“That’s a beautiful pendant,” Kiana noted. “It looks very expensive.”
“Kee,” Evan warned.
“It’s all right. I got it in Cilla’s shop the other day.” Angie undid the clasp and handed the necklace to Evan, who examined it and held it up in front of Kiana.
“It goes perfectly with her eyes, don’t you think?”
“And with her sweater. Why don’t you borrow it for today?”
“I couldn’t do that,” Kiana protested.
“Of course you can. Evan, help her put it on.”
Once the pendant was settled around Kiana’s neck, the pretty girl said, softly, “Thanks.”
Angie couldn’t hold in the question any longer. “Okay, so what gives?”
Kiana’s face screwed up in a question that didn’t fool Angie a bit. Evan got right to the point. “We are going to Ms. Forest’s apartment to look around. We thought you might like to go with us.”
“Two questions.” To make her point, Angie shot up one finger. “Are you crazy? And two,” a second finger appeared beside the other, “are you insane?”
A patron eating at a nearby table stopping chewing long enough to smile at them.
“Okay,” Angie said in a lower tone, “you do realize it’s an official crime scene.” She posed the argument but knew the answer to whether she’d go with them was a no-brainer. They weren’t crazy or insane, just two desperate kids dissatisfied with the speed—or lack of it—from the police investigation. She knew the feeling. She also knew there would be no talking them out of it.
“The crime scene is almost a week old,” Evan said. “They must’ve taken down the tape by now and everything. The landlord is probably making plans to rent the place to somebody else.”
He had a point. Any clues they’d found would’ve been catalogued and removed to the station. “As I recall it’s on the second floor,” she argued. “You planning to climb the drain spout to get in?”
“If we have to,” Evan said.
“No need to do that.” Kiana held up a string with three keys dangling from it.
Angie put a palm out toward her. “I don’t even want to know where you got it.”
“It’s nothing nefarious. I took care of her plants while she was on vacation.”
Angie didn’t bother voicing the obvious question. What adult would give a key to a teenager rather than a friend, neighbor, or co-worker? She pushed the empty plate and cup to the middle of the table. “You’re making me sorry I gave you guys the day off from rehearsal—you have too much spare time.”
“You know we
have
to do this,” Kiana said.
“I know nothing of the sort.” Maybe she should ask José to meet them there. Would he come? He might. He seemed to have taken a liking to her in all those hours they spent together at the hospital. But if he denied them access and later found out they’d gone anyway, not only would it mess up her relationship with the local cops, it might screw things up between him and Jarvis.
“What do you expect to find there?” It was a dumb question. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
Evan shot her a million-watt grin, pulled a wallet from a back pocket, and threw some bills on the table.
“Could I leave the tip?” Angie asked.
“It’s taken care of,” Evan said. “You ready?” he said to Kiana who scraped the last of her over-easies from the ceramic plate, lipped the last of the yolk from the fork and stood up, looping her purse strap over the uninjured shoulder.
The kids bypassed the motorcycle and climbed into Angie’s car. They headed for Gwen’s apartment, four miles away.
“So, why did you invite me along?”
“What?” Evan asked from the backseat.
“You heard me. The other day you were all gung-ho for investigating on your own. Why involve me? You had to figure I’d try and talk you out of going. Or insist on bringing in the cops.”
“But you didn’t.”
Kiana half-turned in the passenger seat to talk to Evan. “We
did
think she would.”
“I guess we wanted your…”
He seemed lost for the right word. Kiana, who had a very mature vocabulary, inserted it. “Expertise.”
“Right,” Evan said.
When he didn’t elaborate, Kiana said, “We thought you could look at the scene and get clues from it.”
“Right,” said Evan, “we have no idea what to look for.”
Besides that, Angie was the so-called investigator. If authorities showed up she’d be able to talk them out of a mess. Well, they might have a great big surprise coming. Alton Bay cops would listen to her excuses for their presence at a crime scene, but Carlson cops? No way.
Angie pulled into the parking lot of the building she recognized from the news. “You realize the cops will have taken everything that so much as resembles a clue, right?”
