Prom Friday
Page 6
Chapter 3
Dallas Police Detective Sandra Copeland sat at her desk reviewing an investigative report. In an attempt to gain ground, she had skipped lunch again. Her new partner had made things better. For a change, he pulled his weight in their missing-persons case load.
Unfortunately, Detective Kevin Franks posed a new problem. He had shown plenty of interest in her. Dating him was out of the question. They’d be yanked apart at even the hint of a romantic relationship. She’d figure out a way to handle the situation. But at age 32, how long could she keep her social life on indefinite hold?
Her desk phone rang. The flashing light, the last in a row of ten, indicated a call on her direct line. The unlisted number given out to family members of missing persons.
“Copeland.”
“Detective Copeland? Philip Lewellan.”
“Mr. Lewellan, it’s been a long time.”
“About three years.”
“I’m sorry, but we have no new information about your wife.”
“I’ve always assumed you’d call me if you did,” Philip said.
“Yes, sir, I would. What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember our last conversation?”
She leaned back in her chair. “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”
“You told me there was nothing further you could do without physical evidence.”
“I recall saying something like that.”
“And what else you said?”
Where’s he going with this? “What’s your point, Mr. Lewellan?” She straightened in her seat and leaned forward.
“I’ve found proof that my wife and child are alive and I need your help.”
She glanced at her partner. Kevin sitting at his desk less than three feet from hers was obviously listening to her side of the conversation. She moved the receiver to left hand and picked up a pen. “What kind of proof?”
“Twenty minutes ago, I left an art gallery where an oil painting of my wife and child is on display. The painting is recent and the child appears to be the right age. I tried to purchase it, but someone else beat me to it.”
She frowned and tossed the pen back onto her desk. “Mr. Lewellan, I don’t think an oil painting is proof they’re alive. It’s probably a painting of a woman who looks like your wife."
“I thought you’d give me a little more credit than that. I’m not stupid. ”
“I never meant to imply─”
“Of course you didn’t. The name of the artist is Randellini. I’m going to find him. I’ve had the brochure scanned and I’m sending the image to you. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to meet me in New York City tomorrow. My cell phone number and your flight information will be in the e-mail. I can pick you up at the airport.”
Why won’t he accept the fact his wife is dead and never coming back? She couldn’t let this start all over again. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I can’t imagine getting travel authorization based on an oil painting.”
There was no response.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
“Yes, I was considering my other options, since you don’t want to help me.”
“You’re well aware I was forced to halt all active search activity. And that order came from a high enough level that not even you were able get it overridden.”
“I know how much your department spent chasing down bogus leads. I spent twenty times that much on private investigators. This won’t cost your department anything but your time. I’m willing to cover that if necessary, but I realize I’m still asking a lot.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but my hands are tied. I have other cases, active cases.”
“I’m asking for twenty-four hours. If you’re convinced there’s nothing to what I’ve found, I’ll send you back to Dallas in the First Class cabin.”
“Twenty-four hours.”
She shook her head once. Why was she even considering it?
“Your flight arrives at La Guardia at 1:20 tomorrow afternoon. I have an e-ticket confirmed for you on the seven o’clock flight tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t promise you anything without the lieutenant’s approval.” A good excuse when she comes to her senses.
“You’re not coming, are you?”
“I told you I have to get the lieutenant’s approval,” she said, wishing her tone had not been so harsh. Even Kevin looked away.
After a few moments of silence, Philip asked, “Can you at least promise me you’ll look at the picture I’m sending you?”
“That, I can promise.” She reeled off her e-mail address and hung up.
Kevin gazed at her eagerly. “Let’s have it.”
“Philip Lewellan thinks he’s found proof his wife and child are alive.”
“Never heard of him.”
“It’s an old case, before you transferred to the department. Seven years ago, he went to London on business. When he returned to his home in Dallas, his wife was gone. She’s hasn’t been seen or heard from since. She was four months pregnant at the time.”
“Seven years?”
She nodded. “Exactly my thought.”
He spun around in his chair to face her. “So what did he find?”
“An oil painting.”
“How does it prove they’re alive?”
“He believes it’s a recent painting of his wife and child.”
“Sounds like the husband in our last case.”
“Lewellan’s actions didn’t add up to a murdering husband.”
“How so?”
“Nothing indicated another woman. There was no financial gain by her death. But the most compelling reason I don’t think he had anything to do with her disappearance was his unborn child’s nursery. When I was forced to put the case on inactive status, I went to his home to tell him. He showed me the nursery he and his wife had prepared. His voice cracked looking in the empty crib. I doubt any man has been more ready to be a father than Philip Lewellan. Struggling to fight back tears, he vowed he would keep searching until they were found. He did everything humanly possible. Never withdrawing the million dollar reward he offered for information leading to their safe recovery.”
