Chapter 2

Four hours later, he and Louie walked in Louie’s front door, smashed to the gills, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they laughed like loons. Sophia, Louie’s beautiful wife, was not amused and told them in no uncertain terms. Jake tried to focus.

“Where have the two of you been?” she asked, flipping her long curly brown hair over her shoulder as she approached Louie with a wooden spoon in her hand. “You stink! What have you been drinking? Why have you been drinking?”

“Does she always talk in riddles?” Jake tilted his head down to focus on Sophia. Her brown eyes hadn’t an ounce of tolerance in them.

“I never noticed. I can’t get past the beauty,” Louie slurred. “Isn’t she voluptuous?”

Jake pleaded the fifth.

“Louie, I’m counting to three—I want answers. This is disgraceful. The children can’t see you like this. And you, Jake, you should be ashamed of yourself, getting him drunk.” She hit him on the arm. “You know he can’t hold his liquor.”

“Ouch! It wasn’t me, he got me drunk. We went for a drink or two to celebrate with the other guys. We tried to leave an hour ago, but they wouldn’t let us. Well, one drink led to another, and now we’re here.”

“Lucky me, here you are. Give me your keys, Jake. Who drove you home?”

Concentrate your anger on Louie. This is why I’m not married.

“I love you. You’re sexy when you’re mad,” Louie said, losing his balance as he leaned in for a kiss.

Jake laughed and grabbed Louie, almost over balancing them both when Sophia rolled her eyes and pushed Louie away. At five-four Sophia’s temper could pack a punch. “Jake, who drove the both of you home?” she asked again, guiding them into the kitchen. The table was set for two.

“I need your pasta, Sophia, before I can answer. I’m sure it was one of the uniforms.” He scratched his head and swayed.

“Good. Sit down.”

She dished out penne topped with sauce and cheese onto a plate with the wooden spoon in her hand.

“Sophia, go easy on him, please.”

“Mind your own business and eat, Jake. You’re staying here tonight.”

“Won’t Louie get upset? When did I start turning you on?” He put his hands up to avoid her slap.

“You idiot! You’re on the couch, Louie’s in the bed. Or maybe I should make him sleep on the couch with you.”

Louie lifted his head from the table. “I’m home. When’s dinner?” he asked, dropping his head down and banging it on the table.

Tomorrow he’ll have quite the bump, Jake thought.

“Help me get him upstairs. He’s gone.”

“Sophia, we don’t do this often.”

“You’re missing the point, Jake. I’m not used to the two of you like this. Drinking on empty stomachs wasn’t smart. How could you be so stupid? And be quiet, the kids are doing their homework in their rooms. I don’t want them to see him, or you, in this condition.”

Louie wrapped his arm around Sophia’s waist as they headed upstairs. “I love you, more than anything.”

He’s getting sloppy, Jake thought.

“Yes, Louie, I know.”

“Want to make love?”

“You’re a piece of work. Yes, but not tonight. You’re going to bed, to sleep, walk.”

“You sure? I’m excellent in the sack and you’re—”

She cut him off with a hand over his mouth.

Jake couldn’t help himself. He started laughing and almost lost his balance again. His head spun as he tried to straighten up.

“What are you laughing at? Be quiet.” She punched his arm. “Idiots.”

Jake kept his mouth shut. After helping to put Louie to bed, he went to the study, pulled the drapes shut and lay down. Once on the couch, he passed out without another thought.

* * * *

At dawn, gray shadows swirled around the room from the one curtain Jake had forgotten to pull closed last night. Disoriented, he rolled over in search of his watch and found it on his wrist. He tried to sit up, but crashed back down, covering his eyes as millions of tiny lights exploded in his head. Damn, his whole body ached from sleeping on the lumpy couch. He tried one more time to sit up without his head exploding—then jumped when two sets of brown eyes greeted him. Where the hell was he?

“How come you’re here, Uncle Jake?” Marisa asked.

Muscles tightened then relaxed as his eyes searched the room and landed on the familiar. I’m at Louie’s. Christ, my head hurts. It was a blessing the drapes were drawn on most of the windows, otherwise he’d go blind. As it was, the little bit of light filtering through them could kill a man.

“I had a late night with your father. Instead of going home, I slept here.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with you and Daddy drinking, would it?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Why couldn’t they leave him alone? The kids had left the door to the den open when they’d intruded on his sleep. He heard Sophia banging dishes around in the kitchen. Jake wondered if she banged them on purpose. With each clash, his head felt as though a snare drum was vibrating through his skull.

“I heard you guys come in last night. You were funny. But Mom didn’t think so,” she continued. “She’s still kind of pissed off.”

