Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) (37 page)

76

“YOU HAVE BEEN most helpful.”

“It’s my pleasure. What else can I show you?”

“Nothing right now. This one caught my attention. Now I need to think about it for a day or two.”

“Why don’t we sit down for a cup of coffee and let me work through numbers with you. I have an idea they may accept a little less than they’re asking.”

“That would be good but I need a little more time to think about if I’m really ready to buy a house.”

“Of course there’s not as many offerings on the market in January, so they won’t come down a lot. But I’m just saying.”

Zehglov was getting impatient but trying hard not to show it. He saw a for sale sign on a house a couple blocks from where Conner’s mom lived. They all looked the same to him, but he drove by Conner’s old neighborhood one more time and confirmed that the two row houses had the same number of doors on the front and sides, the same number of windows, and were pretty close on size.

He called the number on the sign to have the realtor show him the house. He studied doors, windows, stairs, and halls. He was surprised that there was a basement too. He asked about the outside entrance, which was a steep flight of concrete steps with a rail on the left and a retaining wall on the right. The stairs dead-ended into a small square slab of concrete that provided just enough room for the basement door to swing open.

He asked about the history of the neighborhood and got the feeling most of the floor plans were pretty similar. Still, there was no way to know with absolute certainty what he’d walked through was the same as Conner’s house. He also couldn’t remember if Conner’s mom
had a basement but he didn’t intend to drive by for a fourth time. He should have kept the Malibu. Less conspicuous in a working class neighborhood than the Mercedes.

“You’ve got my number, I’ve got your number,” Zheglov said. “I’ll call you back on Saturday when I’m done with a project. No need to call me because I’ll be too busy to pick up.”

She smiled and nodded and gushed about the solid oak flooring and marble countertop in the refurbished kitchen one more time. If she had kept going I would have to kill her for being obnoxious, he thought to himself. Need to get back to Conner’s workplace. Let’s see where she’s going tonight.

When he got in the car he called the
shestyorka
who answered on the first ring.

“I need men and guns.”

“That I can help you with.”

77

“I JUST WANT to be clear on this point. I’m not saying Bradley Starks did it. I always liked him. I thought he was a sweet boy until I caught him . . . uh . . . looking at me.”

“You don’t have to defend Bradley Starks,” her lawyer says, interrupting and putting a comforting hand on her arm.

Gag me.

We get to talk to Starks tomorrow morning. We no longer have to worry about the twenty-four-hour rule for holding someone who hasn’t been charged in a crime. Apparently he’s been busy over at the juvenile wing of the Cook County Jail. He’s started a couple fights and about set off a riot in the cafeteria. He may have a number of assault and battery charges to face before he gets home. That will be least of his worries next to murder.

“Tell us again how much time your deceased husband and the boy spent together?” Blackshear asks.

“Eddy used to be his scout leader. But really not much in the last two years. Things change when kids become teenagers. Eddy teaches fifth grade and is very good with children. I’m not sure he relates well to teens. And vice-versa.”

“The two didn’t spend time together even though Mr. Keltto was his court-appointed mentor?”

“Not really. I’m sure Ed tried . . .”

She pauses and lowers her head. She begins to cry.

“We may be done here,” her lawyer says.

“No, that’s alright, I can keep going,” she says through sniffles and tears.

“This is what I didn’t want to say. But about a month ago Ed said something that I didn’t think about at the time.”

She stops to gather her thoughts, taking deep breaths. Blackshear waits. Don is in there with arms folded. He hasn’t said a thing the entire time. I did see him smooth his suit jacket lapels and check for dandruff on his shoulders.

“Ed said that Bradley wasn’t cooperating and had missed almost every weekly meeting they were supposed to have. He said he should contact the caseworker but didn’t want to do anything to send the kid to prison. Then he told me about Bradley pushing him . . . and threatening him.”

She told me Bradley lost his temper and pushed Ed. She didn’t say anything about him threatening her husband.

“And you didn’t think to tell us what your husband had said after he was killed?” Blackshear asks.

She begins to cry again. “Ed had so many projects he’s working on . . . so many people he helped. It all blurred at times. He told me a lot of things. It just didn’t click in my mind at the time. I’m sorry; I know I should have thought about what Bradley did after Edward was killed . . . but I was so confused. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” her attorney says gently.

Gag me again.

“Was Leslie Levin at your home the morning your husband was killed?” Don asks.

She looks up quickly, surprised and puzzled.

“You don’t have to answer,” her attorney repeats.

“No,” she says emphatically. “Of course not. Where would you get that idea? He was on his way to California.”

“Before going to the airport,” Don says.

“No.”

“You sure?” Blackshear asks.

“I think I would know if he was at the house,” she says firmly. “Of course not. Ed was home. Why would he be at the house?”

There is a long, pregnant silence as everyone mulls the answer to
that. I stare at her closely. I see doubt in her eyes. She lowers her head and begins to sob again. Why do I get the feeling she is trying to buy time so she can recover from a broadside with this round of tears? Is it because I’m a detective?

