Life in Death (6 page)

“Sit. We’re not finished with you yet.” Cobb raised his voice. He intimidated most people. Mina was no exception. She sunk back down into the chair and wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks and jaw line.

Cobb reseated himself.

“Ms. Steele, please, we need to ask you some questions about what happened to April today, just as we have asked the others before you. It’s standard procedure.” Nicolet kept his voice soft.

“Fine.”

“Where were you when April was hit?”

“At home. I went home for lunch.”

“Were you alone?”

She shook her head. “I met my girlfriend there.”

“Girlfriend as in a girl that’s a friend or girlfriend, girlfriend?” Cobb asked.

“Does it matter?” Mina said.

“So you like girls, huh?” Cobb chided.

“Cobb, that’s enough,” Nicolet said.

“What’s her name?” Cobb asked.

“Veta Stevenson.”

Cobb wrote the name in his notebook. “Did she know April?”

“They met once. That’s it.”

“We’ll need her contact information,” Nicolet said.

“What happened the last time you saw April? We know you got into a fight with her before the hit and run. About what?” Cobb asked.

“I didn’t think she worked her cases well enough.” Mina dropped her hands to her lap.

Cobb snorted. “If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Are we done?” Mina asked, color infusing her face.

“Take a second and think about what happened earlier today, when you last saw April.” Nicolet tried to keep her on his side. “What do you remember?”

“I just told you.”

“This may be your last chance. You’d better come clean now. You’re already in enough trouble.” Cobb leaned in close to her.

Mina just glared at him.

Nicolet slid his card across the table toward her. “Before you go, we need Veta’s contact information.”

She withdrew a card from her pocket. “Here it is. She’s my lawyer. The next time you want to talk to me, call her.”

Jack came in as she stormed out of the room.

“It’s been a helluva day, Detectives,” he said and scratched his head.

No shit, Sherlock.

“You’ve got some real characters in this office,” Cobb said.

“Yes, I do.” Jack’s lips formed a thin line.

“Where were you when April was hit?”

“I was at my daughter’s school. I’m in the middle of a divorce. It’s been tough on our kids.”

“Did you meet with someone there?” Nicolet asked.

“Yes, my soon-to-be ex-wife, our daughter, and the principal.”

“What school?”

“Hillsdale High School.”

“What can you tell us about April?”

“April just got back from her honeymoon. I transferred her workload to Kari temporarily. April worked here for five years and probably talked more than she worked, but I think she did a good job. She and Mina were friends. Other than that, I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?” Cobb asked.

“No, but… ” Jack stopped himself.

“But what?” Nicolet pressed him.

“Yes, well, no… I probably shouldn’t even mention this, but it seemed like April came in to a lot of money this year. Her and her husband had new cars, they had a house built, and they went on a pretty ritzy honeymoon. I just wondered how they could afford all that on a social worker and a landscaper’s salaries.”

Nicolet and Cobb exchanged glances.

“Thanks. That’ll be all,” Nicolet said.

“No problem. If I can be of any more help, let me know.” Jack nodded and left.

“So the Frosts and now April were rolling in dough,” Cobb said. “Who’d of thought a government employee and a landscaper could live so well?"

“The common thread seems to be these foster kids,” Nicolet said.

“It’s time we paid the Frosts another visit. We need to talk to those kids without Ms.-butter-won’t-melt-in-my-fucking-mouth Andrea Frost there.”

CHAPTER 8

The nursing home always smelled of ammonia, urine, and God knew what else. Nicolet walked over to the visitor’s log to sign in as some of the residents milled about the foyer aimlessly or stared at the door with hopeful looks on their faces. Others played games or watched TV in an adjacent room.

Ferrell Stuart, the clinic administrator for Shady Brooke Manor, peered over the front desk. She pushed black-rimmed glasses further up her nose and frowned. “Your father’s had another episode.”

“What happened this time?” Nicolet asked.

“He physically attacked a female resident… Mrs. Palmer. He called her Carmen and accused her of adultery.”

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Carmen was my mother’s name. She’s been dead for over ten years now.”

Ferrell sighed. “I’m afraid your dad’s condition has gotten worse.”

Here it comes….

“We can’t keep him at this facility any longer. We’re not equipped to handle someone with your dad’s particular issues. I suggest you transfer him to Pinewood.”

He’d already researched Pinewood Living Center and other nursing homes like it. They specialized in dementia patients like his dad. He knew it would come to this eventually.

His dad had been an abusive, philandering drunk. The first time Nicolet's dad had beaten him he was nine and had stepped in to defend his mom against his dad's fist. When he was fifteen he finally fought back. The beatings stopped.

Nicolet didn’t feel sorry for the man, not one bit. In fact, he deserved much worse.

“Please make arrangements as soon as you can. I’m sorry.” She grimaced and turned away.

Nicolet went to his father’s room and found him seated in a worn, green recliner, in front of the TV, glued to an old western. His grizzled hair looked like it desperately needed a wash and he had about a week’s work of beard growth. “Hey there, Dad.”

“What do you want, you miserable son-of-a-bitch?” His father glared at him. His face reddened in anger.

“Dad, it’s me–Rance.” He entered the room and leaned against the dresser.

“I know who you are. What the hell do you want?”

At least his father’s response to him hadn’t changed.

“I came to check on you. How are you doing today?”

“Just peachy. They had to pull me off that bitch mother of yours. You know she slept with my best friend. I knew I shouldn’t have married that whore.” His dad turned his attention to the TV. Clint Eastwood pulled his gun from his holster.

