What She Left (Martina Monroe Book 1)

by H K Christie

  Case closed? Married before? Perhaps Jamison was her married name, not her maiden name, but even so it would have shown up in the records searches.

  Kennedy shook her head back and forth, bewildered. “I can’t believe she was married before. What happened to her husband?”

  Theodore stiffened. “She told me he was a bad man. They divorced.”

  “Was it the man at her memorial, Alonso?”

  “I don’t know what his name was. She said she never wanted to talk about him ever again and that her life started on that day at City Hall, when she and I were married,” he said with a sad smile.

  “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me,” Kennedy pleaded.

  He put his hands up in defeat. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t my secret to tell. I always had the feeling there was more to it, but every time I’d push for more, she pushed me away and I didn’t want to be shut out.”

  “Was Jamison her family name or her married name?” Kennedy asked.

  Theodore cocked his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I always assumed Jamison was her family name, but maybe it wasn’t.”

  “Why were you so upset when I introduced you to Alonso at the memorial?”

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t like the vibe from him. If Charlotte never wanted to talk about her past, she certainly wouldn’t be happy to see someone from her past pop up out of the blue. I didn’t trust that guy. I have a feeling she wouldn’t have either.”

  As I had suspected, Theodore Gilmore had known a lot more about his wife than he had let on.

  Kennedy deflated in her chair. I couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to take in. “What else do you know about her past?”

  “I’m afraid that’s everything I know.”

  Kennedy pushed her chair back and stepped toward her father and wrapped her arms around him. It was my cue to leave. This was a family moment and my case had been solved. I slid out of my chair and quietly took my bag from the back of the chair and headed toward the door. Kennedy glanced up at me. I muttered, “I’m going to let you two have some space.”

  She released her father and walked toward me, cheeks still wet. “Thank you for everything.” She glanced back at her dad and then back at me. “I want to know where Amelia and the family are buried. I want to go there and pay my respects. Can you help me find them?”

  Case not closed. “I will.” I waved at Theodore. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Gilmore.”

  He gave a head nod without a word.

  “Kennedy, we’ll be in touch. Take care.”

  She embraced me and whispered, “Thank you.” I let myself out of the house and stood on the porch facing the Bernard’s house. My heart was heavy as I thought of the other family on this street who grieved for a loved one that had been gone too soon. I would find Kennedy’s family and I would find Donna. Both families deserved closure.

  12

  Detective Hirsch

  I shut off the shower, hoping to have gotten the scent of death off of me. I could go the rest of my career without going to another burned-out meth lab and die a happy man. Most people have never smelled the scent of charred flesh, but for those of us who have, you never forget it. It’s not something that you can get out of your hair or your clothes with a little spritz of cologne or one cycle in the washing machine. I grabbed the towel from the rack and dried myself off before wrapping the towel around my waist and heading back to the locker room.

  This job was damn depressing. Not that my former position at the San Francisco Police Department was any less depressing, but at least it had some variety. A sprinkle of good amongst the daily tragedy. Out here on the Delta, it seemed as if it was one drug deal gone wrong after another. The saddest part is how young the dealers were. I should have done more research before transferring to the CoCo County Sheriff’s Department. I had been warned. It was where careers went to die, but I had been intrigued by the cold-case aspect. Not to mention the fact I didn’t have a choice after the last showdown with my lieutenant. It was the Sheriff’s Department, or I was out of a job.

  I thought it might have been a blessing in disguise. I’d get to own and run my own investigations, all without the brass hovering over me. With cold cases, I thought I might be able to make a difference. To find the lost and forgotten. I still had that opportunity, but it was mixed with run-of-the-mill mayhem.

  I dressed in a pair of jeans and polo shirt and then threw on a black zip-up sweater before heading back out to the station. I walked in and gave a friendly smile to the receptionist, who I assumed had been with the Sheriff’s department since the beginning of time. “Hi, Detective Hirsch. You have a message.”

