Black Diamond Death (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book One)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “All other documents are kept downstairs in the office manager’s file cabinet. Her name is Wanda. I can call her if you like.”

  She picked up the phone and pressed thee digits.

  “You know what; I’ll talk to her on my way out,” I said.

  She nodded and put the phone back on the receiver.

  “What about her office computer,” I said, and pointed to Charlotte’s empty desk. “Last time I met with you there was one on her desk. It’s gone now.”

  “One of the other agents has it. It belonged to the agency, not Charlotte. She never utilized it much anyway. She always carried her laptop with her.”

  “What about her clients? Any problems you know of?” I said.

  “Isn’t your focus on that jerk of an ex?” she said. “I don’t see what our clients have to do with what happened to her.”

  “It’s my job to explore all the angles,” I said.

  She bounced her shoulders up and down.

  “I suppose. Most of what you want to know I already told that boyfriend of yours.”

  “Did Charlotte ever mention Parker’s other women to you?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” I said.

  “Charlotte kept to herself. She wasn’t the type of person to share personal stuff often. Most of what we discussed was work related, and to that end, our relationship was good.”

  It didn’t seem like there was much sense to keep going so I didn’t.

  “Thanks for seeing me again, I appreciate it,” I said.

  “Have you found Bridget yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “I have a question about one of Charlotte’s transactions and I could sure use her help,” she said.

  “I’ll pass that along when I find her.”

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs and tried the office door, it wouldn’t budge. A brownish name placard on the door read:

  WANDA STATTENBERG

  OFFICE MANAGER

  I tried the door again with more force this time and it opened. A woman sat inside at a desk. She had short brittle hair and wore a hand-stitched sweater with a mallard duck on the front. In her hand she clutched a phone. She stared up at me like I had intruded on her space and then held up a finger to ensure my silence while she continued her phone conversation. I waited along with an array of 100 or so troll dolls that were lined out on a shelf in single-file formation. Grown-ups and their toys.

  After a three minute wait, the woman placed the phone on the receiver and then shuffled some paperwork around before she focused in my direction.

  “Yes?” she said.

  The shrewd look on her face let me know I needed to get to the point.

  “I’m looking into the death of Charlotte Halliwell and hoped I could get a copy of her files,” I said.

  “And you are?”

  I took a business card out of my wallet and presented it to her.

  She opened the top drawer of her desk and scattered some items around and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. She put them on and examined the card with the utmost scrutiny like she was an officer and I had been stopped at customs under suspicion of packing an illegal substance across the border.

  “Well, Sloane Monroe, PI. Can I see the warrant?”

  “Technically I’m not with the police. Charlotte’s sister hired me to investigate the circumstances around her death and hoped you could––”

  “No warrant, no files. I know my rights.”

  My usual charm had no impact on her. I tried a more direct approach.

  “Could I just take a quick look at the files then?”

  She flicked my card over to the side of her desk with her thumb and pointer finger.

  “Sure. You bring a warrant, you get the files.”

  She would not be swayed.

  “I can get the chief on the phone. I’m sure he would give you the go ahead.”

  “Then do it,” she said.

  I had no way of knowing whether the chief would support me or stall the process so he could take a look at the files first, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet.

  “Let me talk to him today and I will get back to you.”

  “Not going to call chiefy then?” she said. “That’s what I thought.”

  She picked up a stack of paperwork with one hand and shooed me out the door with the other.

  CHAPTER 34

  The iron gates to Daniela’s mansion in the trees were closed when I arrived. I parked in front and pressed the buzzer.

  “Yes,” a voice said on the other end.

  “Can I speak with Daniela?”

  “And you are?” the voice said.

  “A friend.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  It was like she was in the witness protection program.

  “I didn’t know I needed one.”

  “Your name?” the voice said.

  “Sloane.”

  The voice sounded insistent.

  “Sloane what?”

  “Monroe. Sloane Monroe.” I thought about throwing my middle name in for kicks but I didn’t want to press my luck.

  I heard some movement overhead and stuck my head out the window and looked up. A miniature video camera disguised itself in the branches of the tree. It made some adjustments and lined me up in its sights.

  “Well, Sloane Monroe, Daniela is not here right now.”

  “Can you tell me when you expect her?”

  “No, I cannot,” the voice said.

  “Could I leave a message?”

  “What do you wish to say?”

  “Can you ask her to give me a call?”

  “Does she have your number,” the voice said.

  “She does, but let me give it to you again just in case she’s misplaced it.”

  I gave him my number and then waited in silence.

  “Thank you, goodbye Ms. Monroe.”

  The camera stayed with me while I backed out of the drive and turned around. I didn’t get the secrecy. Who were these people?