“Come on, Marisa. Leave him alone. Uncle Jake looks sick,” Carmen said.

“Thanks, Carmen. I could use another hour. Why aren’t you guys in school?”

Marisa answered. “Because it’s six o’clock in the morning and school doesn’t start for another two hours. We always come down for breakfast at this time.” As with any thirteen-year-old, she changed the subject to herself. “Uncle Jake, you’re coming to my birthday party, right?”

“When have I ever missed one?” He realized there’d be no more sleep here today.

“You missed the year that guy cut up all those college girls, remember?” Marisa looked at him.

“Marisa, work comes first. I’ll be at your party, as long as work doesn’t interfere. You’re a cop’s kid, you should understand that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it. My friend Gigi has a crush on you.”

“She’s twelve, isn’t she?”

“Uh-uh, but for some reason, even though you’re old, she likes you.”

“See what kind of birthday gift I get you.”

The minute he shook his head the room flipped upside down. What a mistake that was. He needed to move them along. “I’ve got to get going. Why don’t you guys go into the kitchen? Get breakfast or whatever you do at six o’clock in the morning, I need to get up.”

“Carmen, go to the kitchen, I want to talk to Uncle Jake,” Marisa said, ignoring Carmen’s protests. “Go now, Carmen, or I’ll hurt you.”

“Oh, all right, but I’m stronger than you are and you don’t scare me. And I don’t fight women,” Carmen said before leaving the room.

“You should be nicer to him, Marisa. Someday he’s going to be much bigger than you.”

“I need to talk to you alone, Uncle Jake. You have to talk to my parents about me going to this party on Friday. It’s an important party. Anyone who counts is going to be there. They’ll listen to you. Please?” she said, her eyes pleading with him.

“Marisa, your father told me about the party. I agree with them on this. You’re asking for trouble with no adult supervision. Plus, I’m not at the top of your mother’s good list right now.” He rubbed his aching forehead.

“So, your answer is no? I thought you loved me,” she whined.

“I do, but I’m not talking to them about this. Maybe I should tell this kid’s parents he’s planning on having a wild party while they’re away.” He studied her.

“You can’t, Uncle Jake. Promise me you won’t. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in school ever again. Please promise?” Marisa begged.

“I’ll think about it, now scram.”

Sophia walked into the room as Marisa rushed out.

“Aren’t you the mean one first thing in the morning? How do you feel today?”

“Crowded.”

* * * *

After turning down Sophia’s offer of breakfast, Jake drove home to shower and changed before heading to the station. At the threshold of the bullpen, Jake looked around. No one was in any shape to work except the captain. He walked to his desk and started right in on the murder book for Shanna Wagner’s case.

“Hey, Lieutenant, you left early last night,” Burke shouted from across the room.

“Yep, I left for a special dinner engagement. Sophia served homemade pasta and sauce with fresh baked bread. Who could pass up such a succulent dinner?” Burke looked ill. “She also served homemade tiramisu. The best I’ve ever tasted, talk about pure nirvana. I had two helpings,” he lied.

“God, don’t talk food right now, it could get messy. Got any antacids?” Burke asked.

“Amateurs,” Jake said, his head pounding like a bass guitar, as he immersed himself in the Wagner file.

The evidence was the evidence was the evidence. He had read this file on and off for the last few weeks. Nothing popped out saying, “Hey, you missed me.” But there had to be something they’d missed along the way, some important fact. Yesterday his attention was divided in all directions. Today he’d concentrate on Shanna’s murder. Not trusting his emotions or the similarities to Eva’s case, Jake decided to start over with no distractions. He had fun last night, but he should have stayed home and worked Eva’s file. He’d never forgive himself if Spaulding went free.

Each crime needed new eyes and no preconceived notions. He put everyone back on the suspect list, even the ones he and Louie had cleared. He picked up the crime scene photos and laid them out on his desk. Every insult, every trauma Shanna received was graphically displayed. Kids had discovered her body in the woods at the end of a cul-de-sac of a new housing development. None of the houses had been occupied at the time. The naked body had landed face up. Her clothes never turned up, nor did the item the killer had used to strangle her. The M.E. concluded the deep ligature marks around Shanna’s neck was the cause of death. She’d been sexually assaulted—severe bruising in and around the genitals. Doctor Lang estimated the rape had been committed with a long, hard stick due to the severity of the bruising. No semen was found in or around the body. The killer must’ve used protection, if he did penetrate her. Rolled, not placed, Jake remembered. She’d been in the field about four days according to the M.E. There were no fibers under her nails. He figured the scratches on the torso and the face were caused when she was rolled down the short embankment. Trace didn’t find any skin or hair other than the victim’s. No fibers were found near the body. No jewelry left on the victim, a fact that had always bothered him. The killer had tried to make it look as if a robbery had gone bad. The perp had left Shanna with nothing.