“Maybe a reward he knew he wouldn’t have to pay.” Kevin flipped his pen in the air and caught it. “Do you really think she could be alive?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “But from his tone, he wants to believe they are. A far different tone than three years ago when he seemed ready to give up on life”
“I bet. Killing your pregnant wife might do that to a man.”
She stared at him. “I was that way once.”
“Pregnant?”
“No! Suspecting the husband is the bad guy in every case where a wife disappeared.”
“Since I’ve been here, we’ve closed three cases where they were.”
“We’ve closed that many where women ran away for a new life.”
Kevin shook his head. “Well, Lewellan’s wife didn’t, or she would have turned up somewhere by now. In my book, he’s still a suspect.”
She laughed. “You have a few things to learn.”
“Like what?”
“When police stop actively searching, murdering husbands give up looking. You might want to put that in your book.”
He swung back around in his chair and tossed his pen on his desk. “I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
“Good idea.”
She checked her e-mail and clicked on the one from Lewellan. There was an attachment. A double click, an image started filling the screen from the top down.
She snatched a file folder from her lower left desk drawer. Opened it, retrieved a photo of Renée Lewellan, a photocopy of a fingerprint card, and the twenty-eight page summary of notes she’d made during her investigation.
Kevin glanced at the label on the folder. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Ignoring his comment, she spread the documents out on her desk.
“It’s a copy of the original. Her prints were on several of her personal items in their master bathroom. I wanted them entered into the database in case we needed to ID a body. I also collected strands of hair from one of her brushes.”
“You’ve kept a closed case file on a missing person in your desk for seven years?” He shook his head. “No wonder your desk looks like a disaster area.”
“For the record, it’s not closed. It’s inactive. And the official file is kept in the record’s department downstairs. This one has a photograph of Renée Lewellan and a copy of my report. I used to keep short files of photos and physical descriptions, inactive cases and data in my desk, before we had everything put on computers. It was a good way to quickly compare notes to forensic reports I received from the state lab.”
“Maybe I should do that too,” Kevin said sarcastically. “Or, I could operate in the modern world and continue to use the department’s computerized file system.”
When the full image filled the screen, she held the photo of Renée next to it. “Hmmm.”
Could it really be her?
“Kevin, I’d like your opinion on this.”
He stepped over to her desk.
Holding the photo next to the computer screen, she asked, “What do you think?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“That’s not what I was asking.” She elbowed him in the side. “Do they look like the same person to you?”
For several seconds, Kevin examined the two images. “The hair’s shorter and the face in the painting is fuller, but otherwise I’d say they’re unquestionably the same person.”
Putting the photo down, she said, “People do gain weight.”
Kevin straightened up and patted his firm stomach. “Some don’t.”
She waited until he was forced to let his breath out. “You’ll have to cover for me while I’m in New York.”
“Good luck getting the lieutenant’s approval. Especially after you tell him all you have is an oil painting. Besides, have you forgotten he’s on vacation this week?”
“How could I forget?” After the image was saved and sent to the printer, she said, “Must be why I don’t hear him telling me I can’t go.”
“I’d love to see The Big Apple with you.” He grinned.
She stood and glared at him.
“I meant you may need backup.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll call you when the shooting starts.”
“I guess one of us has to stay and keep the crime wave to a ripple.”
“You’re the man.”
Checked her watch, gathered up the documents, and placed them back inside the folder. “I might need these in New York.” She grabbed her purse and said, “I’m going home to pack a few things. See you in a couple of days.”
On her way to the stairs, she stopped at the printer and grabbed the photo and placed it in the file with the other documents. At the stairway, she stopped and turned around.
Kevin, still standing beside her desk, smiled. “Change your mind about me going with you?”
If he only knew how much she’d love that.
Reality set in. With all the cases they were working, he had to stay. “No. I skipped lunch today. It’s in the refrigerator, lettuce and tomato on wheat, if you want it.”
He nodded. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got your number.”
After pressing the unlock button on her car remote, she hesitated and looked back at the building entrance. Without authorization, going back would be the smart move. She’d received her fair share of warnings from the lieutenant. How much more would it take before he was forced to bring disciplinary action against her? Lewellan’s influence and money had made it one of the most publicized missing-persons cases in the country. The pressure from above to solve the case had been horrendous. Re-activating the seven-year-old case, based on an oil painting, would be the last thing the lieutenant would approve. Getting on that plane might be career suicide.
A couple of vacation days left. She opened the car door, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Who said they couldn’t be taken in New York?
End of Sample
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