by Chris Taylor
“What happened next?” Lane asked.
“I got the hell out of there,” Barber said. “I swear, I had nothing to do with it. Yes, I was there in the condo, but by the time I got there, she was already dead.”
“What about the child?” Jett questioned, his gaze still focused on Barber.
“I didn’t know anything about the child. The first I heard of that was on the news. I knew she had one, but that was all. I didn’t see another soul. Like I said, I bolted straight after I found the wife.”
“What about the note, Roger?” Lane asked.
Barber frowned in confusion. “What note?”
“The threatening letter you sent Franklin Cook. He received it at his office a few days before the murders. I’m sure you know where he works.”
Barber continued to look bewildered. “I don’t know anything about a letter. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lane shot Jett a look and Jett replied with an imperceptible movement of his head. They were getting nothing. They’d revisit the letter another time.
“Why didn’t you come forward, Roger?” Jett asked. “You could have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
“Because I knew how it would look. I was there, in the unit, with a woman who’d just been murdered. My face was all over the television, protesting against her husband and I didn’t even know about the cameras outside their building. It turned out just like I imagined. Here I am, being questioned on suspicion of murder.”
“Did you see anyone or hear anything?” Lane asked, glancing at Jett.
Jett acknowledged Lane’s question with a nod. According to the security footage and Franklin Cook’s own evidence, Franklin was also inside the condo by then.
“No, I didn’t see or hear anything,” Barber replied. “I just got the hell out of there.”
“What about going down, in the elevator?”
Barber shook his head. “No, I went down alone.”
Jett swallowed a sigh. It was possible Barber was telling the truth. They could very well be back to square one.
“We’ll need the clothing you were wearing on the day of the murders,” he said and Barber nodded.
“My old lady’s probably already put it through the wash, but I’ll get it to you, one way or the other.”
“Good,” Jett said. “We’ll send a constable with you. He can bring it back to the station.” He brought the interview to an end and switched off the recording.
Hope flared in Barber’s eyes. He looked from Jett and Lane to his lawyer and back again. “Does this mean I can go?”
As much as it pained him, Jett nodded. “Yes, but you’d better find that clothing and don’t try anything stupid. We know what you were wearing on the day of the murders. If there’s so much as a speck of blood on it that doesn’t belong to you, we’re going to haul your ass off to jail so quickly you won’t even know it’s happened. Got it?”
“Got it,” Barber replied eagerly, pushing back his chair. The lawyer gathered his papers and briefcase and followed suit.
Jett stood and opened the door. “I want those clothes brought to the station within the hour,” he growled and received an answering nod. “Wait outside. I’ll find a uniform to accompany you.”
Barber and his lawyer departed. Lane stared solemnly at the laptop screen. “What do you think?”
Jett stared back at him grimly. “Barber has means, motive and opportunity. He admits he was there. We only have his word that Sabrina Cook was dead by the time he arrived.”
“Yeah, for all we know, he could be feeding us a crock of shit,” Lane replied.
“He could be,” Jett agreed. “But I’m just not sensing it. Earlier, I was as good as convinced we had our killer, but now, I’m not so sure.”
“I guess we see what forensics comes back with after his clothing is analyzed. Even if it’s been laundered, there’s no way that amount of blood wouldn’t have left some stains behind and surely his wife would have asked questions.”
“Yeah,” Jett replied, “unless he’s lying about that, too. We don’t even know if he’s married.”
Lane blew out his breath on a sigh. “That’s one thing we can check easily. As for the rest, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
CHAPTER TEN
Dear Diary,
The weeks go by in a blur. My life will never be the same again. My beautiful sister, the light of my world, is gone. She was my yardstick, my conscience. Without Sabrina, I might never have dragged myself out of the muck. My life was a mess before she gave me the support and confidence and unconditional love to change direction and wrest back some control. She did that for me. I owe her my life and everything that I’ve become. And now she’s dead and no one can tell me why.
I must find who did this to her, who destroyed her perfect life. She was an angel, a gift from God. A woman who had never done anyone harm. I owe this to her and her baby. I won’t rest until it’s done…
* * *
The howl of an emergency vehicle’s siren sounded outside the open window of Ben Fitzgerald’s inner city apartment. Dani normally took the time to appreciate the tasteful, sleek wood and glass furniture that filled the spaces of her sponsor’s bachelor pad, but tonight, she was feeling tired and lethargic. Some days, the world was just too damn hard.
Her head dropped back against the soft cushion of Ben’s expensive couch and she sighed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she did her best to block out the world. The days since the death of Sabrina and Marnie had morphed into weeks, and still the police had no clue who had murdered them. Every time she thought of it, her heart was weighed down with a grief so immense, she couldn’t see a way out of it.
“Would you like another iced tea, honey?” Ben asked, his voice soft and gentle.
Dani opened her eyes and looked at him where he sat across from her in the matching armchair. She held out her empty glass, wishing, not for the first time, that it was something stronger.
“Thanks, Ben. That would be nice.” Ben took the glass from her and headed toward the kitchen.
