Death by Chocolate
Page 1
Death By Chocolate
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Book Seven
Steven Henry
Clickworks Press • Baltimore, MD
Also by the Author
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Black Velvet
Irish Car Bomb
White Russian
Double Scotch
Manhattan
Black Magic
Death by Chocolate
Massacre (coming soon)
* * *
The Clarion Chronicles
Ember of Dreams
Copyright © 2019 Steven Henry
Cover design © 2019 Ingrid Henry
Cover photo used under license from istockphoto.com (Credit: Alamje/istockphoto)
NYPD shield photo used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Stephen Mulcahey/Shutterstock)
Author photo © 2017 Shelley Paulson Photography
Spine image used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Shebeko/Shutterstock)
All rights reserved.
First publication: Clickworks Press, 2019
Release: CWP-EOR7-INT-E.M-1.1>BkMd
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Sign up for updates, deals, and exclusive sneak peeks at clickworkspress.com/join.
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-943383-59-7
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943383-60-3
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-943383-61-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To my father, who taught me about integrity
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author's Note
Sneak Peek: Massacre
Ready for more?
Our Latest Recommendation
About the Author
Also by Steven Henry
More Great Titles from Clickworks Press
Death By Chocolate
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Pour 1 cup crushed ice, 2 scoops chocolate ice cream, 1 ounce chocolate syrup, 1 ounce coffee liqueur, 1 ounce dark crème de cacao liqueur, and 1 ounce vodka into a blender. Blend until smooth. Pour into a stemmed glass. Garnish with whipped cream and maraschino cherry.
Chapter 1
Vic Neshenko took careful aim. Like the good rifleman he was, he knew not to rush his shot. He breathed in, held it a moment, and let the breath out slowly. Then, in that instant of perfect stillness, he took the shot.
The crumpled piece of paper ricocheted off the rim of the garbage can and bounced onto the floor of the Precinct 8 Major Crimes office.
Vic groaned and sagged in his chair.
“That's game,” Erin O'Reilly said. “Five to four. Next case we close, you're buying the first round.”
Erin's partner Rolf let out a long, slow sigh. He lay next to her desk on an old, folded blanket. The German Shepherd had his snout between his paws. His eyes were half-closed and unfocused. It was a slow, sleepy afternoon.
Lieutenant Webb, their commanding officer, twirled a cigarette between his fingers. They were in a city-owned facility, so smoking wasn't allowed. The cig wasn't lit. He clearly wished it was.
“Will someone, for God's sake, get murdered?” Vic asked the ceiling. “I'm bored out of my skull.”
“I think New York's seen enough people murdered in the name of God,” Webb said dryly. “Unless you’re hoping for some more terrorists?”
“Murder's usually more personal,” Erin added.
“I'd take it personal,” Vic said, “if anyone murdered me.”
“How're your fives coming along?” Webb asked Erin.
“Just about done.”
Webb was talking about the DD-5, an infamous piece of NYPD paperwork used to add detail to a complaint report. “If it's not on a five, it didn't happen,” was a common phrase in Erin's old precinct down in Queens. Filling one out wasn't her favorite use of an afternoon.
“It's okay to admit you're just looking at porn,” Vic said.
“Okay, you caught me,” she said, putting up her hands. “Sergeant Brown pointed me at this great website, it's got these Russian girls on it, there's one here who looks like your mom.”
Vic gave her a false smile and showed her one of his fingers.
“The week after Valentine's Day,” Webb said, leaning back in his chair. “And love is still in the air.”
“What'd you do for the holiday?” Erin asked Vic.
“I drank. Alone.”
“That reminds me,” Webb said. “My alimony's coming due. I better get a check in the mail.”
“How about you, Erin?” Vic asked. “You have any lights and sirens?”
“Wouldn't you love to know.”
“I would,” he said. “It'd give me a nice, warm image to get me through February. It's a Russian month. Dark, cold, nothing to do but drink.”
“And March is like February's hangover,” Webb added.
“C'mon, Erin,” Vic said. “At least one of us gold shields oughta be getting some. I know I didn't get laid, and the Lieutenant, well, just look at him. So that leaves you. Did you take one for the team?”
Erin shook her head. “I'll never talk.”
“I knew it!” Vic said triumphantly. “I'm thinking drunken hookup at that Irish bar she hangs out at.”
“The one full of wiseguys?” Webb asked.
At that moment, Webb's phone rang. Erin felt a rush of relief as the Lieutenant took the call. Her fellow detectives had been getting a little too close to the mark. She had been with someone on Valentine's Day, and it was a man they definitely wouldn't approve of.
“Your prayers are answered,” Webb announced, standing up. “We got a body.”
Vic jumped to his feet. “Now that's what I'm talking about.”