  “What’s the message?” If I were a preteen, I’d write in my diary how excited I was to get my first message at my new job. It was the first in nearly a month.

  “It’s from someone who wants to talk to you about the Donna Bernard cold case. She was insistent. She said if she doesn’t hear from you, she’ll call every day until you call her back.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “Not much, just that she wanted to talk to the detective who was working the Donna Bernard case.”

  I grabbed the slip of paper Glenda had placed on the desk. “Did you give her my name?”

  “Nope. I just took the message.”

  I lifted my hands into a prayer position. “Thank you.” I’d barely cracked the file and didn’t need some nut job coming after me.

  I reached my desk and plopped down in my chair. I needed caffeine - STAT. Before propping myself up to grab a coffee, I glanced at the note from Glenda. I shut my eyes and shook my head. You’ve got to be kidding. Why was Martina Monroe calling about the Donna Bernard case? I’d nearly forgotten about her and that complete debacle. Or, at least, I’d tried to erase the memory. Martina was the private investigator who had been all over me after the DeSoto case. When I’d told her the husband was free and wasn’t being implicated in the murder, I thought she was going to throw a punch. She didn’t believe the department’s theory that Julie DeSoto’s death was the result a robbery gone wrong. She insisted the husband had her killed and that I was an idiot for closing the case. Not that it had been my choice.

  My body suddenly froze, and dread filled me. No. I straightened my posture and grabbed the Bernard binder and flipped it open. I scrolled through the pages of witness statements and stopped at the one from a Martina Koltz. Was Koltz, Martina Monroe’s maiden name? Was I that unlucky, that my first cold case at my new job at the Sheriff’s Department was connected to Martina Monroe?

  So much for thinking I’d be able to run my own investigation. If that woman was involved, I had no doubt she’d be a thorn in my side the entire way. I one hundred percent believed she would be following up incessantly until we solved the case. I shut the binder and turned on my computer to check my email, hoping for a distraction. I was halfway through a department message when I heard footsteps approaching my desk. I glanced up. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Hirsch. We have a dead body on Stone Island.”

  “Homicide?”

  Brown, the head crime scene technician, wore a Warriors jersey and denim with a pair of sneakers. He was tall and a big fan of basketball. He said, “The only information we have is that there’s a dead body. First responders are already on the scene. Could be natural or an accident, or it could be homicide. You’re the lucky bastard who gets to help us figure it out.”

  And here I thought this day couldn’t get any worse. “All right. I’m ready to go.”

  “You want a ride with the CSI team?” Brown asked.

  “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a hell of a day already.”

  Brown chuckled and smacked me on the shoulder. “Buck up, it’s only Tuesday.”

  The CSI team and I arrived at the house on Stone Island. In the long driveway, there were a couple of black and white patrol cars mixed with a few others. We stepped out of the van, and I surveyed the house and its surroundings. Damn.
This just got weirder. The dead body was next-door to the Bernard’s? It was like the universe was playing with me.

  While the crew unloaded their equipment, I jogged up the stairs to the top of the levee where there was a patrolman standing outside. In these parts, everybody knew everyone. The officer was a fit young guy. He smiled. “Hey Hirsch, go right inside. The body is in the bedroom. The daughter is inside talking to Lancaster.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the door and stepped inside. A woman with auburn hair and freckles had tears streaming down her cheeks and a shocked look in her eyes. She was being consoled by Officer Lancaster. Lancaster raised her brows and pointed to a box on the ground and then waved toward the back of the house. In the box were booties and gloves. The case was likely a natural death, but until manner of death was determined, we’d treat it like a crime scene. I slipped a pair of booties over my shoes and continued down the hall until I reached the room, being guarded by Officer Pickett, a pot-bellied, middle-aged bald man. “Hey, Hirsch.”

  “Hi, Pickett. What can you tell me?”

