Hyder noted the enthusiasm in Felix’s voice as he spoke of his time at Franklin U. It reminded him of when he had first joined the Daily Times as a term reporter. All he wanted at that time was to prove that he belonged.
Hyder smiled when he learned that Felix was also a student in one of Professor Eric Freeland’s classes. Professor Freeland was Hyder’s mentor. Hyder took some time to share and compare stories about Freeland with Felix.
Hyder then took Felix around the Daily Times. He introduced him to the people in the various departments and also gave him a tour of the building.
They stopped by the cafeteria, which was located on the ground floor, and Hyder bought Felix a coffee and bagel. Felix looked surprised that Hyder was not buying anything for himself. “I am fasting for Ramadan,” Hyder explained. Felix nodded.
“Sorry about the left hand handshake,” he apologized when they headed back to Hyder’s cubicle. “I know your faith finds that, um, off putting.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your apology, but I know now you had no choice,” Hyder replied.
“What’s that?” Felix asked once they were settled back in.
A month old newspaper clipping was tacked to Hyder’s cubicle wall. It was about the death of a reporter from the Franklin Herald. The reporter had lost her grip on her bicycle and had slammed into the back of a van. The driver was never charged, but she had died on impact.
“I don’t know why I have it,” Hyder replied. “But something about the story still bothers me.”
“Like what?” Felix asked.
“I had met Francine Robeault at a barbeque and we had hit it off. We both shared the same desire for finding out the truth. Francine was an experienced bicyclist. She had ridden in several marathons. In fact, I had once joined her on a marathon for a local charity. I barely got through it, vowing never to do it again,” Hyder continued, a wry smile briefly creasing his face, “but Francine had completed it without even breaking a sweat. She knew herself and she knew her body. On the day she died, the weather was clear and there was no indication that her bike had malfunctioned. Plus, Francine would have never ridden her bike if she wasn’t feeling well. So I’m…”
Hyder’s voice trailed off for a second. “…you know, kind of shocked by what happened.” He concluded.
“Do you think she was murdered?” Felix asked.
Hyder snorted. “You make it sound like a conspiracy.”
“Hey, Professor Freeland always said to look beyond the story.”
Hyder’s eyebrows arched. “He did, didn’t he?”
Felix nodded.
Hyder sighed. “Well, I’m sure it was just an accident.”
Felix fell quiet. Hyder stared at the photo of Francine Robeault. She was smiling for the camera in a formal portrait taken at a studio.
Veronica came over. “I’ve got a story for you. It’s a triple murder on Riverfield Street.”
Hyder jumped up from his chair. “I’m on it.”
“Why don’t you take Felix with you?” Veronica suggested. “It’ll be a good crash course.”
NINE
Pascale and Lopez were going through Rudy Jr.’s apartment. From the looks of it, it didn’t look like anything was out of place. There was no indication of a struggle.
Lopez noticed a computer monitor turned on. She went to it, found that a program still running and a clock was running at the bottom of the screen. Just above it was a message that said: ‘Nataly hung up at 1:32:25 minutes ago.’
“Do you see his phone anywhere?” Lopez asked, looking around.
“I’ll check the bedroom.” Pascale disappeared. He returned holding a cell phone. “Nataly Stomonski,” he said. “Could be his girlfriend.”
“Rudy Jr. must have been talking to her when the murder happened. We need her address.”
“I’m on it,” Pascale said, playing with his own phone.
“We’ll also bag the laptop and take it to the IT unit for further review.”
Pascale nodded.
The door swung open. Nolan entered.
Pascale looked up from what he was doing, frowned. Nolan gave him a sour look right back as Lopez felt the room go cold.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, attempting to stay professional.
Nolan didn’t move his eyes away from Pascale. It looked like the two were locked in a staring contest.
It was well known in the department that there was bad blood between Pascale and Nolan. Pascale felt Nolan was a loose cannon, and Nolan just plain didn’t like Pascale. What made it worse was that Nolan wasn’t happy that Pascale was partnered with Lopez. But there was nothing he could do about it.
“Are you guys done?” Lopez said to both of them. “We’ve got three dead bodies and until we work together, we won’t know what happened here.”
“We can handle it without you,” Pascale finally said.
“I know you can,” Nolan retorted. “That’s why I plan on letting you do most of the heavy lifting.”
Pascale snickered. “Lazy ass.”
“No, I’m a smart ass.” Nolan shot back with a wink.
“Stop it,” Lopez said, raising her voice. “Tom, why don’t you go and survey the crime scenes. It’ll give you a better idea of what we are dealing with.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nolan said, and left.
TEN
Nolan first checked the second floor, even though, in theory, the basement, with its two dead bodies, warranted top priority. It was an investigative technique he had come up with. He knew going through a crime scene was tedious and cumbersome. Sometimes you had to look at something three or four times before you were satisfied that it could be ignored. Plus, going up the stairs after examining all the other floors would be tiring, so why not get it out of the way first?