He wrote down new questions. Was it a crime of passion or jealousy or a robbery gone bad? Why take the jewelry? Was it an afterthought? Did he try to conceal her identity? Why, to delay identification, to humiliate, or both? One killer or two? He and Louie always assumed one. Why not dump her further into the field to make it more difficult to find her? Was the killer not strong enough to carry her far? On his list of things to recheck first he listed pawn shops. He’d redistribute the pictures of the missing jewelry. Maybe by some miracle of God some of it had showed up and a careless clerk didn’t report it. Did the killer take the emerald ring and other items as a souvenir or for their value?

The emerald ring, an heirloom passed down from grandmother to granddaughter for generations, Shanna never took it off, according to family members. Valued at fifty thousand dollars, the ring alone provided a motive. Every day, she had worn a gold cross with a diamond in the center, and a name bracelet her sister Chloe had given her for her birthday. Earrings she had varied with her outfits. Two of the three items would have made identification easy, even if they hadn’t had fingerprints and dental records.

He made a note to ask Mrs. Wagner what, if anything, Chloe had received from her grandmother.

Next, he’d redo the timeline for her parents and sister at the time of the murder. Did Shanna and Chloe fight often? Two sisters, close in age, each unique. Their coloring differed, as did their personalities, friends, and interests. Did they hang out together? Did they share friends? Did they dip into the same dating pool?

Movement at the captain’s door caught his eye. With a jerk of his head Shamus called him into his office.

“Tag Louie, there’s a body in the trunk of a car at the Chevy dealer off exit 25,” McGuire said, handing Jake a sheet of paper with few details. “Oh, and Jake, once you’re settled into your office, you’ll be assigning the cases.”

“Louie won’t be in great shape,” Jake replied.

“No one in this squad is. How late did you guys stay out last night?”

“I’m not sure. Louie and I got driven home by a uniform. Sophia’s pissed. She cooked dinner and we didn’t show up. She made me stay on their couch.”

McGuire chuckled. “Get him and secure the scene. Here’s a list of missing persons. See who fits the description of the person in the trunk.”

“Is it a man or a woman?” Jake asked. “I’ll have Louie take the lead on this one, while I concentrate on the Wagner case.”

“Your call. At this time, we don’t have any more information. The salesman who found the body is on the lot throwing up. The manager didn’t get much more out of him.”

On the way back to his desk, he called Louie.

“How do you feel?”

“Like death warmed over. It’s unfortunate but I’ll live. I hope you’re calling me about a case, because I have to get out of here. If Sophia bangs one more pan I swear…”

“We caught a new case, you’re the lead on it. Meet me at the Chevy dealer off exit 25 and I’ll fill you in. We should get there at about the same time. You gonna be okay? I don’t need you sick when you get there.”

“When have I ever been sick on a scene, Jake? Give me a break. What—you gonna bust my balls too?”

He hung up, ignoring Louie’s complaint.

* * * *

Jake pulled into the car lot and parked by a group of guys standing around with their hands in their pockets. He drew back his jacket to expose his badge as he walked over to the group.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, I’m Lieutenant Carrington.” It has such a nice ring, he thought.

“Hey, Jake, over here.” His head snapped up at the use of his first name.

Yep, just like a small town, he thought. And crap, Kevin Myers of all people. He and Myers went through Hogan High School together. The guy lived in the past. Jake made a silent bet with himself that Myers would bring up the state championship game from high school. Ah, my glory days, long gone and forgotten—so many other things put that trivial period of my life aside. He should be thankful. The title and his part in winning it gave him a scholarship to UConn, where he played ball, but changed his major to Criminal Justice. Before graduation, he turned down the offer to play pro ball.

He focused his attention back to Myers. Not a violent guy, as he recalled, but people changed. Did Myers? “Kevin, you find the body?”

“No. Mike Murphy did. Hey guys, I want you to meet the man who put Wilkesbury on the map. Remember, Jake?”

“I remember, Kevin. Who did you say found the body?” Jake changed the subject before Myers took him down memory lane. It was another time, another life. One he didn’t want to revisit, especially now.

Kevin motioned to a guy standing alone. Pale as a ghost, Murphy didn’t approach him. Jake walked over to him, Myers on his tail. “Mike, this is Lieutenant Carrington.”

“I don’t have to go back over there, do I?” Murphy said, sweat dripping down his face.