  “Theodore Gilmore. Sixty years of age. Known heart condition. The daughter, the one in the kitchen with Lancaster, came by and found him like this. She checked for signs of life - there were none - she called 9-1-1. Paramedics checked for a pulse and confirmed he was dead.”

  “How long ago?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Anything been disturbed?”

  Pickett gripped his belt. “Paramedics were careful when they came in. The head paramedic said he was pretty sure he was dead, so he tiptoed over to check the pulse. He was already cold when they arrived.”

  “Did the daughter have any reason to believe it could be anything other than natural?”

  “Nothing definitive. She just said something about it being weird timing or something to that effect. She’s pretty torn up.”

  “That’s helpful. Thanks.” I sucked in my breath and stepped past Pickett. I never enjoyed looking at a dead body and I had the feeling this wouldn’t be any different. There he was. Mr. Gilmore, fully clothed in denim trousers and a gray sweatshirt, lying on his stomach, arms straight by his sides, and his head turned toward the wall. I would assume that if he’d had a heart attack, he would’ve clutched his arm or chest and fell. If he’d had a stroke, he also would have fallen. The way Mr. Gilmore was positioned suggested something other than a fall. The word posed came to mind.

  I slipped on a pair of purple nitrile gloves and knelt down next to the deceased’s face. I didn’t see any visible bruises either, which means he likely didn’t fall. I glanced over at Pickett. “Hey, does the daughter live here?”

  “No, she lives in San Francisco. She came by this afternoon to check on him. His wife’s memorial was just a few days ago.”

  Damn. Mr. Gilmore was having a far worse day than I was. Double Damn. The poor daughter. No wonder she was in shock. I looked back at Mr. Gilmore, who stared at me with vacant eyes. We were going to need the medical examiner to determine cause of death before ruling manner of death, but my gut was screaming homicide. A knock on the door caught my attention. “Hey, Brown. It looks a little suspicious to me. Photograph everything, get prints on the doors and windows, collect any fibers that don’t seem to fit, and anything that looks out of place - bag it and tag it. I’ll call the ME.”

  Brown gave me a thumbs up and I exited the room to search the rest of the house. I didn’t find any signs of forced entry or a struggle. I headed back toward the front of the house and inspected the windows. Both unlocked, but both with the screens intact as well. It didn’t mean an intruder couldn’t replace them after they snuck out. I removed the gloves, shoved them in my pocket, and approached the kitchen. I nodded at Lancaster. She raised a finger for me to wait. I stood until she motioned me over to her and the daughter.

  Lancaster spoke in a soothing voice. “Kennedy, this is Detective Hirsch. He has a few questions for you. Are you up for it?”

  She nodded as she brushed away the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her eyes remained listless.

  No ring on her fingers. “Ms. Gilmore, I presume?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Gilmore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Have we called someone to be with you?”

  Lancaster said, “Yes, she has a friend on the way.”

  “Great. Like Officer Lancaster said, I’m Detective Hirsch and I’ll be the one trying to figure out what happened to your father.”

  “You don’t think it was his heart?”

  “I’m not sure. The medical examiner will be the one to tell us what caused his passing. Once we know that, we can determine his manner of death.”

  “Like, if it wasn’t natural?”

  “Right. Can you tell me exactly how you found him?”

  “I used my key to get in, like I usually do. I called out for him to let him know I was here. When I didn’t hear back, I looked for him and found him lying there. I rushed in to check if he was breathing, but I saw his eyes and touched his neck. He was…cold. Then I dialed 9-1-1. I waited in the kitchen for them to arrive.”

  “Did you touch anything in the room? Or move him in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of any reason anyone would want to hurt your father?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not really.”

  “The other officer mentioned you said there was something weird about it. Can you explain?”

  She let out a breath. “Well, my mother passed less than two weeks ago. The memorial was over the weekend. He had just told me some things about my mother’s past that were upsetting. That was yesterday and then… Now he’s gone.”