  I drove back down the road and spotted a slender jogger. She ran past me but didn’t look in my direction. Her thick black glasses shielded most of her face, but the hair was unmistakable. I did a u-turn.

  “Daniela,” I said.

  An iPod hung at the side of her waist and she didn’t hear me at first. I waved and called her name again.

  She removed her glasses and squinted at me and then crossed the road.

  Once she got close enough to the car she removed her earphones.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “I wanted to talk with you for a minute,” I said.

  “What about?”

  “Parker,” I said.

  “It’s like I told you the other day, we’re over. There’s nothing left to say.”

  “I know, I know. I just wanted to warn you,” I said.

  She jogged in place while she talked to me.

  “Why?”

  “That woman I told you about, Charlotte Halliwell,” I said. “She was poisoned.”

  She brushed a fallen piece of hair out of her face and frowned.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Parker is the number one suspect. I thought you should know in case he tries to contact you.”

  She stared at me and seemed unabashed that I fingered Parker as the possible murderer.

  “Did you go to the cops?”

  “I’m helping them out with the investigation,” I said.

  A streak of distress covered her face.

  “But you promised. I don’t want the cops involved with what happened the other night. You said––”

  “I know what I said and I meant it. I won’t reveal your identity,” I said.

  She seemed satisfied with my answer.

  “The night after I picked you up someone attacked me outside of Charlotte’s house. Maybe Parker is to blame and maybe not, but if I had to point any fingers, all o
f them would face his direction.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “We both know he has a lot of pent-up anger,” I said.

  She tossed her head back and laughed.

  “Don’t worry about me. He will stay away if he knows what’s good for him. If he came anywhere near me again my brother would…”

  She stopped mid-sentence and put her glasses back on and her earphones and jogged away.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “Home yet?” Nick said.

  It was five o’clock and the wrong time to leave Salt Lake City.

  “Not even close.”

  “Guess what I’ve got?”

  “A way to make all these cars disappear?”

  “Better,” he said.

  At the moment, I could think of nothing better than that.

  “I have the address of Charlotte’s assistant and I’m on my way there now,” he said. “Care to join me?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  “Meet me off the Summit Park exit and we’ll ride over together.”

  Nestled along the hillside amongst a myriad of pine trees, Summit Park is the first area visitors come upon when they descend into Park City’s valley. From the highway a mix of old and new homes dotted the landscape. A week earlier I drove up its steep, narrow roads and watched a family of moose cross the path in front of me. Another car stopped on the opposite side and there we sat, each at an impasse. The other driver cracked his window and stuck his cell phone out and snapped a few photos. He looked at me and I looked at him and neither of us moved. A minute later the family of moose crossed into a thick of trees and the wonderment was over.

  I exited the off ramp and got into Nick’s car.

  “Took you long enough,” he said. He rested the palm of his hand on my shoulder. “How’s the head?”

  “No headache today.”

  His wide grin showed his dimples. He was pleased with his patient’s progress.

  “How did you manage to find her?” I said.

  “You’re not the only person who knows how to detect.”

  He steadied one hand on the wheel and rubbed the back of my neck with the other.

  “Good day?”

  “Remember that girl I told you about, the one at Parker’s house the other night?”

  “The damsel in distress?”

  I nodded.

  “I went to see her. I thought she needed to know the truth about Charlotte’s death.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “She didn’t care,” I said. “Or she pretended not to. I’m not sure.”

  “And you’re bothered by that.”

  He knew me so well.

  “I don’t want to see anyone else to get hurt, not if I can prevent it.”

  “It wouldn’t be your fault,” he said. “There’s only so much you can do.”

  “I’m obligated to these women. They need me whether they know it or not and I don’t want to let them down, any of them.”

  “Do me a favor and catch your breath for a minute. I don’t need you to hyperventilate on me,” he said.

  I breathed in and out a few times until I felt a sense of calm. A few more days on the meds and I’d be done. I could do it.

  “Feel better?”

  I nodded.

  Nick parked outside a dingy run-down apartment complex. In its finest day the stucco exterior displayed an attractive shade of white. Now all that remained was an ashen gray color. It was weak and crumbly and unable to fare against the elements. Bits and pieces of the exterior lay on patches of dead grass strewn between an overabundance of cigarette butts. On the sides of the buildings were the numbers 1-2-3. One for each level.

  “She lives here?”

  “I guess we’re about to find out,” he said.

  “What’s the chance she lives on the main level and I don’t have to hike up those stairs?”

  Nick laughed.

  “Slim to none,” he said.

  A series of stairs ran alongside the building.

  “Third level I take it?”

  Nick signaled in the affirmative and we began our ascent. We stopped at the second door on the third level and knocked. It had a brass plate on the outside that displayed the number 3. The second number had fallen off leaving an outline of a 9 in its place.