He entered the apartment. After a cursory look, he moved past the body. He knew Lopez and Pascale had already examined it in detail, so did not waste time going over things himself. He knew they were through. What Nolan wanted to find was whatever had slipped through the cracks.
He checked the living room, but there wasn’t anything of importance. He then went into the bathroom, the kitchen, and then the bedroom. He scanned the contents on the dressing table. It contained the usual: cosmetics, jewelry, and other items a woman would need on a daily basis. He quickly peeked inside the closet and then left.
Back in the living room, he spotted a side table. He examined the contents on top of it. Mail, advertisements, and other literature lay stacked up.
Satisfied, he left the apartment and went down to the basement.
After looking over both victims, he began his sweep.
The apartment was cramped, and it didn’t help that it contained more furniture than there was a place to put it. On top of that, the living room looked like a pigsty. It reminded Nolan of his house after his wife’s death. There was stuff on the sofa, the chairs, the side table, even the faux fireplace had items leftover from last Christmas.
He stopped by the kitchen first and slowly went through it. He discovered there was no knife block in the kitchen. Nolan wanted to confirm that the knife found in Rudy Jr.’s neck didn’t come from anywhere else but his own apartment. Nolan pulled open the drawers and found several different knives along with the utensils. He couldn’t tell whether they’d been moved or not, but at least he had made sure to check it.
He popped his head into the bathroom. After noting how disgusting it was, he proceeded into the bedroom. The bed hadn’t been made and clothes were all over the place. He tiptoed over them and pulled the closet doors open. It was stuffed with more junk than it could hold.
He was about to leave when he noticed something in the garbage bin. He leaned down and picked it up.
It was a small package, the size of his hand. On top of it was the victim’s name and address.
It was the sender’s name and address that caught his attention.
He squinted as something occurred to him.
He left the
apartment and went to the main floor.
“What’ve you got there?” Lopez said. He was holding a package.
“I’ll tell you, just give me a second,” he said. He scoured the interior, moving from the living room to the bathroom and finally stopping in the bedroom. He looked underneath the bed, in the closet, in the garbage bin, and several other likely places. When he was satisfied he had not missed any nook or cranny, he went back out.
“Now do you mind telling me what’s going on?” Lopez asked. Even Pascale looked intrigued.
“It has to be here,” Nolan said, more to himself than them. “Ah-ha!” he suddenly exclaimed. He left the apartment and went to the backyard. He found a large dumpster. He set down the package, opened the lid, and, careful not to get his clothes dirty, began searching for another package.
He smiled when he spotted it resting at the top of the pile.
He took the package, retrieved the other, and went back inside. Heard Pascale grumble, “I told you he was nuts.”
I like you too, Pascale, he thought with heavy sarcasm.
“Tom, what’s going on?” Lopez asked as he stepped back inside, looking both serious and concerned.
Nolan held the two small packages up. “I found this one in the basement apartment, and the other one belongs to Rudy Jr. Plus, I saw a similar one upstairs on the second floor. They are all from the same sender: Devon Pharma.”
Lopez remained quiet, but Pascale asked, “So, what’s that got to do with anything?” Nolan could see Pascale already had his mind set on his own scenario.
“Isn’t it odd that all three people in the same house received a package from the same company?” Nolan asked.
“That is odd,” Lopez agreed. “But why did they receive it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” Nolan said. “But right before I came here, I saw a news report that Devon Pharma was being bought out by Leitner Technologies for ten billion. I think it has something to do with that.”
Pascale rolled his eyes. “Come on, not another one of your conspiracies, Tom. This isn’t TriGate all over again. Maybe you should call your reporter friend and find out why a pharmaceutical company was killing innocent people right before they were going to be bought out for a shitload of money. It could be all over the papers again and you and your friend will become super famous.”
You’re still jealous about that? No surprise there, Nolan thought.
Lopez leaned in and whispered, “I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for this, and I’ll leave it to you to find out.”
Nolan nodded, not caring that Pascale rolled his eyes again.
ELEVEN
After arriving at Riverfield Street, Hyder and Felix immediately joined the throng of reporters. News of the triple murder had spread and every news agency had shown up to get a story.
People turned and stared in Hyder’s direction. Some looked at him with admiration, others with jealous envy.
A few came over to exchange pleasantries. After covering the same stories it was natural to become cordial and. in some cases, friendly with those stationed there. They asked how everything was going, which was followed by some grumbling about how the profession was changing—for the worst, of course—and then the talk moved on to what stories the others were working on. This topic usually garnered mute responses, but Hyder had a feeling the questions were usually directed at him. For some strange reason, he had managed to snag some of the most explosive stories Franklin had ever seen. Naturally, Hyder was grateful for them. They had provided him with more clout, but they had come at a price. Hyder had escaped near death on several occasions.