  “Upsetting how?”

  I listened and scribbled notes on my 3x5 notepad as she described how she’d hired a private investigator to look into her mother’s past. She told me about a family secret and about a man from her mother’s past that had shown up at the memorial. I had to admit; it was a little weird. “Did the PI find out anything else that was strange?”

  “Just that initially she couldn’t find anything about my mother’s past. She couldn’t confirm the story about her brother and parents or find any records at all.”

  Her mother had been running from someone. The ex-husband? If that were true, why a made-up story about a family fire? “And what was the name of the PI?”

  Ms. Gilmore shifted her focus toward the door. She rushed over to a woman and wrapped her arms around her. A few moments later, they stepped apart. You’ve got to be kidding me. I was now convinced my life had become one sick joke. I swallowed my remaining pride and approached the two women. Maybe she’s forgotten who I am? I extended my hand. “I’m Detective Hirsch, lead detective in the death of Mr. Gilmore.”

  She eyed me up and down. “How does it look? Robbery gone wrong?”

  She remembers. I lowered my arm. “Ms. Monroe, good to see you. The ME should arrive shortly. She’ll determine cause of death and then we can work on manner of death.”

  Ignoring me, she turned to Ms. Gilmore. “Don’t worry, Kennedy, if he can’t figure it out, I will.”

  Kennedy’s mouth dropped open. “Do you know each other?”

  “Our paths have crossed. It’s okay, I’ll handle it.”

  I bit my lower lip to contain myself. “Ms. Gilmore, the CoCo County Sheriff’s department will do everything in our power to find out what happened to your father.” I pivoted toward Martina. “Ms. Monroe, I presume you are the PI who is investigating the late Mrs. Gilmore’s past.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Is there anything relevant that could help us determine a motive or a suspect in the event the death is determined to be suspicious?”

  Martina remained stoic. “Maybe.”

  Pride gone, I asked, “Perhaps you and I can work together and compare notes?”

  “I need to be with Kennedy right now. Maybe we can talk later?”

  “Of course.
That would be great.” I fished a pair of business cards from my inner jacket pocket and handed one to each of the women.

  “Ms. Gilmore, again, I’m sorry for your loss. If you have any questions, please call me - day or night. And Ms. Monroe, call me when you’re ready to talk. I actually I got a message from you about the Bernard case. I’d like to discuss both with you.”

  Martina narrowed her light amber eyes, as if assessing me. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  I exited the house and made my way up to the levee to look around. There were small houseboats, fishing boats, and empty docks. Houses lined the waterfront. It was time to knock on doors and find out if anyone heard or saw anything unusual. The niggling in my gut was telling me this was bigger than it appeared at first glance. Between the disappearance of the girl next door, the investigation into the wife’s mysterious past, and now Martina Monroe connecting all of them, it was too much coincidence for my taste. I supposed I could forget about sleeping for a while.

  13

  Martina

  I led Kennedy out of the kitchen and onto the levee outside. The wind picked up and the icy breeze shot a chill down the back of my jacket. It was still better than being in the home with Theodore Gilmore’s dead body. Kennedy stood with her back to the dark gray water. I studied her grief-stricken face. “Kennedy, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you for coming, Martina. I asked you to come because something is telling me this wasn’t an accident or because of his heart problems. Yesterday, he was fine. You saw him, he was okay, right?”

  He didn’t look great to me, but I didn’t want to say that to her right now. I hadn’t seen the body and didn’t want to speculate until the medical examiner came back with the cause of death. “Was there anything out of place in the house to make you think somebody broke in and hurt your father?”

  “No, what’s weird is how he was lying on the floor. When I found him, at first I thought he was just sleeping on the floor, which was odd, but he looked peaceful. He wasn’t banged up like he might be if he’d fallen down. It was as if he’d laid down, put his arms by his side and went to sleep, until I saw his eyes. They were open and blank. It’s hard to describe.”