Weapon of Choice, A (4 page)

Chapter 7

When I got back to my apartment, I called Carter to see how he made out with his research and I filled him in on my day.  I told him about meeting Gregory Frazier.

“What’s your impression of the guy?” he asked.

“He was very polite and answered all my questions without hesitation, but he got a little defensive when I asked about his girlfriend.”

Carter asked, “Did he tell you her name?”

“No, and I didn’t ask.  I don’t want him to think he’s a suspect.  If he knows we’re looking into him, he might make things difficult.  At any rate, can you do some research on Gregory’s brother, Ryan Frazier, and his best friend, Charlie Cox?”

“What do you know about them?”

“They both live out of state.  According to Candice, the brother lives in Florida and Charlie lives in Connecticut.  It would be nice to know if one of them just happened to be in Cambridge on the night of April third.”

“I’m on it,” he said.

“Also, I think we need to talk to Jasmine face to face, to get her version of what happened that night.  Want to make a trip tomorrow with me to the Framingham Correctional Facility? Visiting hours start at noon.  It takes two hours to get there.”

“Sure,” he said.  “I’ll drive.  Pick you up at ten?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter 8

Later that evening, I made myself a sandwich and had a glass of wine for desert.  I settled in on the sofa and searched through Melanie’s laptop.

There was a file called
Photos. 
I clicked on it and found an album with hundreds of photographs, mostly of Candice at different ages.  School pictures, prom, high school graduation.  Melanie was in a few of the photos, standing beside her daughter.  I could tell they were close, just by the way they looked at each other with adoring smiles.  Melanie had a youthful essence to her.  She was trim and stylish; she’d clearly taken care of herself.  I’m sure the money had helped in that department.  She could have easily been mistaken for Candice’s older sister. 

I also noticed that Gregory was absent from most of the photos.  Perhaps he was always the one taking the shots. 

There were a dozen emails in her inbox, some of which hadn’t been read.  There were no e-mails from friends or potential lovers.  In fact, there seemed to be no personal e-mails at all mostly solicitations.  There were a handful of emails from Greta Stone whom, I surmised, had to be Melanie’s publishing agent.  Greta was very concerned that Melanie hadn’t sent the first draft of the new book and, with each subsequent email, her anxiety seemed to increase. 

I wondered about that.  Why had Melanie struggled to write her autobiography? What did she plan to write about? Did it have anything to do with her unsavory past?

The next thing I found rather odd was the fact that all of the files in her Microsoft Word program were missing.  Where was the manuscript in progress? Certainly there’d be notes or a rough draft at least.  Even if she had saved her work to a hard drive, the files would still be present in the program unless she had deleted them on purpose.  I made a note to remind myself to ask Candice about it later.

Next, I noticed there was a calendar application and, when I clicked on it, the month of April showed up on the screen.  Melanie’s schedule.  On Friday, April third, there were four entries. 

9:00am C.H. 

12:30pm Libby

7:00pm Jasmine

7:30pm Candice.

As I stared at the entries and scratched my head, I wondered who
C.H. 
and
Libby
were. 

Since it was only eight o’clock, I called Candice to see if she might know.  She answered on the second ring.

“Sarah?” she asked.  “Did you find something?”

“I was just going through your mother’s laptop and I have a few questions.”

“Sure,” she said, her voice hesitant.  “What are they?”

“On the day of April third, your mom had a meeting at 9:00 with C H.  Do those initials ring a bell to you?”

A slight pause.  “C H? Nothing comes to mind.”

“How about twelve-thirty with Libby?”

“That one’s easy.  Libby Lenore is my mom’s massage therapist.  She has her own studio in Cambridge.  A few blocks from my mom’s office.”

“Really?” I said.  “I used to be a massage therapist before I became a private detective.  How often did your mom see her?”

“She’s been going to mom for years.  About twice a month, I think.”

I made note of that.

“Okay,” I said, moving along to the next topic.  “The other question is about your mother’s work files.  I expected to find a draft of the autobiography, but I could not find any files.  Did she use a separate computer just for work?”

“I don’t think so,” Candice said.  “I’ve looked all through my mom’s office for a USB storage file, but didn’t find anything like that.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that her book files would just disappear?”

“Yeah,” she said.  “I guess I just figured I’d come across them at some point.”

“Well, it’s getting late,” I said.  “I won’t keep you.  Carter and I are going to visit Jasmine tomorrow so I’ll give you a call after that.”