She’d lost count of the number of evenings she’d found herself in Ben’s apartment since the murders. She didn’t know how she would have coped without him. She’d known him since she was eighteen. He was one of the first people she’d met at the AA meeting she’d grudgingly agreed to attend.
Sabrina had been with her. Her sister had been the only reason Dani was there, having finally managed to convince Dani she needed help. Ben was only a few years older than Dani and right away, the two of them hit it off. They had a lot in common; both knew what it was like to hit rock bottom and have to claw their way back to the top. When he offered to be her sponsor, she’d readily agreed.
It hadn’t taken long for them to develop a strong friendship that had deepened into mutual love, admiration and respect. For a fleeting moment in time they’d been lovers, but it hadn’t taken them long to figure out they were much more comfortable as friends. Ben saw her as a little sister and Dani regarded him as the brother she’d never had. They shared a comfortable, supportive relationship that had become warm and familiar and necessary over the years.
Like she’d told the detective, it had been Ben she’d met with over her lunch break the day Sabrina and Marnie were murdered. The two of them often got together for coffee or lunch and caught up on what was happening in their lives. Ben was a successful lawyer in a large and prestigious law firm in the city. Dani’s job at the Sydney Harbour Hospital was only a short bus ride away.
He’d been the first person she’d called after receiving the terrible news and he’d immediately rushed to her side. Ben knew better than anyone how much Sabrina had meant to her and he’d shared in her shock and grief.
“Here you go, honey,” Ben murmured and offered her a fresh glass of iced tea.
Dani sat upright and reached for it gratefully. Wearily, she nodded her thanks.
“How are you holding up, sweetie?” he asked quietly, regaining his seat
across from her and taking a sip from his drink.
Dani heaved another sigh. It was all she could do to get herself to work each day and home again. Even the pleasure of finally living in a home of her own hadn’t managed to lift her from her dark mood.
“Not so good,” she admitted.
Ben regarded her somberly. “Give it time, Dani. It’s only been a few weeks. No one would expect you to be back to normal. There’s nothing normal about what happened.”
A familiar wave of anger and frustration flooded through her veins. “It’s because the police still haven’t found the person responsible,” she cried. “It’s bad enough that the lives of my sister and niece were taken so violently, but for nobody to be held accountable—it’s eating me up inside!
“I can’t sleep. I can barely think. I can’t concentrate at work. All I can see is my beautiful Sabrina and her innocent baby lying in pools of blood. I didn’t go to the scene of the crime and I didn’t see any photos, but I didn’t need to. Franklin told me what happened. I see them, Ben,” she whimpered. “I see them every time I close my eyes and there’s nothing I can do to help!”
Her voice cracked with emotion and tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d cried so long and so hard since the tragedy, she was surprised there were any tears left, but it seemed where Sabrina and Marnie were concerned, the supply was endless.
“Oh, honey.” Ben stood and moved to sit beside her. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he gathered her close. As if finding their release, the sobs came harder and once again tears flooded her eyes. She buried her face in Ben’s soft cotton shirt.
What she’d told him was true. The fact the police hadn’t captured the killer only exacerbated her suffering and pain. Grieving over the unexpected loss of family members was one thing, but to know that the person responsible for their deaths was still out there, free to live their life as they pleased, was like rubbing salt into an open wound.
“Where are the police with their investigation?” Ben asked quietly, stroking her hair.
“I haven’t spoken to them since the evening of the funeral.” Unbidden, an image of the darkly handsome detective filled her mind.
“Perhaps you need to call them,” Ben suggested. “They might have something to share, something that might help you through those times when you feel so helpless.”
She half sat and turned to look at him. “Wouldn’t they have called me and told me if they’d had a breakthrough?”
Ben shrugged. “I’m not sure. Franklin’s the next of kin. I’m guessing he’s the one they’ll keep up to date.”
“Franklin hasn’t called me, either,” Dani admitted. “I’ve kept my distance since the night after the funeral. I… I wanted to give him time to grieve. He doesn’t need me in his face, sad and depressed all the time. It would only make him feel worse.”
“Well, if you don’t want to phone Franklin and ask him for a progress report, you’re going to have to call the detectives.” Ben paused. “What was the name of the one who spoke to both of us? He found me right after he broke the news to you. I assume he was checking out your story, given that I was your alibi.”
“Detective Jett Craigdon,” Dani murmured.
Once again, the detective’s image filled her mind and her heart skipped a beat. In another lifetime, she’d be more than interested in the good-looking officer. Right now, she couldn’t think past the murders.
“He wore a suit well, I’ll give him that,” Ben said, his expression neutral, but she caught a glint of mischief in his wide green eyes.
Irritated that Ben had somehow picked up on her confused feelings, she flopped back against the couch and blew out her breath on a sigh of frustration. “I couldn’t care less what he looks like. It’s been almost three weeks. I have to know what’s going on. Even if they’ve made no ground, I need answers—for Sabrina’s sake and for my own.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s barely eight. Not too late. You could call right now.”