Rolf, catching the sudden energy in the room, scrambled to his feet and looked expectantly at Erin. She grabbed his leash and clipped it to his collar.
“Where we going, sir?” she asked Webb.
“Dentist's office,” he said, deadpan.
Vic's shoulders slumped. “I knew it was too good to be true. I hate going to the dentist.”
* * *
The crime scene was in Greenwich Village, in a building overlooking Washington Square Park. Erin parked her Dodge Charger next to a pair of squad cars and the coroner’s van. Vic and Webb were close behind in their Taurus.
“Looks like we’re late,” Vic muttered. “Maybe they’ll at least have some good magazines in the waiting room.”
“I doubt it,” Erin said. “I mean, it’s usually Good Housekeeping, Better Homes and Gardens, maybe Seventeen or Cosmo. What sort of thing do you read?”
Vic shrugged. “Guns and Ammo. Soldier of Fortune.”
“Surprised?” Webb asked Erin.
It was her turn to shrug. “I’m just surprised he knows how to read.”
They showed their shields to a uniformed officer in the lobby and took the elevator to the sixth floor. Another uniform was guarding a door labeled “Norman Ridgeway, DDS.”
“That’s our victim?” Erin asked.
“We’ll see in a minute,” Webb said. “Dispatch just told me we had a sudden death.”
“Must’v
e been suspicious for them to call in Major Crimes right away,” Vic said.
“Either that, or they heard you were bored,” Webb said.
The waiting room was populated by two patients, an oral hygienist, and a secretary. The hygienist was sniffling into a tissue. One patient was a young man, college age, who was leafing through a back issue of People Magazine. The other was a thirtysomething businesswoman who looked pissed off.
“Excuse me,” the businesswoman said, standing up. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ve been waiting here almost forty-five minutes. This is totally unacceptable.”
“I’m Lieutenant Webb,” Webb said. “Major Crimes. We’ll need a statement from you, but I hope you won’t be inconvenienced much longer.”
The woman made an exasperated sound in her nose. “I don’t see how this day could possibly get any worse.”
“You could’ve been the victim instead of a witness,” Vic offered. “That’d probably be worse.”
She glared at him. He gave her his best meeting-the-public smile.
“The victim’s in his office,” the cop at the door offered, pointing past the front desk.
Erin steered Rolf past the bystanders to the office. She’d been a cop almost twelve years. She’d responded to calls for gruesome traffic accidents, homicides, suicides, and bodies that had been dead for days by the time they were reported. Her last big, dramatic case had featured a victim literally sawed in half. She was ready for anything.
It was an anticlimax. The victim was sprawled on a leather couch against his office wall. He didn’t have a mark on him. His lips were tinged blue, and there were flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth, but otherwise, he didn’t look half bad. There was one odd thing about the body, however.
“Where’s his clothes?” she asked aloud.
“The paramedics reported the body was this way when they arrived,” a woman said. She was kneeling beside the naked corpse, dressed in a white lab coat and disposable gloves.
“Hi, Levine,” Erin said, recognizing the medical examiner for their precinct. “You got here fast.”
“Not particularly,” Sarah Levine said. “I considered the cause of death potentially suspicious.”
“That’s why they called us,” Vic said, coming up behind Erin. “Hey, doc. He’s dead, but I bet his teeth are in fantastic condition.”
Levine blinked. “I haven’t examined his dentition,” she said. “When there’s no question of positive identification of the victim, it’s not a priority.”
“You have a preliminary COD?” Webb asked, moving past his detectives into the room.
“Discoloration of the lips and fingernails,” Levine said. “Cyanosis, typical of asphyxia. I don’t see evidence of an independent cardiac event. The lack of ligature marks on the throat indicates a probable chemical cause. The most likely agent is cyanide.”
Erin glanced around the room. She saw a desk with a computer on it, an office chair behind the desk, and a coffee table. On the table was an open candy box.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she murmured.
Webb and Vic followed her look. “I wouldn’t eat those,” Webb said. “I’m guessing they might kill you.”
“And give you cavities,” Vic added.
Levine leaned forward and carefully parted the corpse’s lips with a pair of gloved fingers. “Trace amounts of a brown substance between the canines and lodged in the molars,” she announced. “This supports the hypothesis of toxic candy.”
“I told you to check the teeth,” Vic said triumphantly.
“So,” Erin said. “Who was in here with him?”
“Maybe he liked eating chocolate alone,” Vic said.
“Naked?” Webb asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey, this is New York City,” Vic said. “We got all types here.”
“Given the options in the waiting room,” Erin said, “I’m guessing the oral hygienist.”
“Not the skirt with the bad attitude?” Webb asked.
“I’m thinking the one who’s crying is more likely,” she replied.
He sighed. “Okay, we better talk to her.” Talking to family and friends of victims was part of the Job, but no cop liked doing it.