“This interview is done,” the lawyer says, standing.

Blackshear and Squires don’t look too bothered by that. In fact, they look pretty pleased with themselves.

Nice work, guys.

“What do we do?” Blackshear asks.

The three of us are sitting at a table reviewing the two interviews.

“Nothing until we talk to the kid,” Don says.

“Her attorney wants her re-released on original bond,” Blackshear says.

“Last time we let her go home she tried to off herself,” Don says.

“She looked like she’s feeling better to me,” I say. “Until you brought up Leslie’s car being there the morning of the murder. I wouldn’t cut her loose.”

They both look at me.

“So you deliver Bradley to us as a suspect and now you think she did it?” Blackshear asks.

“I’m not saying anything,” I answer. “But after seeing her and Leslie in action, I don’t trust either of them—even if the kid did it.”

“What you want to do, Bob?” Don asks.

“Captain is gone for the day,” he says. “I may wait until morning. Nothing is going to happen tonight anyway.”

“What’s the status on her house?” I ask.

“Now I know why you don’t want her cut loose,” Blackshear says with a toothy grin I’ve never seen. “You getting one of your vibes, Kristen?”

“What are you two talking about?” Don asks.

Bob tells him about our walk through the Keltto’s house and garage in the dark. He’s making it sound like our tour of the crime scene was a Halloween ghost walk. Thanks, Bob.

“What do you need, Conner?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I’m having supper at my mom’s house tonight. I figured I might take one more walk through.”

“Was it something Nancy said?” Don asks.

“No . . . maybe . . . I just know something’s bothering me.”

“Something’s bothering me, too,” Blackshear says. “Actually a couple things. I was convinced Nancy Keltto did the deed and that Leslie Levin was involved. Now I’m almost positive I was wrong. I’m convinced it was the kid.”

“What do think, Don?” I ask.

“Unfortunately, I think it was the kid after hearing about his reign of terror at Cook County. You?”

“Probably I lean toward Bradley but not by much. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Nothing feels right on murder most of the time,” Don says with a shrug.

“Squires, tell me the rumor I heard isn’t true,” Blackshear says.

“Can’t believe everything you hear,” Don says, popping out of his seat. “I’m out of here guys. I’m coaching Devon’s practice tonight.”

Good for him. Coaching. Moving on to another stage of life. But I’m going to miss him and his threads.

“Can you clear a walkthrough for me, Bob?”

“Yeah. Make sure you log it in the morning.”

This job can be sobering. I don’t go out and drink to get my mind off the situations and people we deal with. My escape is to work out. I think I’ll hit the health club on the way to Mom’s. I can’t lift anything or move my upper body but at least I can do a spin class or something.

I head back for my cubicle and check emails and phone messages for five minutes. Two missed calls from Reynolds. No message. But there is also a text from him:
Call ASAP! This is important.

I hit his number. It goes straight to voice mail. He’s in the air or turned off his phone. Whatever has his hair on fire will keep.

I input my report on Tommy Barnes’ call, then add Doyle, Zaworski, Nelson, Blackshear, and Squires in the TO: box. I blind copy myself so I can add it to case file. At the last minute I blind copy Reynolds so he knows what’s up. I hate to hit send. I know this is going to boot me off the Keltto case. I don’t want to be left out of the action. Nothing to be done about it. At least I’ll get my final walkthrough of the murder site. I hit the envelope icon.

I look at my watch. Twenty till five. I can leave early. Then it hits me. I haven’t picked up a replacement handgun. I have to get down to the weapons locker clerk on the second floor or I’ve got nothing. Okay, I know I’m being dramatic, but there might be someone who wants to kill me out there. Not just the usual suspects who aren’t really being literal with the word murder.

“What’s up tonight?” Heather Torgerson asks. “You are stuck with me.”

“The health club, Mom’s for dinner, and then home. That’s an exciting night for me. Want to drive with me and work out?”

“To think, I was going to see if you wanted to go clubbing down on Rush Street—knowing full well we wouldn’t get approved for it, but hoping anyway.”

“I guarantee I would cramp your style even in spots where the music is too loud to talk. But you’re welcome to join me.”

“I think I will.”

“Meet me downstairs at the door to the parking lot,” I say. “I gotta pick something up on my way down.”

“Great car,” she says as I turn the wheel and head the GTR north.

“You know it’s my sister’s.”

“You told me about ten times. Don’t worry; I won’t think you’re a crooked cop who can afford a car that costs more than a hundred grand. Is it yours to use all the time?”

“I guess. I hadn’t planned on it though. I figured I’d drive it once a week to keep the oil good. I’m driving it all the time lately because I haven’t had a spare two hours to pick up my car from the garage. I think I better do that Saturday or they start charging me a storage fee.”

“What do you drive?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I miss my little Miata convertible, no matter how unkind it has been to me through the years. But I’m going to miss the GTR more I’m afraid.