“No, you don’t. Tell me what you saw and if you touched anything.”

“I…smelled something.” Murphy ran through it for him. Jake stepped away a little when Murphy finished up. The poor man looked as if he’d lose his stomach contents again.

“Stay here. My partner, Detective Romanelli, will take your statement when he arrives.” Jake pointed to the first row of cars where the other salesmen stood, and turned to Kevin. “Can you show me the car? Does it belong on the lot?” Jake asked.

“No, it’s not one of ours, though it’s parked between two of our cars in the last row.”

“This is the first time someone noticed it?” Jake looked over at Kevin.

“I can’t say. I didn’t notice it. I’ll ask the other salesmen if they did,” Kevin offered.

“No, don’t, Kevin. My partner or I’ll ask them. Thanks for your help. This one?” Jake pointed, as he walked up to the car. No mistake. The stench of death never left you once you encountered it. It wasn’t something you got used to either. Anyone who said they did, lied. The record-breaking heat for late April didn’t help preserve the body or lighten the odor.

Myers nodded.

“Please go wait with the other salespeople. I’ll get back to you in a little while.” Jake dismissed him.

With the temperatures in the eighties, it would be hard to determine on scene how long the body had been in the trunk. Normal temps for Wilkesbury this time of year should be in the mid-sixties to low seventies. Point in case, last week it was in the forties. If this heat was a prelude to summer, it was going to be a scorcher.

He’d have to wait on the medical examiner for an estimation of TOD—time of death. Someone tapped Jake on the shoulder. Annoyed, he looked up to dismiss Myers again, but it was Louie standing there struggling.

“Man, this is not what I needed today,” Louie said, rubbing the back of hand over his mouth, his skin the color of the Grinch.

“Want something to camouflage it?”

“No, it would make matters worse with that smell. Bad enough having to deal with the body.” Louie pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket.

In unison, with a rhythm of working together for years, they went about their work. Louie took the pictures. Jake dusted the trunk for fingerprints. Louie bagged the items around the car. Jake bagged her hands, her feet, all the contents of the trunk, and marked the evidence bags. They worked together in a reverence born of experience, each absorbed in their individual tasks, until they hit a stopping point. There was nothing else for them to process until the M.E. did his thing. As he waited, Jake called in the license plate and the make of the car along with the VIN. If he was lucky, it would appear on a missing or stolen vehicle list and narrow down their timeline.

The victim looked to be in her fifties with brown hair, and glassy brown eyes now defined by the death stare. It was hard to tell height and weight at this angle. Death stole the rest of a person’s life and had leached the color from her skin. A hole in her forehead was mostly likely the cause of death. He leaned in closer to study the bullet wound. A brownish-orange tattooing marred the skin around the wound. The mark resulted when a weapon fired from a slight distance drove the gunpowder, both partially burned and unburned, into her skin. The shooter couldn’t have been more than three feet away from the victim. Was it someone she had known? He’d have to wait for the M.E. for more information on the cause of death—COD. The M.E. would fingerprint her again once he got her in the morgue in Farmington.

All autopsies for the state, on suspicious deaths, were performed at the UConn Medical Center, the best facility in the country. He hoped they weren’t loaded down. They did have a missing person report on a fifty-three-year-old woman, last seen a week ago Friday. They’d start their search locally, and if nothing turned up, they’d expand it to a statewide search and proceed from there.

Looking up, Jake watched the assistant M.E. approach him. “Hey, McKay.”

Assistant Medical Examiner Tim McKay, MD, stood five-ten, and weighed in around a hundred and seventy, with a belly going to pot. At fifty-six, time had thinned McKay’s wheat-colored hair, stripping his natural color out and leaving behind more salt than sand. The doc didn’t seem to care about the change.

“I hear you’re having a busy week, Jake. Second body, isn’t it? And I also hear congratulations are in order, Lieutenant.” McKay exaggerated the title.

“Thanks, Tim, I’m still getting used to it. Yes, the second one this week. But the first one was an open and shut suicide. This one’s all yours. Once you transport her, I’ll have the car taken in. I want the lab working on it while you work on her.”

“Then I better get started,” McKay said.

“Give a shout out if you find an exit wound.”

Jake liked Tim McKay. Tim handled the victim in a methodical way along with a gentleness and respect as if she still lived. A survey of the scene while McKay worked told Jake it was a perfect place for a body dump. The area would’ve been deserted at night—no one would have paid any attention to a car in a car lot. Clever killer.

“I’ll call you once the post is done. Give me a couple of hours. By then I should have my initial report ready,” McKay said.