  A scruffy-looking kid cracked open the chained door and poked a bloodshot eyeball at us.

  “Sup?”

  “I’m looking for Bridget Peters,” Nick said.

  “What for?”

  “We wanted to ask her a few questions. Can we come in?”

  “You two cops or somethin?”

  Nick reached for his badge. I placed my hand on his arm and we exchanged glances.

  “I’m friends with Audrey, Charlotte’s sister,” I said.

  “Good for you.”

  “I wanted to see how Bridget’s doing. I heard she took Charlotte’s death pretty hard.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not here.”

  “When do you expect her?” I said.

  He shook his head, or at least it looked that way from my vantage point.

  “Mind if we ask you a few questions?” I said.

  “Whatever you two are after, it don’t have nothin to do with me.”

  Nick’s jaw tightened and locked in position the way it does when his patience has been exceeded.

  “We want a few minutes of your time, and that’s it,” I said, “then we’ll leave.”

  “And the two of you ain’t cops?”

  I squeezed Nick’s arm, but I was too late. He whipped out his badge and shoved it through the crack in the door.

  “Detective Calhoun,” Nick said.

  “Aw shit man, I got nothin to say to you.”

  The door slammed. Nick balled up his fist and pounded on it.

  “I’m homicide not vice,” he said. “If I wanted to bust you for drugs, I would have done it already. You can either open the door and let us come in or I can get the vice squad out here and they can search your house. Unless you want to sit your sorry ass in jail, I suggest you open the door, now.”

  Thirty seconds later and the door didn’t change position, but from the sound coming from the other side, he was still there.

  “Please,” I said. “We just want to talk. Charlotte Halliwell is dead and the person who killed her is out there somewhere living their life. It would be a shame if something bad happened to Bridget.”

  He stepped away from the door and shuffled some things around. Then he lifted the chain and let us in.

  I held out my hand.

  “My name is Sloane.”

  He snickered at me and held his hands up in front of him like I invaded his personal space.

  “Whatever lady.”

  “And you are?” I said.

  “Tommy.”

  Tommy’s pupils were dilated.

  He bent over and picked up a plate of stale pizza from off the floor. The band around his underwear displayed a famous name embroidered all the way around the top edge and when he stood back up not all of his pants stood up with him. He grabbed both sides and yanked them higher but it didn’t do much good.

  “I ain’t got all day. You two gonna ask your questions or what?”

  Nick flipped open his black notebook and pulled out a pencil.

  “When was the last time you saw Bridget?” he said.

  “Yesterday.”

  “So she didn’t come home last night?”

  “We don’t live together or nothin like that,” he said.

  “I thought the two of you lived together,” I said. “This isn’t her place?”

  His eyes darted around the apartment.

  “She’s clean and I’m well, messy. It’s better this way. She knows she could move in if she wanted to.”

  “Have you talked to her since yesterday?” Nick said.

  “I called her cell like a hundred times. I even left messages.”
r />   “And you’re not worried?”

  “We got in a fight; I figured she needed to cool off.”

  “What caused the fight?”

  “It was stupid. I thought maybe she had girl problems like PMS or something. I asked her about it and she went all crazy on me and said she needed to get out of here. She wanted me to pack up and leave with her and when I said no, she flipped.”

  “Why do you think she wanted to move,” Nick said.

  “I don’t know, she didn’t say.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask?”

  “Look man, when Bridget gets mad I give her space so she can sort all that girl stuff out. She always comes back.”

  What a winner the boyfriend turned out to be. No wonder she left.

  “What about her new job?” I said.

  Tommy shook his head.

  “She don’t got no new job.”

  “Bridget told people at the office that she went to work for another agency.”

  “Nah, I would have known about it. Ever since that chick died she’s kicked it here with me.”

  “Did she talk to you about what happened?” I said.

  He shook his head.

  “She just said that girl died and that was it.”

  “Yesterday she went to the office, did you know about that?” I said.

  “I took her and sat in the car while she went in. She said she didn’t want to go there by herself so I tagged along. When she came out she was all upset.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “For a couple cops, you two don’t put much together. Her best friend died, why do you think.”

  Best friend. Interesting.

  “So she wasn’t just her assistant?” I said.

  “Charlotte used to hook up with Bridget’s older brother. They were tight, they always did stuff together.”

  “After you left the office, what happened?” Nick said.

  “We got into it and then she dropped me off and split.”

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my business card.

  “If you hear from her, will you let us know?”

  He took it from my hand and threw it on the coffee table without looking at it.

  “Guess so.”

  “You better,” Nick said. “And one more thing, we need Bridget’s address and cell phone number.”

  Tommy shook his head.

  “I dunno about that.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Nick said, “you can give us the information we need, or the next time you get a knock at your door, we’ll be having this conversation at the station.”