Chapter Eighteen
The next day
Robert hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “Why couldn’t he have had the decency to have died in a hit and run?” he muttered.
According to the security company, whoever entered Sheldon’s home did so at ten PM. There was a glitch in the system forty minutes before that of “indeterminate origin.” Maybe, Robert thought, they tried to get in beforehand.
So time of death should have been a little after ten, but that would have made Robert’s job too easy. The M.E. was positive that death occurred between nine and ten.
That had required a return phone call to the security company. Could what they saw at ten have been the killer’s departure?
No, of course not. The killer didn’t do the courtesy of resetting the alarm on their way out; that was one of the things that tipped off the cleaning staff.
So what could have set off the glitch at nine-twenty?
The technician he was speaking to got flustered at that point. He wasn’t authorized to answer any more questions about it. Robert would have to follow up tomorrow.
He made his way to the M.E.’s office. “Why are you so sure he was killed between nine and ten?”
“Alex Sheldon?”
“Yes,” Robert answered testily. “That’s the only murder I picked up this week.”
“Oh, well, excuse me, but that’s not my only corpse,” Cortez snapped. “I put a rush on that exam, but if I’d known you were going to take an attitude, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
I’m going to be buying her coffee for the next week... “Sorry,” he said. “It just doesn’t fit with what I’ve got so far. The alarm company is saying that the entry was at ten p.m.”
She shook her head. “They’re wrong. Your victim was definitely dead by then.”
“You’re positive? There’s no way you could be off by an hour?”
“We usually use three things to determine time of death: blood pooling, stiffness, and temperature. I take into account the room temperature and his general health, and I’ve got not just between nine and ten, I’ve got between nine-fifteen and nine-forty-five. I will testify in open court that he was dead by ten. And as luck would have it, I’ve got something else that I almost never get these days but that can tell us conclusively.”
“And?” Robert asked impatiently.
Cortez shrugged. “The son of a bitch was actually wearing a watch. Imagine that? He didn’t use his cell to tell time. And not a cheap digital like you and I would wear, but a high end Rolex. And when he crashed to the ground, it broke.”
“And what time did it say it was when that happened?”
“Nine thirty-seven.” She tapped him with a file. “You tell that security company they’re wrong.”
“Great,” Robert muttered.
—
Robert found two messages on his desk the next day. The first was from a pawnshop in Lowell, and the second was from a thrift shop in Worcester.
The guy in Lowell was a piece of smarm. “I believe I have something you’re looking for. I hope you can pass it on to the Lowell police that I was helpful.”
Robert grimaced silently, but answered, “Yes, I’ll be happy to. What have you got?”
“Cufflinks. Nice ones, too, the kind with initials. When I saw ‘A.S.’, I figured it might have something to do with that guy who was just offed.”
Robert checked through the list. “Yes, we’d be interested. Tell me, how did you come by them?”
“Swear to God, guy I’d never seen before dropped them off a few days ago. Did not stay to haggle. Which, you know, we do get when it’s a junkie, but this guy was edgy—jumpy, you know—but he didn’t seem like he was jonesing. Swear to God, I gave him thirty bucks for this, but if he had been willing to have a two-minute conversation, I would have given fifty.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a video of the transaction?”
“Unfortunately, my system went down a few months ago and I haven’t had a chance to replace it. Would appreciate it if you could keep that under your hat,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “But I can describe him for you real well: about five-four, dark-skinned but not too dark, brown eyes, baseball cap, kind of skinny. Not more than twenty and probably less than eighteen. But not fourteen, you know what I mean?”
Robert would pass the description onto the Lowell police. “Can you hold the links until tomorrow?”
“Sure,” the man on the other end said, “but get here early, because I might not be able to hold onto these babies much longer.”
“See you tomorrow,” Robert said.
The man in Worcester was less of an operator. “We got an alert from the Worcester PD last night, and I think we have a few of the items you’re looking for.”
“What have you got?”
“Black Mont-Blanc pen, two crystal paperweights, and a first edition of Byron’s Don Juan.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
The other man laughed. “Wasn’t he Boston’s Most Eligible Bachelor a while back? Maybe this helped.”
Robert chuckled. “Who’s the guy who dropped them off?”
“Guy was actually a girl. About five-three, red hair peeking out from her hat, kind of thin but really cute.”
“Let me guess: she took your first offer.”
“No. I originally offered a hundred, but she knew the book alone was worth more than that. She said two, I said one fifty, she said one seventy-five. I got it down to one sixty-five, but that was just my pride.”
“Did she seem...nervous? Or like a junkie?”
“She kept looking over her shoulder, but we get that in this business, so I didn’t think too much of it.”
“Tell me you have a video.”
The other man scoffed. “Videos are what they did last decade. I can email you the digital file right now.”
Robert held his breath. “I would really appreciate that. And can I come by tomorrow to gather the merchandise?”
“You’ve got it.”