Neither teen answered. She hadn’t expected one. She knew, as did they, that cops might have overlooked the significance of a particular item.
Kiana led them up the stairs and to Gwen’s apartment. They didn’t meet anyone along the way. They must be large apartments since there was quite a distance between entry doors. No sounds came from the apartment across the hall. The tenants might still be in bed, it wasn’t yet 8:30. Also possible that they’d gone to work.
Angie put her hand on Kiana’s to stop the key from going into the lock. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You realize the place won’t be, um…cleaned up?” Angie couldn’t believe when her mouth added, “What if I go in alone? You could wait in the car.”
“I’ll be all right,” Kiana whispered.
She wouldn’t be. The scene inside that apartment would be forever etched in her brain. It would be in every waking moment. It would be there when she went to sleep and when she woke. Angie also knew there was no changing the girl’s mind. She
would
go inside. And so they did, Evan’s confident fingers turning the key and pushing open the door.
Though she’d warned the kids about the emotion and horror they might experience in Gwen’s apartment, not even Angie was prepared for what was behind that door. As expected, a white chalk outline had been drawn to the left side of the living room, on a royal blue carpet, in front of a modern style chair and small side-table. From the outline it was hard to tell if Gwen died on her face or her back, but her head had been canted to one side, both legs bent awkwardly. Yes, Angie expected the chalk but she didn’t expect three smooth-treaded footprints to mar the thick white line. Large feet for a woman, average size for a man.
Angie
had
expected to see fingerprint dust on everything; fingerprinting was one of the first things done at a crime scene. But she hadn’t expected the dust itself to be streaked with new prints.
The third unexpected sight—and they hadn’t left the living room—was the total devastation. The place was a shambles. Papers and magazines of every imaginable color and size littered the carpet. The couch had been overturned, its bottom panel and every cushion torn open. CDs and DVDs lay haphazardly in front of a large wooden television cabinet along the hallway wall. The flatscreen television, DVR, and DVD player had been taken from their compartments and dismantled.
Someone had been looking for something. And they weren’t leaving an inch unsearched.
Evan and Kiana stood elbow-to-elbow on her left both froze in dumbstruck silence. Evan’s emotions weren’t only on his face; at his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched. He stepped forward and knelt beside one of the footprints overlaid on the chalk mark. His fingers remained inches away but traced the outline.
“I probably don’t have to tell you not to touch anything,” Angie said as she moved for a better view of the apartment. To the right through a wide archway, was the kitchen. Since Evan seemed to have taken the living room, she would search there. She turned to suggest Kiana take the bedrooms and wasn’t surprised to see tears racing down the girl’s face. Evan went to her. As he wrapped her in his arms, Angie continued into the kitchen where in an incongruous display of happiness, sunlight streamed through the pair of windows.
The appliances were old, as they would be in a rental unit—management rarely changed one unless it broke down—but they were clean. There was no need to inspect the insides of the cabinets as all the doors stood open and all the contents lay on the floor. Most every box had been torn open. The refrigerator door stood open but most items were still inside. Apparently what the intruder wanted was too big to be stored in a mayonnaise or mustard jar. The freezer had been totally emptied. She kicked at a package of hamburger. Still partly frozen. Which meant the intruder had been here late last night. Did they also have a key?
Though Angie looked through all the mess on the floor, she could find nothing that pointed toward a clue, or a motive. She walked back into the living room. Evan had knelt in front of a small desk set along the kitchen wall. He peered into one of the empty drawer cavities.
Something about the room looked different. After a second Angie realized someone had gathered up the bills and magazines from around the room. They lay in a pile on the desk. He looked up and gestured for her to look through them.
She righted a kitchen chair and sat in it to inspect the mail. All postmarks were recent; none of the bills outstanding. In the bank statement, dated a week ago, Angie noted that Gwen’s savings account had a modest balance; her checking account had no overdrafts or unusual withdrawals. The balance was $627.42. Gwen Forest was probably not being blackmailing.