“Sure,” Candice said.  “Thanks again for doing this, Sarah.  You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“I think I do,” I replied.  “I understand what it feels like to lose a mother.  My mom died of cancer years ago.  She was too young to go.”

“Were you two close?” she asked.

“Very close.  But I speak from experience when I say; the pain you’re feeling now will fade.  You will always miss her but, trust me, time heals all things.”

“Thanks Sarah,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.  “I’ll try to remember that.”

* * *

Around 9:45, I was getting ready for bed when Carter called back. 

He said, “I got some information on Ryan Frazier and Charlie Cox.”

“That was fast.  What did you find?”

“Gregory’s younger brother is forty-one, married and he and his wife moved back to Boston from Florida about six months ago.”

“Really?” I said.  “What does he do for work?”

“He’s a bartender.  Works at a night club called Cinderella.” Carter cleared his throat.  “It’s a gay bar.”

“Is he married to a woman or a man?” I asked.

“A woman I presume.  Her name is Heather.  As far as I can tell, she’s unemployed at the moment.  Neither of them has a criminal record.”

“Okay,” I said.  “So Heather and Ryan Frazier moved back to Boston six months ago.  Any idea why?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Maybe it’s not important,” I replied.  “What about Charlie Cox?”

“He and Gregory were roomies at UConn in the late eighties.  He’s forty-six, lives in Connecticut.  No wife.  No kids.  He works for a company called Aldridge Corporation.  He’s been a salesman there for over ten years and he travels all over New England, mostly Boston and Manhattan.  He has no criminal history but a few DWI’s.  I just sent you an email with all the information and a few photos I found online.  ”

It never ceased to amaze me how fast Carter could acquire information.  “This is a huge help,” I said.  “Thanks.”

“I’m not done,” Carter said.  “I made a few calls and found out that Charles was in Boston from April second to the fourth.”

I paused to catch my breath.  “No shit.  He was in town when Melanie died?”

Carter chuckled.  “Yep.”

“A woman named Amy Chang leases an office next to Melanie’s.  She was there on the night of April third.  Let’s show her photos of Ryan and Charlie.  Maybe she’ll remember seeing one of them that night.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Back on my laptop, I opened the email from Carter and clicked on the attachment.  The first link led me to a Facebook page for Ryan Frazier.  The profile picture showed a couple in their early forties.  Ryan looked similar to Gregory but, unlike his older brother, he had a full head of brown hair neatly trimmed.  He was handsome in an effeminate sort of way.  His wife next to him or, rather, I assumed it was his wife, had straight blonde hair and blue eyes.  Both of them were very attractive.  Ryan Frazier’s profile was set to private so I could not peruse any of his pictures.  I clicked on his wife’s page and her photos were private as well.  Too bad.  I was intrigued by this couple and wanted to see more. 

The next link brought me to Charlie Cox.  He didn’t have a Facebook page but he did have a profile on LinkedIn.  His photo surprised me.  For a guy in his mid-forties, he looked much younger.  He had red hair parted on the side and not a strand out of place, like it was all stuck together with Elmer’s glue.  His skin was pale and freckly, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. 

I printed out photos of both Ryan and Charlie and tucked them into my bag.  I decided I’d better get to bed.  Tomorrow would be a long day.

Chapter 9

Tuesday, June 24

The next morning, Carter picked me up at 8:30 am and we made our way through the sluggish
rush hour
traffic on 95 North.  We arrived at Melanie’s office around 9:45 and parked in the lot adjacent to the building.  It was a two-story brick structure with a fancy, gold sign on the front,
Park Place Suites.

Inside the foyer there were two doors.  The one on the right was Suite A, Melanie Barr Frazier and the one on the left was Amy Chang, Suite B.

When I knocked on Suite B, an Asian woman in her thirties appeared behind the door.  Lucy Liu immediately came to mind.  Her long, silky black hair was wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck.  She wore perfectly creased tan slacks, an ivory blouse, and a mocha scarf. 

“Good morning,” she said in a soft soothing voice, like someone teaching a meditation class.  “May I help you?”

“Amy Chang?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“My name is Sarah Woods and this is Carter.  We’re private detectives.  Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I gestured to the office across the hall from hers.  “This has to do with Melanie.  Her daughter Candice said we should talk to you.”

At the mention of her name, Amy shook her head slowly.  “Poor Candice.  How is she doing?”

I shrugged.  “She seems to be dealing with her mother’s death as best she can.”

