by Al Boudreau
“How can I help?” he asked.
“We wanted to ask you about the two male patrons Robbie got physical with.”
A wistful smile took over Steve’s face. “That girl had no fear. She handled those two jerks like it was nothing.”
“We’re wondering if maybe one of those two men came back to exact revenge on her,” Sarah said. “It had to be embarrassing. She probably hurt their male pride; their egos.”
Steve nodded, but sat there in silence for a beat. “The thought never entered my mind. As far as one of them goes, I’d have to say no. He was a college kid; out-of-stater, in here with his buddies, showing off. Couldn’t handle his booze and got mouthy. I was about to step in when Robbie shut me down. She asked the kid to step outside then let him have it with a right hook. I watched the whole thing from in here. It was beautiful. Knocked him right on his can.”
“And, the second guy?” I asked.
Steve shook his head. “He’s another story. Local guy. Late forties. Kind of a loner. Name’s Jared Posner. He grabbed Robbie one night as he was leaving here; right after she shut him off. As a result, she hit him with a hook and broke his nose. He lost it, and I had to step in. I banned him from this place for life.”
“Do you have an exact date of the incident?” Sarah asked.
He reached for his desk drawer and pulled out a notebook. “Fortunately, private investigators aren’t the only people who take good notes.” A few seconds passed when he said, “Here it is. February twelfth of this year.”
“Lovely,” Sarah said. “Right before Valentine’s Day.”
“She ever have a problem with him after that?” I asked. “Outside of this place, I mean. You said he was a local.”
“He lives over on the other side of the river; a Mainer. I’ve seen him out and about a number of times. He just shoots me a dirty look when our paths cross. I asked Robbie about him just recently. Claimed she never ran into him after that incident in here. She did say that she’d overreacted, and regretted making a scene, though.”
I jotted Posner’s name down then took out my wallet. “We’ll check him out,” I said as I pulled one of our business cards out and handed it to Steve. “We’d love to have a little chat with Mr. Posner. Here’s my contact information, just in case you bump into the guy again.”
“I’ll definitely give you a call if I do.”
“Anything else you can think of that might prove helpful, Steve?” Sarah asked. “Was Robbie seeing anyone?”
“First thing I thought of when I found out about her death,” Steve replied. “I know Robbie had an on-again, off-again relationship with this guy in the army who was deployed more than he was around. Owns a condo here in the city. Robbie lived at this guy’s place right up until a couple of months ago. Said she was sick of their long distance relationship situation and decided to get a place of her own. She moved into an apartment just up the road from here, but I think she still has some of her greeting card paraphernalia set up over at this cat’s digs.”
“Happen to have a name or an address for this guy?”
“I never met him, but Robbie referred to him as Jacko. He lives in that fancy condo building over near the river.”
Sarah’s head snapped around and she gave me an intense stare. “The Shallows.”
“That’s the place,” Steve said. “The Shallows.”
The news hit me with the force of an axe striking a hardwood log as I flipped through pages of notes, my mind second guessing the obvious.
There it was, in black-and-white. Sarah had beat me to the punch in making the connection.
Mark Cutter, murder victim number two, lived right next door.
Chapter 11
Lobster Shack owner Steve grabbed the arms of his office chair with both hands, looking alarmed by the fact I’d shot up out of my seat so quickly.
“We should go,” I said to Sarah.
“What---you think he’s your guy?” Steve inquired, his voice picking up a full octave.
Sarah rose to her feet. “If he’s not, we’ve got a very strange coincidence on our hands.”
“Yep. Can’t thank you enough, Steve,” I said as I thrust my arm over the top of his desk to shake his hand. “For your hospitality, and for taking the time to speak with us. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
“OK. Good. Great. I hope the information pans out. If this guy is guilty, no one wants him brought to justice more than I do.”
“We’ll be in touch,” I said as I flung the door open and motioned for Sarah to go out ahead of me.
I reached inside my pocket for my phone as we made our way across the crowded dining area, scrolled down to Detective James’s number, and placed the call as we squeezed through the bustling foyer toward the parking lot.
Sarah made a beeline for our vehicle as I cursed at James’s familiar voicemail message. I dumped the call and immediately redialed. Same result.
We reached the car and jumped inside. “Here,” I said as I handed Sarah my phone. “Keep dialing James until he picks up.”
Sarah nodded and obliged as I fired up the engine and plotted the quickest course out of the overcrowded lot.
“He must be knee-deep in some critical situation,” Sarah said. “James usually picks up after the second or third attempt, unless he’s really buried. He knows we wouldn’t keep trying his number like this if it wasn’t important.”
“OK. Give it a few minutes, then try again. Meanwhile, we’ll go straight to The Shallows. Maybe there’s a building manager on site we can speak with.”
“What’s our approach going to be?” Sarah asked. “If this Jacko guy is guilty, we can’t just go storming into this place. This is a soldier we’re talking about.”
“Trust me, we’d never make that mistake. And, who knows? This guy may have absolutely nothing to do with these murders.”
“Sure is compelling, though,” Sarah said.
