, then drove home. I mentally crossed Archie’s daughter off my suspect list. If what my parents said was true, there was no way that girl would’ve killed her father. And if what Bryce said was true, a teenager wouldn’t have been at the bar and wouldn’t have had time to drug Bryce.
* * *
Back at home, I found Bryce sitting with my laptop. The scent of coffee hung in the air. He was deep in thought and didn’t notice me.
I eyed Bryce up and down. “Cute shirt…and matching hat. What do you call that? Yo Gabba Gabba, Jersey style?”
Bryce looked up. “I was wondering where you went. I didn’t have any clothes to change into. I bought some at the store down the street.”
“What’s with the Jersey tourist getup?”
Bryce held out the bottom of the shirt and studied it. “It is cute, huh?”
“I brought breakfast.” I took a bagel out for myself and tossed him the bag.
He opened the bag and removed the other bagel. “It took you over two hours to get a couple of bagel sandwiches?”
“Not that I report to you, but I went to my parents’ house first. You were out cold. You didn’t even hear me let the dog out this morning.” I retreated to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of paper plates, some napkins, and orange juice.
“You could’ve left a note.”
After placing everything on the coffee table, I sat next to Bryce. “Could’ve. Didn’t.”
“Now who’s being rude?”
“I’m not trying to be rude. Let’s start over. Good morning, Bryce. Did you sleep well? I thought you’d be hungry, so I made breakfast.”
“More like purchased breakfast.” Bryce winked.
“Semantics.”
“Thanks for breakfast, Chelsey.” Bryce patted my leg.
I felt a zing of electricity enter my body through his warm touch. Even with the anti-turn-on “I love Jersey” tee. Stop it, Chelsey. Stop it! It was hard to focus on the task at hand—finding a killer. Bryce was sexy, even if I didn’t want to admit that. Even with the stupid clothes.
“What did your parents have to say?”
“After talking to them, I agree with you, the daughter didn’t do it.”
Bryce nodded. I told him about Archie’s wedding history and how his current wife could’ve had motive. I asked Bryce if he thought Archie was cheating on her. Bryce didn’t think so. Bryce also thought that Archie’s wife took her daughter home after the restaurant. They didn’t go to the bar afterward, which meant they didn’t have access to slip a roofie into Bryce’s drink. But the killer could’ve had help. Maybe one person was at the bar and the other laid in wait at the house.
Tina Liara was the next topic of conversation. Bryce wasn’t familiar with her and wasn’t aware of her grievance against Archie. She was new to the police force. He typed her name into Google and found articles about the grievance. He agreed with me about her being a suspect.
Bryce finished his sandwich, while I hadn’t touched mine yet. I was doing most of the talking at first. He didn’t seem to mind. He finished his orange juice, then told me about the men that were at Savoy’s the night of Archie’s murder.
“I’m putting Carl and Drew on my suspect list,” I announced.
“It couldn’t have been them—they wouldn’t have had time to drug me since they both left early.”
“I know Drew. His last name is Pavlica. He was president of the New Jersey Clerk’s Association at one time. How does he know Archie?”
“Beats me.”
“I’m leaving them on the list.”
Bryce rubbed his face with both hands. “They both have alibis, Chelsey—it wasn’t them.”
“How do you know? Have you seen them since that night? Did you interrogate them?” I couldn’t help staring at his well-defined biceps. I shook the thought from my brain. I needed to focus on helping Bryce find Archie’s killer.
“Interview.”
“What?”
“I would’ve interviewed them, not interrogated them.”
“Semantics.”
“No, actually, there are significant procedural differences between the two.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, thanks for the police lesson, Bryce.”
Bryce smiled. I wrote Carl’s and Drew’s names onto Santa’s naughty list.
“Why did you write their names down? I told you they didn’t do it.”
“I ignored you. You didn’t interview them, did you?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“Why? You believe their alibis?”