“Thanks, Doc. If you could run the fingerprints first for an ID, I’d appreciate it. I’ll talk to you later.” Jake headed back to the sales personnel to question them.

Louie had already divided them into two groups. There were too many people for Louie to interview alone, though Jake wanted to get back on Shanna’s case. She’d have to wait a little longer. He took his group a few feet away from Louie’s.

The five salespeople in his group were Michael Murphy, who found the body, Kevin Myers, Craig Nelson, Jimmy Jackson, and Michelle Williams. He started with Michelle Williams.

“Ms. Williams,” Jake said. Crime scenes tended to get innocent people babbling. Williams was no exception. The petite brunette in her twenties displayed an abundance of energy.

“I don’t see how I can help you,” Michelle said.

“Relax, Ms. Williams, this won’t take long. I’ll ask you a couple of questions now. If I need more after I check out your answers, I’ll contact you here for a follow-up interview. If you remember anything after I leave you can call me,” Jake said.

“I never saw the car, or smelled anything. I’ve been on for about three hours. I had no reason to come out here today. I didn’t have any customers,” Michelle rambled. He tried to keep up with her. “I won’t have to go back there, will I?” Michelle asked.

“No. When we identify the victim, one of us will bring a picture of her and show it around to see if anyone recognizes her. It’s possible the car was there all week. Are you sure you never noticed it?”

“I’m sure.” She wiped at her mouth with a shaky hand.

“You never went to where the car’s been parked all week?” Jake asked.

“No.”

“Okay, did you work yesterday?”

“Yes, from noon until closing,” Michelle said.

“Did you come back here yesterday?”

“I didn’t go any farther than the row with the red Impala. I’ve only had one customer this week.” She pointed to a spot four rows before the vehicle with the body. “My customer chose a car and we went into the office to process his paperwork.”

“Okay, I’ll need your customer’s name to verify.”

“Can you wait till he signs the rest of his paperwork? This is the first sale I’ve had this month… I don’t want to scare him off.” Her brown eyes pleaded with him.

“When are you signing everything?” Jake asked.

Michelle let out a deep breath. “Tonight, at six o’clock.”

“Okay, we’ll question him tomorrow, please get me the information I asked for.” Jake handed her his card and moved on.

He read the list Louie had given him. A rail of a man with a comb-over took his outstretched hand. “Kevin Jones?”

“Yep.”

“Man of few words, Kevin?”

“Naw, you haven’t asked anything yet that required an answer,” Jones said with a shrug.

“When did you come on this morning?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Do you always come in at that time?” Jake scribbled in his notebook.

“Yes, I like to catch the service crowd while they wait for their cars to be fixed, they browse. I sell a lot of cars that way.”

“Did you sell any today?” Jake asked.

“No,” Kevin said as he looked at what Jake was writing in his notebook.

Jake tilted the book out of his view. “Did you have any reason to come back to the last row today or any other time this week?”

“No, I hadn’t been out on the lot today until I heard Michael scream. His customer came running into the office asking for the manager. The rest of the week, I’m not sure. But if I smelled something, I would’ve investigated it.”

“Did you work yesterday?” Jake asked.

“Nope, it was my day off. Six days on, one day off,” Kevin finished, rubbing his chin.

“You don’t look shaken, Kevin. Are you used to having dead bodies turn up?” Jake gauged his reaction.

“No. At this point, I haven’t seen a dead body and I don’t care to.”

The rest of his interviews went much the same way. He re-interviewed Michael Murphy after he had calmed down but got nothing new from him.

At his car, he and Louie compared notes. Louie had interviewed Cathy Elder, Carl Hannon, Rob Greene, Gino Spino, and Byron Sommers. Jake looked over Louie’s list. Louie’s interviews mirrored his. Nothing stuck out.

“I need another shower. The air’s like soup with this humidity,” Louie said, wiping his brow. Jake noticed Louie’s color wasn’t as green as when he’d first arrived.

Back at the station, they headed into the locker room where they kept another set of clothes and towels and jumped into the showers. Jake made a mental note to replace the items. After his shower, he started the identification process on Jane Doe while Louie processed and tagged the contents from the car the lab boys left behind. Though he wanted to work Shanna’s case, a fresh murder always took priority. The first forty-eight hours were critical. He’d need to jump back on the Wagner case when he was finished gathering information on the Adams woman. Luck was on his side—Chelsea’s prints popped right up.

A social worker employed by the state, Chelsea Adams, worked in Wilkesbury, lived in Southington. Jake pulled her picture from her state ID. An attractive woman—brown hair, brown eyes, five-six, her weight at the time her picture was taken was a hundred thirty-five pounds. Her daughter had reported her missing last Friday, according to the printout.