She nodded.  “Yes, I suppose there’s not much else she can do.  Why don’t you both come into my office and make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I immediately felt like I was walking into a dream world.  Sunlight poured in and cast a warm glow over everything in the room.  The plush furniture was adorned with overstuffed pillows in various shades of lavender, beige and cream.  The walls were painted in a tranquil shade of butternut. 

“What is your business, Ms. Chang?  You have a lovely office.”

“Thank you,” she said, indicating a sitting area near the window.  “I’m a hypnotherapist.  Been doing it for ten years or so.  And please, call me Amy.”

“What a fascinating field to work in,” I said. 

I noticed Carter made no comment about it.  I got the impression he wasn’t as impressed as I was.

Once we all got comfortable, Amy asked, “Now, how can I help you? I was under the impression that Melanie’s case was solved.  The drug dealer is in prison, right?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “Jasmine Thompson is serving five years for involuntary manslaughter.  Did you know that Melanie smoked pot?”

Amy pursed her lips and nodded.  “Melanie told me that she bought joints from a woman named Jasmine.  She’d come here to the office on Friday nights to deliver the stuff.  I never actually met the woman.”

“Candice told us that you were here that night of April third.  Can you describe to us in your own words what happened?”

Amy repositioned herself in her chair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her pants.  She stared out the window with a disconcerting expression.  “I don’t usually make a habit of seeing patients after business hours, especially on a Friday night, but I’d made an exception.  It was an hour long session that ended at eight-fifteen.  After my client left, I was getting ready to leave when I noticed Candice walking up the steps.  I thought it was odd.  I assumed Melanie had left for the day.  Minutes later, I heard the screams from inside Melanie’s office and I had no idea what had happened.  I rushed over there and saw Melanie on the floor.  Candice was giving her CPR.  She asked me to call 911 and I did.”

“Did you notice the joint on Melanie’s desk?” Carter asked her.

“Yes.” Amy took a deep breath, let it out, and continued.  “Once the paramedics rushed her off to the hospital, the police showed up and asked me all kinds of questions.  I told them about Jasmine and the marijuana because I’d heard stories before, about people overdosing on cocaine laced joints.  I never would have guessed that someone actually put a poisonous plant in the joint.  Melanie was well liked and highly respected.  No one seems to know why Jasmine wanted to kill her.”

“I assume you’ve met Melanie’s husband?” I asked.

“Gregory?” she said.  “Actually, I met him at her funeral.  But not before then.”

“So Gregory didn’t make a habit of coming to the office to see Melanie?”

“No,” she said.  “He never came here.”

I reached into my bag and took out the photos I’d printed out from the Internet the night before.  I showed Amy the images of Charles Cox and Ryan Frazier.  “Ever seen these guys before? We’re trying to find out if anyone saw either of them loitering around here on the night of April third.”

Amy examined the photos and shook her head.  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen those people before.  Who are they?”

“Gregory’s brother and a close friend from college.”

“If one of these men came by to see Melanie, I wouldn’t have seen him during my session,” she said.  “I keep all the shades down for privacy.”

“I understand,” I said. 

Glancing around her room, I noticed a framed photo on her desk.  I guessed it was Amy’s family.  Her husband was tall with blonde hair and blue eyes; a striking contrast to Amy’s petite, dark silky hair and brown eyes.  Their two young girls were a beautiful mix of them both.

Carter cleared his throat, breaking the silence.  “Ms. Chang, can you tell us about your relationship with Melanie?”

“We were friends,” she said.  “But Melanie was a private person.  I don’t think she had much of a social life.  She and I never really went out to dinner or anything like that.  But we talked almost every day here at the office.”

“What did she tell you about Gregory?” Carter asked.

Amy shrugged.  “She and Gregory were having problems.  Honestly, I think she came here to avoid him.”

“Did Melanie talk about why her marriage was struggling?” I asked. 

“They had grown apart.  She was conservative and he was a spender.  I mean, she never bad-mouthed him, although she used to poke fun at his unfortunate problem, as she liked to call it.”

“Unfortunate problem?” I asked.  “Could you explain?”

“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but she often referred to him as Mr. Stubby.”

I swallowed.  “Meaning he has a small penis?”

“Very small, apparently.  Whenever I was in her office and Gregory called her on the phone, she’d roll her eyes at me and wiggle her pinky finger.  I’d crack up every time she did it, because it was so out of character for her.  She was usually so serious. But every once in a while, she’d do something like that and I’d pee my pants.”