The file came through ten minutes later. Why was he so relieved that it wasn’t Hannah?
“Who’s that?” Baptiste asked, startling Robert.
“Someone in Worcester who made a buck off of Sheldon’s merchandise.”
“What about Lowell?”
“He only had one item—or so he said—so he didn’t get as much.”
“So how many items do you have accounted for?”
“Five.”
“And how many are on your list?”
“Twenty-two.”
“So what does that tell you, Detective Teague?”
Robert forced himself to smile. “That I should canvass the other pawn shops in Lowell and Worcester while I’m there?”
“What else does it tell you?”
Robert sighed. “That I should be expecting calls from Barnstable, Providence, and Springfield.”
“You forgot Manchester.”
“Captain—”
“Yes, I’ll give you some help,” Baptiste said as he tapped his chair. “But if they find anything, you need to get down there yourself and talk to them, understood?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Robert said glumly.
Chapter Nineteen
Robert didn’t get back to Boston until after ten that night. Every canvass except the one in Barnstable County had yielded something, which meant that he had to drive out to not only Lowell and Worcester but also Manchester, Plymouth, and Providence. Ideally, he would have left the next morning to try and hit each stop in one day, but after Baptiste made mention of phone calls with the commissioner for the second time, Robert had grabbed his jacket and headed out.
He went to Worcester first, then Lowell, in part because it was more efficient to start further out, in part because it meant he could avoid Route 93 for as long as possible, and in part because he wanted to avoid the jerk in Lowell.
It wasn’t until he was in the station to register the evi
dence that he started to burn out. It was so late even Baptiste had gone home.
He’d texted Hannah to tell her that he wasn’t going to be home until late. He expected to find her fast asleep in his bed, which would make it easier for him to crash to sleep. But he was pleasantly surprised to find her sitting on his couch, reading a book when he came home.
Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she was wearing an oversized man’s shirt (not his) and pajama bottoms that must have been four years old. She leaned her head back over the arm of the couch and smiled when he came in. “There you are.”
He threw off his jacket and bent down to her. “Were you waiting up for me?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I just couldn’t fall asleep.”
He kissed her and then looked around. “Of course not. You’ve got all the lights on.”
She held out her book. “I didn’t want to read in the dark.”
He squinted to look at the title. “Why are you reading my college economics textbook?”
She shrugged. “I thought it might help me get to sleep.”
He took the book from her and switched off the lights. He sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “How’s this?”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and took one of his hands. He rubbed her arm and realized that he’d been thinking about the feel of her body all day. “I don’t know,” she said after a minute. “This is too quiet.”
“Spoken like a true city kid.”
She stroked his hand. “Sometimes you need something to put your thoughts on hold.”
“True that,” he muttered. “Let’s try this.” He got up and went to his media shelf. “Here we go,” he said a minute later as he slid a CD into his player.
“Why are you still listening to CDs?” Hannah asked when he rejoined her on the couch.
He shrugged as the first guitar notes played. “I’m old school.”
She eased her legs over his lap. “‘Old school’ is an actual record.” She began tapping her foot against the air when the saxophone eased its way into the song. “This is just sentimental.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Promise you won’t tell anyone? I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”
“I don’t know,” she said as his hand moved up her leg. “What’s in it for me?”
He kissed her knee. “You tell me.”
She grinned and climbed onto his lap in a straddle. “You could tell me where you were today.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Anyone I should be worried about?”
He put his hand on her thigh. “I managed to piss off Baptiste enough this week that I thought putting fifty miles between me and him was the safest thing.”
She laughed lightly and kissed him softly. “Poor Robert. So what was in...Worcester?”
He closed his eyes. “Little bits and pieces of Alex Sheldon’s miserable life.”
She dropped her hands off of him. “What were they doing there?”
He opened his eyes. “Hell if I know yet,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Same thing they were doing in Lowell, Plymouth, Providence, and Manchester.”
“That’s...stupid.” She moved off of his lap. “You’re being sent on a wild goose chase.”
“Really?” Robert asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, come on—”
“We need his stuff, just in case it can tell us anything.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s smart.”
He reached for her. She resisted him for a moment, then let him pull her back onto his lap. “Did you miss me that much?”
“What do you think?” The song changed. She sat up so she could listen to the first few lines. “I know this one. Corcovado, right? Something about a hunchbacked mountain?”
He laughed. “That’s the title, but most people associate this with ‘nights and stars,’ which is a little nicer.”
She began moving her head to the music. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“I just like things done the right way.” He eased her onto her back and hovered over her. “For instance, bossa nova isn’t something you’re supposed to dance to.”
She bent her knee next to his hips. “So how are you supposed to move to this?”
“Start by swaying,” he whispered.
I think, he thought as she moved her foot against his calf and ran her fingers over his chest, it’s okay if I don’t leave too early tomorrow.