The car she was found in was also reported missing last Friday. The late model, white Chevy Impala came back to an eighty-year-old woman. She’d left it running in her driveway while she took her groceries into the house. Mrs. Page said she’d planned on garaging it after she unpacked them.

The deceased had disappeared last Friday, April sixteenth, after having drinks with some coworkers. Her daughter Cara reported her missing on Saturday morning when she didn’t show up at home. She tried her mother’s cell phone, got no answer, and started to worry. Cara Adams’s statement said she expected her mother to be home around ten o’clock Friday evening. She had stressed that her mother never stayed out any later. Cara had called the police station around midnight. The officer had followed procedure, explaining to Cara an adult had to be missing forty-eight hours before the department expended manpower searching unless there were extenuating circumstances.

* * * *

Cara Adams had listed her brother as a contact in the police report. Jake did a search for the work phone numbers for the kids. The notification couldn’t wait until the end of the day in case the press got wind of it and released the victim’s name first. It made a difficult job harder if the family heard it on the news. They’d start with the brother. Seth Adams, a paralegal with a downtown law firm, worked within a mile of the police station. Cara, an accountant, worked in Southington, ten miles outside of Wilkesbury.

Jake drove, while Louie processed information on his laptop. Seth worked in one of the old renovated mansions in Wilkesbury. The city had offered tax incentives to buyers as part of their revitalization project of the downtown area. The Jackson Healy Law Firm used the entire building for their practice. He and Louie entered a nicely appointed lobby done in neutral colors—beige walls, mauve sofa, accented with floral-upholstered chairs, and a deep burgundy rug.

The receptionist looked to be in her late twenties: blond hair, cut to look messy but sexy. Her snug blue suit showcased a spectacular body. At the same time, it emphasized her keen blue eyes as she studied them.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. We’d like to speak to Seth Adams and somewhere private, if possible. He’s not in any trouble, but it’s important.” Jake palmed his shield.

“Your name please?” she asked.

Louie took out his shield, laid it on the counter. “We don’t have an appointment. My name’s Detective Romanelli. This is my partner Lieutenant Carrington.”

“I’ll get him right away.” She shot out of her chair and hurried down a long hallway. Jake’s gaze followed her.

“A little young for you, isn’t she?”

He ignored Louie’s comment and took a seat while they waited for Seth to come out. Jake stared down the empty hallway, while Louie read a magazine. When Seth walked toward them, Jake sized him up. Five-eight, one-sixty, brown and brown, he noted in cop speak. The kid looked scared. Not guilty, scared, clearly afraid they were going to confirm what he had feared.

“Detectives…”

“Mr. Adams, is there a conference room we can use?” Louie asked.

The receptionist pointed to the one behind her. Seth led the way. They followed behind him and closed the door once they entered the room. Do it quick, Jake thought. Handle the shock and the emotions, which would follow later.

“Mr. Adams, your mother is Chelsea Adams?” Louie asked.

“Yes, did you find her? Is she okay? Where is she?” His voice was strained.

“Mr. Adams, I’m sorry to inform you. We found your mother this morning,” Louie said.

“Alive?”

“No.”

Seth grabbed the table. Jake thought for sure he’d pass out. The boy’s face lost all color as he collapsed into a chair. “You’re not mistaken? Did she have an accident?” Utter devastation filmed over his tear-filled eyes.

“We’ve identified her through her fingerprints. She was found this morning, in town. No, it wasn’t an accident.” Jake let it hang out there.

Seth stared at him for a long minute then started crying. Thank God Louie took over the job of comforting Seth.

“Seth, we’re sorry for your loss. Can I get you a glass of water? Call someone for you?” Louie, a compassionate man, always dealt better with the survivor’s grief.

“Did you tell my sister? Oh God, Cara.” Seth lost it big time as sobs racked his body.

“No, we came here first. Do you want us to tell Cara, or do you want to?” Louie asked.

“Can we do it together?” Seth wrapped his arms around his waist. When he answered, it sounded like the voice of a little boy. He rocked and cried out again, “Mom.”

Jake left Louie with Seth while he spoke with one of the partners he knew at the firm. He informed Attorney Ron Jacobson they’d be taking Seth home.

“Jake, please call me if he needs anything. They’re a close-knit family. This will destroy them. His father on the other hand had left his mother last year for some twenty- or thirty-year-old, then up and moved to Florida,” Ron Jacobson said.

“Thanks, Ron. We’re going to need to question Seth and his sister. Do you want to be there?” Jake offered. Ron was a corporate attorney.

“Do you have to do it today?” Ron asked as he steepled his fingers in front of him.