Hyder’s father had died when Hyder was very young. His mother, Fatima, had raised him and his older brother, Akbar, all on her own. If anything were to happen to him, he wasn’t sure how his mother would get over it.
Hyder was now determined to stay away from anything that could be remotely dangerous.
Hyder turned to Felix. “It might be a good idea for you to take some photos,” he said.
“They’ll be used in the article?” Felix asked, taking out his cell phone.
“Not really. The paper used to employ full-time photographers, but with the way budgets are now, we try to buy them from freelancers instead.” Felix scanned the group gathered in front of the house. There were several photographers taking random shots. “The photos you’ll take will not be used in the article, but for the article.”
Felix looked confused.
Hyder laughed. “Sometimes I find it helps to write the stories if I can see them visually. Like what the house looked like, or, how many people were gathered at the scene; or even what the weather was like. Small things, but they greatly assist in sucking the reader into the story.”
Felix smiled. “Gotcha,” he said.
He maneuvered around the scene like a professional, capturing anything and everything with his camera lens.
Half an hour later, a police spokesperson appeared and gave a brief statement that the victims were in their twenties, two males, one female, and they were all students at Margrove College of Arts. “Further details would be provided at a later date,” she said at the end.
Suddenly, reporters began hurling questions. “Why are the victims’ names not being disclosed?”
“Are there any suspects?”
“What about motives?”
“How was the murder committed?”
“What about a murder weapon?”
Even Hyder was able to yell out a question or two. But in the end, no additional information was provided.
Felix looked disappointed. “Do you think we have enough for a story?”
“Not enough,” Hyder said. “But it gives us a start. We know where the crime happened and from there we can find out who the victims are.”
“How?”
“We’ll have to find out the name of the landlord and see if he’ll talk.”
TWELVE
The apartment was in another city, near the Templeton University Campus.
Nataly Stomonksy was weeping heavily.
Lopez and Pascale were sitting across from her. They’d just given her the news of her boyfriend’s death. They had, however, neglected to mention that Rudy Jr. was now a suspect in the murders of his two neighbors.
Nataly shared the apartment with two other female roommates. One was away on a family trip while the other was now sitting next to her, trying desperately to console her.
Lopez wanted to give her enough room to grieve. Pascale, on the other hand, was getting impatient.
This was one of the reasons she questioned why Pascale had become a detective. He had a great nose for sniffing out clues and other details in solving a case, but at times it felt like he lacked empathy, something she felt was vital. If a detective didn’t care for the victim or the victim’s loved ones, the detective wouldn’t invest as much into the case. According to Lopez, you had to care enough to want to spend the long hours, the countless days, in order to solve cases and provide closure to the families and friends of the victims. Without this, it would become a job like any other—which it wasn’t.
People like Pascale were able to detach themselves from the job. The victims were not people who had their lives taken from them, but a case number on a file. They prided themselves on how many cases they had solved in a year, and, toward the end, in their entire career. It was sort of like a notch in their belt.
Maybe they had it right, Lopez thought during times of great stress.
They knew the job was never ending—there would always be new cases to solve, and they had found a way to do it without becoming emotionally attached.
But Lopez couldn’t and wouldn’t allow herself to become apathetic. The day she stopped caring for the victims and their families, was the day she would hand in her badge and do something else with her life.
Nataly wiped her eyes with a tissue and said, “I’m okay now.”
“We will try to be as delicate as possible, but w
e have to ask you some questions about Rudy.” Lopez said.
Nataly looked over at her roommate, who gave her a smile. She nodded.
“How long were you and Rudy together?” Lopez asked.
“About two years. Our anniversary was in a couple of weeks.”
“Where did you meet?”
“It was right after we had completed our first year exams, and we were both looking for summer work. We had signed up for a seminar and he sat next to me. The person giving the talk was so dull and boring that Rudy spent the next hour making up his own talk. He was so funny and charming.” Nataly paused. It looked as if she was going to break down again, but she composed herself. “Anyway, we didn’t get much out of the seminar, not even an interview for a job, but Rudy and I hit it off. His college was farther away from mine, but we somehow managed to make it work.” She looked down at the tissue in her hand.
Lopez took this as her cue to ask another question. “This morning, you were talking to Rudy, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, we always tried to talk before classes and at the end of the day.”
“We saw the log on Rudy’s computer.”
“Apart from calling or texting, we try to get as much face-time as possible, too.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Random stuff. School. Professors. Exams. Nothing too exciting.”
“What about his neighbors, did Rudy have any issues with them?”
Nataly’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me this?”
The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3) Page 3