“You said you knew Drew. Do you think he could hurt a fly?”
“Well, no, but it’s always the person you least expect.”
“In Hollywood—possibly, but not in real life. In real life, it’s not always the person you least expect. It’s usually the person I do suspect. It’s a matter of proving it—having enough evidence. I have good instincts. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that Drew and Carl aren’t killers.”
“Then who is?”
Bryce told me about Solar.
“Solar? That’s his name? Solar? Who names their kid Solar?”
The muscles in Bryce’s face relaxed. His lips formed into a smile. Oh, that smile! “Solomon Aaron Ritter, a.k.a. Solar. A shorter version of his name.”
“I see. And why do you suspect him? Other than his dumb nickname.”
“His parents were murdered in stabbings; the perps were never found. I wondered if Solar committed the crime.”
“And what’s his motive for killing Archie?” I finished my bagel and waited for a reply.
“Don’t know that yet.”
“So, what’s our next step? We’ve got some good leads to check out. We’ve found what we can find on the Internet. I could try to talk to these people, but what are the chances I’d get a full confession from anyone?”
“I haven’t thought all that through. My first idea was to collect DNA evidence. But it’s pricey and I don’t currently have a DNA lab at my disposal.”
I wondered what the point would be about getting DNA samples. It wasn’t like we had access to evidence collected at the scene of the crime. “Wouldn’t police be testing all the DNA from the crime scene?”
“Not all of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I forgot to tell you that I took something from the crime scene.”
“Huh? What did you take? Isn’t that tampering with evidence?”
“There was a ring near Archie’s body. I told you I wasn’t in my right mind that morning. I’m not sure why I took it. Something told me it would lea
d me to the perp. Maybe not, though. I don’t think it’s Archie’s. I never saw him wear it.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t his. Where is it?”
Bryce pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and showed me the ring. It was odd. As I took the plastic bag from him, our hands touched and my mind went to that place that it shouldn’t have gone again—a memory of a passionate kiss I once shared with him. I shook off the feelings of a schoolgirl crush and got back to reality. Reality was that I was aiding and abetting the main suspect in a murder.
“It’s bulky, so I can see why you’d think it was a man’s ring, but it’s small for a man’s finger. Pinky ring, maybe?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s dreadful.”
“It’s not something I’d wear.” Bryce didn’t wear much jewelry anyway. Just a watch.
“It looks like something one of those old-fashioned television mobsters would wear. I could ask Archie’s wife if she ever saw it before.”
“I can’t give it to you; it’s evidence. How would you accomplish asking her anyway? What would you tell her about it?”
“I don’t need the ring to ask her about it. Put it on a paper towel and I’ll take a picture with my cell phone.”
“It has blood stains on it.”
“I’ll Photoshop them out.”
“Okay, but be careful. If Archie’s wife goes to the police about the ring, then they’ll be knocking down your door asking questions.”
“How would they know it’s from the murder scene?”
“Maybe they won’t…so long as you don’t mess up and mention it.”
I glared at him. “I’m not the one who is going to mess anything up.”
“That’s a shame, because I was hoping that we’d at least mess up the bed together.”
I smacked his arm, then cleaned up the mess from breakfast. It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a dozen or so times, but under the circumstances, no thanks. I was in a weird situation with another man in my life. No, not Mandy’s father—I couldn’t care less about him. It was a guy named Kris Beck. We had been dating for a while, but he owned a restaurant and well, let’s just say business came first. I rarely saw him. As a result, I was losing interest. I wanted more, and Kris couldn’t give it to me. On the other hand, I liked Kris because he was also a single parent with full custody of his son, so we seemed to be in the same place in our lives. Not to mention, he was gorgeous. I know, that was shallow, and that wasn’t the only reason I liked him. He was intelligent and mature. I met him before I met Bryce. I owed it to Kris to tell him it was over between us before I set my sights on Bryce.
Major Crimes Page 4