“Yeah, we do.”

“I’ll meet you at their house in about an hour. Will you be able to pick up Cara and be there by then?”

“Yes, we’ll see you there.”

They escorted the dazed kid to Jake’s car.

In the car, Louie asked again. “Seth, after we inform Cara, is there someone we can call to stay with both of you?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” he said, staring out the window.

* * * *

Southington, a bedroom community to Hartford, was growing and expanding from a sleepy town to a full city friendly to businesses. It actively pursued all types of industries. It sat between Wilkesbury and Hartford. Jake pulled to the curb of the downtown office where Cara Adams worked. He left Seth in the car with Louie when he went into the doctor’s offices. On the drive over, he’d called Cara’s office and spoke with the receptionist. He learned Cara was an accountant in the billing department.

He walked into a small room crowded with patients. Jake discreetly held out his shield to the receptionist. He wanted to speak with Cara’s boss first. The receptionist led him to Doctor Ira Charles’s office and asked him to wait while she got the doctor. The doc didn’t keep him waiting.

It’s shocking,” Dr. Charles said.

“She told you her mother was missing?” Jake asked.

“Of course, Cara’s been upset all week. It’s all she could talk about and who could blame her? Her mother disappeared without a trace…you found her?”

“We did. She’s been murdered. Cara’s brother’s out in our car. What kind of doctor are you? Seth will need something to calm him down. We still have to inform Cara of her mother’s death. Do you want to be there for support?”

“Yes. When we’re done I’ll see to her brother. He’s also my patient.”

He followed the doctor to an office across the hall from the reception area. Jake walked in first. A young woman who resembled their victim sat behind the desk with a phone to her ear. Cara’s coloring matched her brother’s—brown hair, big brown eyes, but slightly fuller lips. He’d have to wait until she stood to judge her height, though she appeared petite. She looked up when they came in, stopped in mid-sentence.

“Cara?” Jake said. He had clipped his badge to his belt in plain sight. She stared at his badge before she raised her terror-filled eyes to his.

“Yes, can I get you some coffee?” Stalling, Jake let her as he took the seat next to her.

“Cara, we don’t need any coffee. We found your mother this morning. She’s dead.” Before she could interrupt, he continued. “We have your brother in the car outside. He’s not in good shape. Why don’t we take both of you home?”

She asked the same question her brother did. “Was it a car accident? No one noticed or helped? No one witnessed it?” Tears flooded her eyes, though they didn’t fall. Jake watched her fight for control. Jake let her questions run out before he answered.

“No, she was murdered.”

“Murdered!” She jumped up. “How? This can’t be real. She has no enemies. Who would kill her?”

Jake held her hand, guided her back down into the chair. “I’m sorry for your loss, Cara. I’ll answer the questions I can once we get both of you home. And I’ll need to ask a few of my own.”

“If you need anything…anything at all…call me. Do you want me to go with you?” Dr. Charles asked.

“No, I have to see to my brother. Is he okay?” This time the tears fell.

“He’s upset,” Jake said.

“Who could hurt her? She was a kind, gentle woman.” Cara cried harder.

“We’ve started an investigation into her death.” Jake picked up her purse and led her to his car. She jumped in the back seat and grabbed her brother, hugging him to her body.

* * * *

The four of them walked up a sidewalk lined with colorful tulips to the front door of the Adamses’ house. The riot of color seemed a bit too cheerful for the occasion. Louie unlocked the front door with the keys Cara had supplied on the ride over. Cara led them into the modest, one-story house. The living room to the right of the foyer seemed like a good place to do the interview. Jake scanned the rooms as did Louie. Traditional furniture in bold navy with red accents, and an old solid wood table sat beside the sofa. Chairs were scattered around the room and doilies covered every tabletop. The hardwood floors visible under the oriental area rugs were polished to a glassy sheen. The living room connected with the dining area. He assumed the kitchen would be off the dining room. The dining area, decorated in peach and green fabrics, showcased a dark ornate table with matching hutch and buffet cabinet. The centerpiece of lilies surrounded by green leafy stems complemented the living room. A house well decorated. A home, Jake corrected as he waited for them to settle in.

He stood, as did Louie. The Adams kids sat on the sofa, their arms around each other, Seth’s head on Cara’s shoulder. He and Louie sat in the chairs facing them. Louie started the questioning.

“Can we call someone to come over?” Louie asked again.

“No, right now I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Cara said.

A loud musical chime filled the room. Jake got up, answered it and motioned Ronald Jacobson in and pointed out the living room. Once the lawyer sat down, the questions started on both sides.

“What happened to my mother? Did she suffer?” Cara asked.