Gwen had died from a makeup tube taped in her mouth. The tube and tape indicated the killer was trying to keep her from divulging something he wanted kept secret. And he’d obviously expected to find it at the school rather than here, since he searched the school twice already and only broke in here today. Or maybe it had just been easier to search the school. A lot less chance of being caught at that extreme end of the building, especially during off-hours. Too many possibilities for witnesses here. But the perpetrator had finally gotten so desperate he
had
to come. Had to take the chance.
In her handbag dangling from her right shoulder, Angie’s cell phone rang. She set the bills on the desk and reached for it, then changed her mind. It was probably Jarvis and this wasn’t a good time to talk to him. For a moment she imagined his reaction when she told him where they were. She switched the call to voicemail. “Where’s Kiana?”
“Bedroom,” Evan said without looking up from another empty drawer hole in the desk.
Angie started for the bedroom and stopped—because, in the doorway stood a gray-haired woman holding a cell phone like a weapon. Watery blue eyes scanned the intruders twice each. She punched one button on the phone, and then another.
THIRTY-FOUR
Jarvis was halfway back to Alton when his cell phone rang. Rodriguez’s number showed on the caller ID. He stopped the Jeep on the shoulder of the road and answered.
“Jarvis, I need a huge favor. I got permission from both our captains for you to help, if you want. There was another murder last night—not related to Ms. Forest’s.”
Of course he wanted to help. Especially if it’d get Angelina out of danger and back to Alton Bay. Jarvis cupped his left hand over his ear to muffle the sound of traffic zipping past.
“What do you need?” he asked, knowing the new case was hot and would take priority on the case that was growing colder by the minute. Besides, it would be nice to have something to keep him busy till showtime tonight. Angelina had thoroughly nixed the idea of him shadowing her movements all day.
“So, what’s going on?” Jarvis asked.
“I need you to do some follow-up. Got a notebook?”
Jarvis plucked it from his pocket, clicked the pen and poised it over the paper. “Can you go speak to Debra Ellis nee Fingerman?”
Jarvis nodded, recognizing the name of Gwen’s college roommate. “Got an address?” Rodriguez reeled of an address that he said was a half-mile from Bridgewater State College.
“Husband Jason Ellis, a stockbroker in Boston. Works for Charles Schwab.”
“Prestigious.”
“Yeah. He makes upwards of two hundred thou.”
“We’re in the wrong jobs.”
“Tell me about it,” Rodriguez laughed.
“Something I was thinking. Do you have the phone number handy for UC? I want to double check exactly what courses Ms. Forest was taking.”
“Hold on a sec.” A deep voice in the background asked Rodriguez a question. Then Jarvis heard papers rustling. “You there?” asked Rodriguez.
“Go ahead.”
Rodriguez recited the number, then asked, “What’re you thinking?”
Jarvis laughed. “It was something Angelina said last night about Gwen Forest’s choice of courses. Remember, she switched from Bridgewater State where she majored in childhood education. Her plans were to be an elementary school teacher. Last week, she was teaching high school drama. Angelina wondered what prompted the switch. You don’t know offhand if Bridgewater State offers any courses in drama?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll call you later. Okay if I take Angelina with me?”
“Up to you. I don’t see any danger, if that’s what you mean.”
Jarvis laughed. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Jarvis laid the cell phone on the passenger seat and pulled the Jeep onto Route 93. He’d no sooner eased back into the flow of traffic when he changed his mind and squeezed the car close to the guardrails once again.
Angelina’s phone switched over to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, just got back into the flow of northbound cars, hurried to the next exit, then made a beeline south, back to Carlson.
He didn’t know where to start looking for her but twice more dialed her number. The third time he left a message detailing Rodriguez’s request, then added, “I’m on the way to pick you up. Make it easy on me and let me know where you are.”
Good chance she was at the school by now. Knowing Angelina, there were probably a million things she wanted to tweak, neaten, or fix for tonight’s performance. So why didn’t she answer her phone?
Jarvis pressed on the accelerator. What made him think that, regardless of her vow not to work on this case, she was up to her ears in trouble?