“That it is. There are coincidences, and there are connections. Whether or not this Jacko guy is our man, there has to be a connection, here.”
Sarah looked at me with wonder then focused her attention back on my cell phone. A few seconds passed as she held it up to her ear when I heard her say, “Hold on, Detective. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
Sarah nodded at me.
“James. Where are you at?”
“Northbound on ninety-five,” he replied. “Just passed through the tolls a couple minutes ago.”
“Can you meet us at The Shallows?” I asked.
“That hoity-toity condo building adjacent to the Piscataqua River? Next to our vic Mark Cutter’s place?”
That’s the one,” Sarah chimed in.
“What’s the situation?” James inquired.
“Maybe nothing, but keep your approach low-key, just in case.”
“No problem,” James said. “You there now?”
“Negative. We’re over on route one, about a mile north of the Lobster Shack. We’re heading directly to The Shallows now.”
“Got it. See you there.”
Sarah tossed my phone into my lap. “My heart’s pounding like crazy.”
“I’m having a hard time believing things are what they seem at the moment. Too cut-and-dried for my liking.”
“I hear you,” Sarah said. “Thing is, every once in a while you catch a lucky break.”
“That’d be a switch.”
“Pessimist,” she said with a nervous smile.
“More like a realist. Never count your chickens until they’re frying in the pan.”
Sarah let go a groan. “Please. No more food references for a while. All this excitement, coupled with a belly full of fries and beer, is not making my tummy happy at the moment.”
“Duly noted,” I said.
“Think we’ll be able to get into this Jacko character’s condo?” Sarah asked.
“No idea. Either way, we need to put our heads together and come up with a workable plan. Anything short of a coordinated effo
rt could spell disaster. We know zip about this Jacko character, other than what Lobster Steve shared with us. We don’t even have this guy’s full name, yet, which makes me nervous. I’ve known military types who carry around burdens heavy enough to bring an average Joe to his knees. Sometimes, these soldiers allow their anguish to fester just below the surface, unbeknownst to anyone. Then, one day, they just explode. No warning, whatsoever.”
Sarah remained silent for a beat, then said, “Maybe we should hold off on rolling up in front of this guy’s place. What if you’re right and he’s some sort of ticking time bomb?”
“We’ve got this, Sarah. As I said, we’re not going to make a move until we’re all in agreement on our best course of action.”
“Think it would be wise to talk to Mark Cutter’s widow? She might know Jacko. Maybe she has some information that could help us.”
“I’m not opposed to it, but I’d like to pick James’s brain first. Once we share what we have with him, it might fit with a piece of the puzzle we’re unaware of.”
“Right. You’re right,” she said and took a few seconds to slowly breathe in and out.
It had been a while since we’d been involved in a case this dynamic. This investigation had multiple layers, and continued to unfold in unpredictable ways, in real time.
I knew from experience that circumstances like this could be nerve-wracking, the stress making you second-guess yourself. We needed to stay cool, methodical, measured, as jumping the gun could easily get us killed.
Chapter 12
Detective James was parked in the visitor parking area of The Shallows Condo Club, a recreational facility belonging to the association, located directly across the street from the condo building. I pulled up next to James’s unmarked cruiser and rolled down my window.
“What have we got?” he asked.
I told him the bulk of what we knew then asked what he thought our next move should be.
James tapped his cell phone screen then held the device up to his ear. “Hey, Luce. James, here. The Shallows condominium complex, next to the river. Yeah, that building. I need the name and number for the management company that handles the facility. Call me back when you have something, would you please?” James ended the call then turned his attention back to us. “Let’s see if we can get Jacko’s full name from management, then check the guy for priors. No sense doing anything until we know who and what we’re up against.”
“Yep. Sounds right,” I said to James. “Oh, I forgot to tell you this part. Kramer’s former boss said he believes she still had some of her belongings inside this guy’s place. Material and equipment related to her side business making the greeting cards. Leads me to believe she was coming and going as she saw fit.”
“Here’s a detail we might want to consider,” Sarah said. “We know Kramer’s had her new apartment for about two months. What we don’t know is when, or how, she broke it off with this Jacko dude. What if she told him she was leaving him via email or text? She may have even ghosted the guy, for all we know.”
“If she even told him at all, for that matter,” I added.
“That would be harsh,” James said. “Guy comes home from active duty and finds most of his girl’s stuff gone? Not good.”
“Bottom line being we have a lot more questions than we do answers,” Sarah said.
“Did you have the opportunity---” My question to James was interrupted by his ringing cell phone.
“What did you find, Luce?” he asked. “Oh, good. Put him on.” James covered the mic on his cell. “She’s got the manager on the line.”
“That was fast,” I said.
“Yes, Bruce. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me. I’m sitting in the lot over at The Shallows Condo Club.” James was silent for a beat, then continued. “Oh, you are? Yeah? Oh, OK. I see you. Yes, yes, that’s us.” James ended the call, slid his cell into his shirt pocket, and pointed out through his windshield. “That’s Bruce the manager. He’s on his way over to speak with us.”