Dani’s stomach clenched. Her pulse picked up its pace. Despite her brash words, the thought of speaking to Detective Craigdon sent a rush of nerves running through her. With determination, she pushed them away. She wanted to know what was happening with the investigation, didn’t she? Calling the detective was the best way to find out.
Dani lifted her chin and met Ben’s steady gaze. She accepted his challenge with her eyes. “All right,” she said. “I will.”
“That’s my girl,” Ben replied, shooting her an encouraging smile.
Setting her glass down on the wood-and-glass coffee table that stood between them, Dani reached for her phone. She’d put the detective’s number into her contacts. Within moments, his number was on the screen.
A fresh flutter of nerves filled her stomach and worked their way up her throat. She glanced at Ben and then swallowed and dialed the number before her courage deserted her.
It was answered on the second ring.
* * *
Jett stared at the screen in front of him and cursed quietly under his breath. The weeks were passing and they were no closer to finding the “penthouse killer.” The name had been coined by a tabloid newspaper and much to Jett’s chagrin, it stuck. Now, even the detectives used the term.
The sound of his cell ringing interrupted his dark thoughts and he welcomed the distraction. Tugging the phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen.
The number wasn’t familiar, but that was normal. This was his work phone. He gave the number out to a lot of people, including potential witnesses. Even the fact it was ringing at eight o’clock on a Saturday night wasn’t uncommon. People often found the courage to tell him things—when the world was dark and shadowy—things they hadn’t been able to share in the light of day. It was just the way it was.
“Detective Craigdon,” he said. His greeting was met with silence. He tried again. “This is Detective Craigdon. May I help you?” This time, he heard the faintest sound of indrawn breath and then a woman stammered out a reply.
“D-Detective Craigdon. This is… This is Danielle Porter. I’m Sabrina Cook’s—”
“Ms Porter. I know who you are,” he interrupted, working hard to hide his surprise. He hadn’t spoken to her since the evening he’d attended Franklin’s condominium, after the funeral and though Jett and his team had been working hard behind the scenes, she’d kept herself out of the limelight.
It was a pity her brother-in-law wasn’t quite so reticent. Franklin Cook had nearly driven everyone at the station mad with his twice daily phone calls for updates. The man had insinuated himself so far into their investigation, the mere mention of his name on the other end of the phone was enough to cause a chorus of groans in the office.
It was as if Franklin refused to accept Jett’s word that he’d call him the instant they had a breakthrough. The man’s insistence on knowing every aspect of their investigation was not only irritating, Jett had begun to question Franklin’s motives.
Most grieving relatives accepted the police knew how to do their job and would do that job to the best of their ability. Though the victim’s family was almost always willing to assist the police in whatever way they could, their enthusiasm usually fell short of needing to be kept informed on every move the police made. There was an implicit level of trust that seemed to be missing between him and Franklin Cook. Jett guessed it had something to do with Sabrina Cook’s husband being a defense lawyer.
“I… I need to know what’s happening with your investigation into the murder of my niece and sister,” Danielle Porter continued, breaking into Jett’s thoughts. He cleared his throat and answered her.
“Of course, Ms Porter. What would you like to know?”
“I want to know if you’ve found the person who did this.”
“We have several strong leads, Ms Porter. I—”
“It’s been three weeks, Detective. I don’t want to hear about your leads. I want to know if you’ve found the killer. I want you to tell me you’ve arre
sted and charged the person responsible for these terrible crimes and that even now, he’s sitting in jail.”
“I’m sorry, Ms Porter. I wish I had better news. I—”
Once again, she interrupted him. “You aren’t listening, Detective.” Her words were clipped and her tone had built in volume.
All of a sudden, Jett’s temper got the better of him. He and the rest of the members of the taskforce were working their asses off. He didn’t need the constant phone calls from the victims’ husband and father demanding hourly updates and he sure as hell could do without the attitude from the woman on the other end of the phone.
He got that she was grieving and as the sister and aunt of the deceased, she was as close as relatives got, but the police were doing everything they could. Didn’t she understand they wanted to find the killer as much as she did? That he was just as frustrated as she was that they hadn’t? He told her as much.
“Don’t tell me, Detective. Show me. Show me how hard you’ve been working, what you’ve managed to achieve. I want to see what my tax dollars have bought me these past few weeks.”
Her sarcasm drew blood and his anger ratcheted up another notch. With a supreme effort, he kept his tone civil.
“You’re welcome to come down here, Ms Porter. I’m at the office right now. I’ll be here until midnight. You want to know what I’ve been doing. Come on down and see for yourself.”
The words were out before he could stop them. He cursed under his breath. What the hell was he doing? The last thing he needed was the dead woman’s sister looking over his shoulder, breathing down his neck. It would be worse than her husband’s way-too-frequent phone calls. At least Franklin didn’t stir his blood.
The unwelcome thought popped into his head and he frowned. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny he found Danielle Porter attractive. Very attractive. It wasn’t just in a physical sense, although she was a beautiful woman. There was something about her that drew him. He couldn’t put it into words and the very fact it existed was annoying and vastly inconvenient, but he couldn’t deny there was something there.