* * *
They didn’t want to take statements in the dental office with the dead guy, or in front of the other witnesses, so they ended up using one of the examining rooms. Erin thought it was a little weird to be interviewing a person of interest who was sitting in a dental chair, but it was hardly the strangest thing she’d done in her time with the NYPD.
The hygienist, a pretty blonde named Amber Hayward, carried a crumpled tissue in one hand. She kept dabbing at her eyes with it. Her mascara was running.
“Miss Hayward,” Webb said, “can you tell us what happened?”
“I came in to work,” Amber said. “Well, I had breakfast before that. And before that, I put on my makeup. And my clothes. And got out of bed. I guess I woke up first.”
“Take your time,” Webb said.
“The first appointment was at nine,” she went on. “That was Mr. Pavlicek, with his root canal. It was the number nineteen molar. Doctor Ridgeway decided to do a standard procedure, with…”
Webb held up a hand. “I don’t think we need the details of the procedure,” he said. “Maybe you could skip ahead a little.”
Amber nodded. “After Mr. Pavlicek, we had three more appointments. Teddy Coogan, extraction of a dead baby tooth, that was tooth 5D. Then Paul Dexter, impacted wisdom tooth, number sixteen. And Lori Smithers, routine exam and cleaning, just before lunch.”
“Does anyone else work in the office?” Webb asked.
“Nelda Booker, our other hygienist,” Amber said. “And Della Ackerman, our secretary.”
“Where’s Nelda?” Vic asked.
“Out to lunch,” Amber said. “She’ll be back any minute. Oh God, what am I going to tell her?” She blew her nose loudly.
“What happened at lunchtime?” Webb asked.
“We had an hour and a half blocked out on the schedule,” she said. “Nelda went to meet her mom. Mrs. Booker works for a Wall Street firm. They have lunch together once a week. Norm… Doctor Ridgeway, I mean… he said we’d have time to eat… later.”
“Miss Hayward,” Webb said quietly, “were you and Doctor Ridgeway physically intimate?”
Amber nodded and whimpered.
“Amber,” Erin said. “Where did the chocolates come from?”
The hygienist’s eyes filled with new tears. “I gave them to him!” she wailed. “I put… I put one… right in his mouth! And then he started gasping, and his face went blue! I killed him! Oh God, I killed him!”
“Well, this’ll be a short case,” Vic whispered in Erin’s ear.
She ignored him. “Amber,” she asked the young woman, “was the box opened?”
“What?” Amber sniffled.
“When you went to give Doctor Ridgeway the chocolates, had the box been opened previously?”
“I… I don’t understand.”
Erin knew it was important to be patient during witness interviews. “Was the box wrapped? With plastic?”
“Oh. No.”
“Were any chocolates missing, or disturbed?”
“Yes,” Amber said. “It wasn’t a full box. Maybe four or five were missing. Rocky said he ate a few. It’s so typical of him. Even a gift, he just can’t help himself.”
“Who’s Rocky?” Webb asked sharply.
“Rocky Nicoletti,” she said. “My… my boyfriend.”
Webb’s eyebrows went up. “Your boyfriend,” he echoed in a flat voice.
She nodded. Then a thought hit her. “Oh my God. He might have eaten… he might be… oh God. Rocky!” Then she started crying again.
Erin exchanged glances with Vic. He shrugged. Rolf, at Erin’s side, was the only one who wasn’t surprised. To him, most human interactions were nonsensical. He kept watching his partner, in case she decided to do something more up hi
s alley.
“Miss Hayward,” Webb said. “Were you and Doctor Ridgeway getting along?”
“Wha… what?” she snuffled.
“Had you been fighting?” he asked gently. “Was he putting pressure on you to do something you didn’t want to?”
Amber shook her head. “No! Norm… Norm’s a sweetheart. He’s kind and… and good with kids. He talked about dinosaurs with Teddy Coogan!”
“So you weren’t angry at him?” Webb pressed.
Erin saw recognition hit Amber. “You think I wanted to hurt him?” Amber exclaimed. “You think I took a box of chocolates, and… and poisoned them… and gave one… to my Normie?”
“Normie?” Vic said, but he said it quietly and no one took any notice of him.
“You…” Amber advanced on Webb, waving her used tissue in his face. “You… you big jerk!” She threw the soggy scrap of paper at him. It bounced off his trench coat and landed on the carpet. Then Amber buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Webb didn’t react. If a cop didn’t get called something worse than “jerk,” it was a good day on the Job.
“Amber,” Erin said gently. “Rocky gave you the chocolates?”
It took a moment to get through to her, and she had to repeat the question, but the other woman finally nodded.
“Were they a Valentine’s Day gift?” Erin asked.
Amber nodded again.
“Amber,” she said. “Please listen. This is important. Did Rocky know about Norm?”