“That worked out,” I said.
James nodded. “We caught a break.”
I looked over at Sarah and began laughing. “Second time I’ve heard that today.”
The manager walked up between our vehicles and offered his hand to James. “Detective. Bruce Scott. What can I do for you?”
“First off, please say hello to Carter Peterson, and his partner, Sarah Woods. They’re assisting the Bridgeport PD with an ongoing investigation, which is why we’re here.”
We exchanged pleasantries with the manager, then James continued. “Bruce, we have reason to believe you have a condo owner living here who goes by the name of Jacko. He’s currently serving in the Armed Forces, to the best of our knowledge.”
“Yes, sir. His full name is Jackson Cole. Good guy, though I haven’t seen him for many months. In fact, I often wonder why on earth he invested his money in such a pricey joint. He’s away more often than not. In fact, I think the gal he’s with gets more enjoyment out of this place than he ever will. Seems like a nice person. Don’t see her around as often as I used to.”
“Are you here every day, Bruce?” James asked.
“No, sir. Just twice a week, noon to six. The management company I work for oversees hundreds of properties up and down the eastern seaboard. I personally cover eight different properties here in New Hampshire.”
“So, it’s entirely possible that Mr. Cole could be around without you ever seeing him, am I right?”
“Oh, absolutely. I mean, we have closed-circuit cameras here and there, but I’ll be honest with you … they’re down more often than they’re functional. The company responsible for their upkeep came in with the cheapest bid. About half of what the others wanted. As a result, they’re not so hot when it comes to service. I call them all the time, but they rarely show when they’re supposed to.”
“Oh, so the management company you work for doesn’t handle security, in-house?” James asked.
“Nope, not a chance. These days, your typical management company is nothing more than a general contractor who subs out tasks to the little guys. The management companies love to collect big, monthly maintenance fees from the owners, but use as little of that money as possible to fix problems around their properties.”
“Better be careful, Bruce. Don’t let the company you work for hear you talking like that.”
“I’m not worried,” he said. “Believe me, nobody wants my job. I tried to retire last year. Company begged me to stay then gave me a decent raise to sweeten the deal.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” James replied. “Listen, is there any way we could get into Mr. Cole’s unit?”
Bruce hesitated, then said, “You know … I’m not supposed to, but I always do what I can to cooperate with local law enforcement. That said, just as long as I’m with you, I don’t see how it could be a problem. Want to go now?”
James looked over at us. “What do you think?”
I shrugged. “We’re here. Bruce is here. Too convenient to pass up, don’t you think?”
James nodded and swung his car door open. “Okay to leave our cars here, Bruce?”
“Absolutely. Most of the owners are either at work, or at the beach.”
I reached over, opened the glove box, and grabbed my spare pistol. “Here,” I said as I handed it to Sarah. “Just in case.”
Sarah slid the weapon between her jeans and the small of her back, then pulled her blouse down over it. “Ready when you are.”
We climbed out of the car and followed James and his new friend, who already had a head start on us.
Sarah leaned in toward me as we walked. “Apparently, Bruce doesn’t know about Kramer’s death, and James doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to let him know.”
“We’re getting exactly what we came here for,” I replied. “I guess James sees no need to give Bruce more information than he needs to. The less said, the better.”
“Got it.”
James a
nd Bruce arrived at the condo complex’s showy main entrance about twenty paces ahead of us. I assumed the structure was some hot-shot architect’s idea of high art. It looked like some bastardized version of a funhouse to me. If someone were to give me the rights to the property I’d probably go ahead and rename it Disney-on-the-Piscataqua.
James held the door open as we caught up to the pair. “How many units in this building?” he asked Bruce once we were inside.
“Eighteen, in all. Three floors, and six units per floor. Mr. Cole’s unit is here on the first floor,” Bruce said as he pointed out the center door on the left side of the central hallway. He knocked several times, waited about ten seconds, then unlocked the unit and swung the door wide. “Mr. Cole? Bruce the manager, here. Anyone home?”
Silence.
“All right to go ahead inside?” James asked.
“After you,” Bruce replied and motioned for us to enter.
I went directly for the kitchen sink, looking for any indication of moist food remnants on plates and bowls, or fresh liquid in a glass or coffee cup.
The sink was empty and bone dry.
I went for the bathrooms next to check for water droplets in and around the tubs and showers.
No visible moisture in either one.
The refrigerator was next. Upon inspection, I found nothing but a few unopened beers, a couple cans of soda, a candy bar, and a collection of condiments.
Each missing indicator told me Cole hadn’t been here in days---unless he’d been deliberately tidying up to throw us off.
“Did you notice the dining room table?” Sarah asked.
I turned to see what she was referring to. There were greeting cards in various stages of completion---some folded, some not. Boxes of envelopes in a variety of colors were lined up across the far side. In the center stood a guillotine-style paper cutter big enough to take a finger if you happened to be using it without paying strict attention. Next to it sat some contraption with a grid etched into its surface. “Quite an operation she had here,” I said.
“It was,” Sarah said. “Makes me sad to think this little production line is no more.”