I glanced at Carter and noticed he was trying to conceal his grin.  I couldn’t help but smile, too.  I turned back to Amy and said, “Melanie was working on an autobiography.  Did she ever talk to you about that?”

“A little.  She wasn’t keen on writing it, but they offered her a sizeable advance.  In fact, I don’t think she ever completed the first draft.  Her agent kept calling her everyday, hounding her.  That woman was a pain in her ass.”

An idea popped into my head.  “Was Melanie planning on writing a segment about her husband’s unfortunate problem?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “I can’t imagine she’d publish that.  Her poor husband would be mortified.  I think most men would be.  Don’t you agree?” Amy looked at Carter in curiosity. 

He shook his head and put a hand up as if to say,
don’t ask me
.

As much as I enjoyed seeing Carter blush, I had to keep this conversation going.  I asked Amy, “Did Melanie ever talk about getting a divorce?”

“It came up a few times, but Melanie said she’d never get a divorce.”

“Why not?”

“Well, she never admitted it, but I think she was afraid of the ramifications; that it would be bad for publicity.”

“I spoke with Gregory yesterday,” I said.  “He told me that Melanie was having an affair.  Do you know anything about that?”

“Melanie?” Amy shook her head emphatically.  “No way.  She wasn’t the type to screw around.”

“Melanie’s schedule is on her laptop.  On the day of her death she had an appointment at 9:00 with the initials C H.  Any idea for whom or what those initials stand?”

Amy furrowed her brow.  “No idea.  I remember she was out of the office all morning and didn’t come back until around three.  I knew she had a massage around lunchtime, but she never told me where she’d been earlier.”

“Candice gave us a key to go into her mother’s office and look around,” I said.  “Have you been in her office since her death?”

“No,” Amy said.  “I don’t have a key.”

“If you have a few more minutes, you’re welcome to accompany us.  We might have a few more questions for you once we start looking around.”

She glanced at her watch.  “My first client won’t be here for another ten minutes.  I’ll join you.”

Melanie’s office looked very similar to Amy’s, but with a darker feel.  The des
k—
a rich, stained mahoganythat could have been an antiqu
e—
seemed to take up most of the room.  The walls were painted a dark shade of eggplant and the carpeting was a drab grey.  There were no comfy sofas or pillows.  The few paintings on the walls didn’t appear expensive or valuable.  If they were, Gregory probably would have taken them.

Amy stood very still, her eyes roaming around the room.  “This is so surreal to see the empty office.  Every morning, Melanie would invite me in for a cup of coffee.  I miss that so much.”

Carter walked behind the desk and began opening drawers and searching inside them. 

I circled the room a few times, taking in the décor, and stopped at a bookshelf to the right of the desk.  I walked over and found a copy of
Sex Positions for Mind-Blowing Orgasms
.  I flipped through the pages with interest.  Sure enough, Jasmine Thompson and her husband were photographed nude posing in various positions, some of which caused the temperature in the room to rise. 

“Have you ever met Greta Stone, Melanie’s agent?” I asked.

“Only once,” she said.  “That woman came here looking for Melanie.”

“Did Melanie forget they had a meeting?”

“I don’t think so.  Truth is, Melanie was trying to avoid her because Greta was on her case, kept calling her and bugging her about the new manuscript.  Melanie would do anything to avoid a confrontation.”

“What was your impression of Greta?” I asked.

“She’s high strung, boisterous and rude.  I could see why Melanie wanted to avoid seeing her face to face.”

I returned the book to the bookshelf and scanned the other titles.  Mostly psychology related volumes.  “Do you know if Melanie kept a copy of her work in progress on an external device?”

“I don’t know.  It wasn’t on her laptop?”

“No,” I said.  “Did Melanie have a different computer that she did her work on?”

“The only laptop I ever saw was the MacBook.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “That’s the one I have.”

When Carter appeared by my side, he gave me the thumbs down.  “No luck, Sarah.  I checked everywhere.”

“Okay. We should probably hit the road, anyway.”

“How is Candice doing, by the way?” Amy said to me as we exited Melanie’s office and locked up.  “I keep meaning to call her.”

“Well, you should call her,” I said.  “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

Amy smiled and shook my hand and then Carter’s.  “Good luck with your investigation.”

I offered an appreciative smile. “Thanks. We appreciate that.”

Amy handed me a business card.  “My personal cell number is on there.  Feel free to call me anytime.”