“We don’t have a lot of information yet. She was discovered this morning. Once the M.E. supplies the information we’ll have more. Right now, I have to ask some difficult questions,” Louie said.

“She wasn’t raped, wasn’t she?” Cara asked with apprehension.

They always ask, Jake thought, as if death isn’t enough of an insult on its own. He fielded the question. “Cara, we don’t have that information yet. The M.E. will determine her wounds during the autopsy.” Knowing won’t help you to deal with it, believe me.

“Okay,” Cara answered for the both of them. She seemed the stronger of the two.

“Cara, where were you Friday night, between the hours of eleven PM and three AM?” Louie took over the questioning.

“Here, all night. I didn’t go out. My boyfriend was working. I stayed home and watched television. I called the police at eleven PM because Mom didn’t come home,” Cara said. She ran her finger gently over the picture of her mother she picked up off the end table.

“Did you call from your cell phone or the house phone?” Louie asked.

“I called on the house phone. I’d never hurt my own mother.”

“I understand, Cara, but this is standard procedure. Before we can move forward, we have to eliminate the both of you. We’re also going to ask your father the same questions,” Jake explained.

“The bastard’s in Florida with a girl my brother’s age. He left my mother last year around this time,” Cara spat.

Such venom. Now if Jake had her father on the slab in the morgue, she might be his number one suspect. “Cara, who did she go out with on Friday night?” Jake asked. “I’ll need her friends’ names, addresses, and phone numbers, if you have them.”

“She went out with her friend, Julie Cahns, and with Sara Hurdle from work. This week Mom said another girl from work was joining them. You’ll have to ask her friends who that was. I’m not sure. I’ll go get her address book.” Cara stood to leave the room.

“Where did they go?” Louie asked. Years ago, Jake had found if he and Louie bounced the questions back and forth between them it kept suspects and witnesses off balance.

“They usually go to the golf course for dinner. If they’re in the mood, they go into the lounge for drinks after.”

“Which course?”

“Sorry…I can’t remember. It’s the one on the west side of town, the public one.”

“Blakely Hills?” Jake questioned.

Cara left the room. Jake looked over at Seth. The kid looked devastated but managed to pull himself together, but he hadn’t interrupted as they questioned his sister. “Seth, are you up to a few questions?” Louie asked.

“Yes, if it will help catch the person who did this to our mother.” The kid’s skin had gone transparent as happens with grief or shock. Black pouches had formed under his eyes. Despair aged the kid before his eyes.

“Where were you Friday night?” Louie asked.

“I went to dinner with my girlfriend, Olga. We ate at Cava’s, in Southington. After dinner, we went back to her house. I spent the night, her parents weren’t home…” Seth blushed.

“I’ll need Olga’s information,” Louie said, as Cara returned to the room. She handed Jake her mother’s address book.

Seth supplied the information for Olga. “Can I ask her to come over later?”

“Yes, but not right now. We need to speak with her before you do,” Louie said.

“Is there anyone else who might’ve given your mother any trouble at work or in her personal life?” Jake asked.

“No, everyone liked her. She never harmed anyone or got into fights or arguments. She didn’t date,” Seth said, showing anger for the first time.

Jake preferred Seth’s anger to the crying. The anger would help him deal with it.

“She hasn’t dated since she divorced your father?” Louie clarified.

“She didn’t divorce him, he divorced her. No, she didn’t date. It shattered her when he came home and announced he was leaving her. It came right out of the blue.”

“Do you keep in touch with him, Seth?” Louie asked.

“Yes, more than my sister does. She’s angry. I mean full-blast angry with him. She won’t even acknowledge his new wife. I dated the woman in high school.”

It takes all kinds. Jake looked around at the lovely home, wondering why someone would decide to leave his family. He wrote in his notebook. Trouble? Look into Chelsea’s marriage.

Seth continued, “Well, she thought she’d hit pay dirt with him. I fixed her. I got my mother the best divorce lawyer around. He stripped Dad with the alimony, including half his pensions and 401k’s. If Lola wants any money, she’ll have to work for it.”

Jake saw it hit Seth again. His mother was gone. He wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked as he’d done back at his office.

All this time, Jacobson hadn’t said anything. Jake turned to him. “Do you have any questions, counselor?”

“No, you’ve covered everything. When will you get the cause of death?”

“Not until the autopsy’s finished,” Louie answered.

“If you need to speak with them again, please give me a call.”

“Will do. Cara, Seth, we’d like to have a look at your mother’s room,” Jake said.

“I don’t want anyone pawing through her things. It’s bad enough someone murdered her, now this?” Cara spewed.