—
Robert hated dragging himself out of bed the next morning and leaving Hannah sleeping in there, but he had a lot of driving ahead of him. The sooner he started, the sooner it was over.
So why did there have to be a message from the security company waiting on his voicemail?
He returned the call in his car. “This is Teague, returning your call.”
“Detective, hello,” the man on the other end said nervously. “Thanks for getting back to me.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Um, it’s more what I can do for you. But, um, this is a delicate matter.”
“This,” Robert said, “is a murder investigation.” He waited a moment. “I have no interest in giving anyone any unflattering publicity, but I’m also not going to turn the other way over any illegal activity. If you need to have your company’s attorney get in touch—”
“That won’t be necessary.” The other man sighed. “We didn’t do anything illegal.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s not what we did,” the man said. “It’s what someone did to us.”
—
Baptiste sighed when Robert gave him the update. “Someone tampered with the alarm system? At...ten?”
Robert shook his head. “They couldn’t tell exactly when the ‘attack’ came through, but it made all of the systems look like there was an entry at ten.”
“All of them? Everyone who had one of their systems?”
“Yep.”
Baptiste put his hands on his forehead. “Were any of their other clients murdered? Or the victims of a B and E?”
Robert smiled in spite of himself. “No, this was just for us.”
Baptiste wrinkled his forehead. “Okay. So they went in after the fact, to cover their tracks, not to mastermind a string of thefts and murders. Right?”
“We’re not looking at a crime spree.”
“What are you so cheerful about? This means we’re looking at someone smart enough to get into not just one state-of-the-art system but the headquarters of the security company, and so well that they didn’t know about it until we asked them to dig for it.” Baptiste drummed his fingers on his desk. “At least that narrows our search down.”
“Let’s get our Electronic Forensics team to work with the security company and see if this fits the profile of anyone we’ve come across before.”
“Make it happen—then get on the road.”
Chapter Twenty
Baptiste didn’t look up from his desk when Robert showed up in his office the next morning. “How was Manchester?”
Robert grunted as he sipped his coffee. “Same as the others. All goods accounted for, little to no haggling, young person, most likely a street kid, brought the goods in and left. But,” he said, taking a last sip of his coffee before he put it down, “I think we got the murder weapon.”
“Really?” Baptiste asked, still looking at his files. “And where was that?”
Robert grunted. “Plymouth, because someone wanted to make sure I was serious about finding it.”
“Congratulations,” Baptiste muttered. “And what was it, just out of curiosity?”
“What we thought: some bullshit award he got from a non-profit for a donation he made a little while before he left.”
Baptiste looked up. “And you found fingerprints and blood type to corroborate it?”
“Not even close,” Robert answered. “Cortez likes it for the shape and weight, but the best forensics could do was find traces of bleach and a droplet
of blood so small they can’t type it for Sheldon’s or anyone else’s.”
Baptiste leaned back in his chair. “And you wasted two days chasing it down.”
“I prefer to think of it as ‘we’.”
Baptiste pulled a face. “Don’t worry, I’m going to look much worse than you will, but I would have looked like an idiot if we’d left it on the table.”
“Yeah, I took one for the team, or whatever.” He reached for his coffee. “There is one thing I concluded after all that driving: those street kids are from Boston, they’re not locals.”
“Tell me more.”
“There is no way one person could have driven from Boston to those five sites and found a pigeon in each city. Not enough time and, I guarantee you, by the time they made their third stop, they would have changed their mind and dumped the stuff in the nearest trash can if they’d never intended to keep it themselves.”
Baptiste put his hands on the back of his head and leaned back. “You’ve got descriptions of all of these people?”
“In some cases, I even have video.”
“Get it out so we can find them. Five people made contact with someone who had his property; we’ve got to be able to find at least one of them.”
“Consider it done.”
Baptiste grunted. “And how did the interviews go?”
“I think Jessie wants to tell me something.”
“Other than where to go?”
“She knows I already know. But no, I have no idea what it is yet. I want to see if she’ll come to me.”
“With Graham in tow, I’m sure. What about Lucy Bartolome and Joanna Hazlett?”
“Lucy’s attorney is currently reviewing my request,” Robert said. He knew it would be a minor miracle if she agreed to talk to him.
“And Joanna Hazlett...?” Baptiste pressed.
He couldn’t avoid this any longer. “Is next on my list.”
Arguably, the line he’d crossed with Jessie had been worse than the line he’d crossed with Joanna, but she was the one he felt the most shame around. She had agreed to help when he’d told her that he was investigating the murder of Josie Bartolome. Joanna had been one of Josie’s professors early in her career, and she’d been devastated when Josie was found murdered. But he’d neglected to mention that he was also investigating Lucy, and he didn’t say anything about the fact that it had been his father who had terrorized Josie before she died. Joanna hadn’t deserved that, but Robert had made the decision that getting Josie’s killer outweighed the question of who deserved what.
Justice, Mercy and Other Myths (The New Pioneers Book 7) Page 11