“Mom’s dead.”

His dad got up, went to the closet, and withdrew a tattered, brown suitcase. He placed the bag next to the recliner and sat.

“I’m ready to go home,” the old man said, more as a statement than a request.

Nicolet shook his head. “We talked about this. I can’t bring you home.”

“They watch me when they think I’m asleep. I can feel their beady eyes on me. They steal my stuff, too. Bastards. When can I come home?”

Nicolet took a deep breath. “You have to stay here.”

“I want to go home. I want to go home,” his dad chanted as he rocked back and forth in the old recliner.

“You have to stay here. We talked about this.”
The old man jumped up and dashed toward Nicolet.

“Bastard.” His father grabbed him by the throat with more strength than Nicolet could have imagined for a 73-year-old man. Nicolet seized his dad’s fingers and pried them loose just as two orderlies rushed in and took hold of the old man’s arms. A nurse followed and gave him a shot. Minutes later, a glaze came over his eyes. The orderlies released their grip and helped his dad get onto his bed.

His condition had deteriorated, as Ferrell said.

Nicolet went to the bed and looked into the old man’s eyes, but his father stared past him.

“Dad, I have to go,” Nicolet said quietly.

The old man muttered, but Nicolet couldn’t quite make out what he said, so he leaned in closer. “What did you say?”

“I want to go home.”

A tear rolled down his father’s weathered cheek.

Nicolet knew he should feel sorry for him, but he didn’t. Chickens were finally coming home to roost.

CHAPTER 9

What a day.
Kari grabbed her mail and went to unlock her front door

Tucker bounded out of her bedroom, rushed up to her, and pawed at her leg. His little nub of a tail wagged happily. “How’s my little boy today?” She scooped him up into her arms.

He kissed her face with quick tongue licks. That brightened her day a bit.

After a few minutes of cuddles, Kari put Tucker down, poured herself a glass of wine, and headed for the bathroom. She lit strawberry scented candles, turned on her favorite jazz station, and slipped into a warm sudsy bath. She sipped her wine and visualized Nicolet’s face: his hazel eyes, aquiline nose, and full lips. Butterflies flitted around in her stomach.

Tucker napped in the doorway. Always the protector. She smiled.

A news flash interrupted the music.

“Attorney Jefferson Winton has been reported missing. Mr. Winton’s car was found abandoned at a downtown parking deck. The family has offered a reward for information leading to his whereabouts. A hotline has been setup. The number is…. ”

She felt numb. Maybe she finally managed to close that chapter in her life. Time to move on.

CHAPTER 10

“What the hell do you mean he bonded out? When?” Cobb roared into the phone.

“Just what I said,” the none too pleased officer on the other line responded in kind. “There wasn’t a hold on him. He sobered up and posted bond. It’s as simple as that. If you have a problem…"

Cobb slammed the phone down on its cradle. Maybe he
should
have put a hold on Luke Dolo. This case got stranger and stranger by the day. They’d have to run him down.

“Saddle up.” Cobb said as he stood and grabbed his jacket off the chair.

“Where we headed?” Nicolet asked as he pushed a file away.

“To Luke Dolo’s. He's already out.”

***

Luke Dolo’s apartment door was standing ajar when Cobb and Nicolet arrived.

“Police,” Cobb yelled as he pushed the door open slowly.

Cobb entered first, then Nicolet. The apartment was sparsely furnished. A musty grey recliner and broken down sofa kept vigil over an old console television with rabbit ears. The worn, dirty brown carpet had numerous food and beverage stains.

Cobb and Nicolet worked through the apartment. They found Luke Dolo, or what remained of him, propped against the bedroom wall. He no longer had a face. Blood and brain matter was left plastered on the wall behind him.

“Looks like a shotgun blast,” Cobb said.

Cobb looked around the room. Nothing was disturbed, and there were no signs of a struggle. Dolo had known whoever did this to him. “It looks like the shooter leaned over the body,” Nicolet said as he studied the scene.

“Why the hell would somebody do that?”

“To watch him die is my guess.”

Cobb pondered this. Nicolet may have been right. The killing had been brutal. Maybe Luke Dolo hadn’t been crazy at all. He fortold his own death. Cobb should have listened. He’d have to live with that.

CHAPTER 11

“You mailed the letter?” Aubrey asked Kari.

“Shhh,” Kari said to her best friend. “Keep your voice down.”

She looked around the funeral parlor to see if anyone had heard. Didn't look like it. Well-dressed women wept, men in suits were quiet and withdrawn, and ladies of the night and homeless people comforted each other with soft words. Nicolet spoke to Jesus, April’s husband. Kari felt a quiver of excitement when she saw the detective.

“I can’t believe you actually mailed it,” Aubrey whispered.

“I had to."

Kari had mailed a letter to Jefferson Winton, successful lawyer, potential mayoral candidate, and the first man she had ever loved—until she had discovered his dark secret. They’d been at her place one night when he left the room to take a call. Rather than wait for her desktop computer to boot up, she had gone to his laptop to check her email. She'd opened his browser and had choked from what she had seen. Children—sweet, innocent children—being violated. She had closed the laptop and gagged.

He'd returned to the room and noticed the expression on her face. “Are you okay?”

She had shoved the laptop at him. “You’re sick. Get out of my house.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Get out or I’ll call the cops.”

He'd grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed his fingers deep into her skin; the bruises had taken weeks to heal. “You’d better keep your mouth shut about this, or you’ll regret it.”