Laurel Heights 3

by Lisa Worrall

  “His… what?” Tiffany stared at him in disbelief. “Wait… what…? Wife and son? He doesn’t have a wife and son.” She shook her head. “I mean, he does…,” she frowned, “of course, he does… me and TJ. Me,” Her voice rose with every word. “Me! I’m his wife!”

  “Tiffany, calm down,” Melanie soothed, grabbing her sister’s hand.

  “Calm down?” Tiffany rounded on her sister. “Calm down? You fucking calm down!” Will raised an eyebrow, there was no sign of the softly spoken woman they’d met yesterday, and he flinched when she suddenly turned to him. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “I wish it was,” Will replied, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

  All the fight suddenly left Tiffany on a rush of air and she sank back in the chair, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly steady. “Tell me.”

  Will looked to Scott for help, not sure he could kick this woman while she was down. Scott leaned forward in his chair—message received—and placed his hand over Tiffany’s small fist where it lay on the table. He may not be the first choice for sympathy and compassion, but Will knew he would tell her what she needed to know calmly and professionally.

  “Tristan married his college sweetheart ten years ago,” Scott began. “They moved to White Plains when their son, Christopher, was born two years after the wedding. Saturday night at around ten, someone broke into the house and Tristan was killed. I’m so very sorry.”

  Tiffany huffed out what was meant to be, but could barely be described as, a giggle. “Well, I guess that explains the every other weekend business trips.” She looked at Scott, utterly bewildered. “Ten years?” He nodded, letting go of her hand.

  “Tiffany.” Will thought it was best to ask questions while she was calm, albeit a slightly hysterical, catatonic form of the word. “Did Tristan have a temper?”

  “What? No.”

  “Was he ever violent toward you, or TJ?”

  “Good God, no!” The look on her face told Will everything he needed to know. Nobody was that good a liar. She was absolutely horrified. “He would never! How could you—?”

  “Keep it together, Tiffany,” Melanie snapped.

  “Don’t—”

  “Tiffany,” Will said firmly, forcing her attention back to him. He didn’t want to lose her in hysteria again. “I’m sorry, but we have to ask these questions. We need to get a picture of who Tristan was.”

  “Why?” She asked. “You said it was a burglary.”

  “We have to follow all avenues in a case like this.”

  “What avenues?” Tiffany’s faze flitted from Will to Scott and back again. “What avenues!”

  “I’m afraid we’re not in a position to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation,” Scott interjected.

  “You can’t discuss?” Tiffany stared at them in disbelief. “You can’t—? I’m his wife for God’s sake!”

  “No, you’re not.” Will sighed heavily as she crumpled, and he wished he could have taken it back, but it was the truth. Petersen had left her with nothing, not even his name.

  “Is that all you need?” Melanie said firmly. “We have to pick up—”

  “I want to see him,” Tiffany interrupted. “Can I see him?”

  Will once again looked to Scott to save him. He knew the answer to her question, of course he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Scott nudged Will’s knee with his own under the table to let him know he understood.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Scott said, his tone clipped and professional.

  “But he’s—” fat tears escaped her already wet, spikey lashes, “—not my husband. He never was.”

  “Come on.” Melanie grabbed Tiffany’s arm and practically hauled her to her feet. “I’m taking her home now. I think she’s had enough for one day.” She glared at them, letting her cold stare linger on Scott, daring him to stop her. “If you have any more questions, you can talk to our lawyer.”

  “Tiffany doesn’t need a lawyer,” Scott snapped. “She’s as much a victim here as Tristan.”

  “So is she,” Tiffany said quietly. Will raised an eyebrow, unsure as to whom she referred. “His wi-wife.” Her gaze pleaded with his as she added, “Tell her I didn’t know. Could you do that? If I’d known… I’d never have….”

  “I know.” Will stood up to open the door, his smile one of understanding and sympathy as he shook her hand again. “I’ll tell her.” He waited until they had turned the corner at the bottom of the corridor then shut the door and leaned against it. He closed his eyes as the coldness of the metal it was made from bled through his shirt, soothing his heated skin. “When are they going to fix the fucking air-conditioning in this shithole?” he grumbled. “If I’ve called maintenance once, I’ve called them like a thousand times for Christ’s sake! I’m go—”

  Before he could finish, he was yanked away from the door and in Scott’s arms, no words exchanged, just comfort willingly given and gratefully received. After a few moments, Scott let him go and stepped back, staring into his eyes, looking for signs of distress.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah,” Will nodded, “it’s just…, sometimes this job really sucks.”

  “And it’s only going to get suckier.” Scott replied. “It’s time to have another chat with the first Mrs. Petersen.”

  “Balls.”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  The resounding growl of their captain as he tore someone a new one suddenly echoed down the corridor. When they walked in, Lieberman was hastily making a beeline for his desk, a pile of paperwork in his hands, his cheeks aflame as he avoided eye contact with everyone in the room.

  “Poor bastard,” Scott muttered as they approached.

  Will grunted in response, picking up his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “Hey, Noah,” he said, as he shrugged it on. “Get your stuff, we’re going to interview Audrey Petersen.”

  The look Noah gave him was filled with such gratitude, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing out loud. Scott just rolled his eyes and Will ignored him. He’d been the newbie once and with the mood Glenn was in he couldn’t, in all good conscience, leave Noah in the firing line. The poor kid may as well have a bullseye taped to his chest. He glanced over at Glenn’s office as they walked toward the exit. If they were lucky, they could escape unnoticed. They’d almost reached the double doors when—

  “Hey, Larry! Where are you, Curly and Moe going?”

  “There’s a three for two on at the Velvet Shaft,” Scott replied without missing a beat.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be the one who doesn’t speak?” Glenn narrowed his gaze.

  “Um… that’s the Marx Brothers, sir,” Noah corrected.

  “What?”

  “Not the Stooges. Harpo Marx was the one who didn’t spea—”

  “I don’t give a fuck!” Glenn yelled.

  “Sorry, sir,” Will interjected, pushing the door open and shoving Scott and Noah out into the hall with instructions to take the stairs mumbled under his breath. To Glenn he said, “I thought we’d take Noah with us for a while, so we don’t have to arrest you for stapling him to his desk when we get back.” Glenn at least had the good grace to look sheepish at that. Probably not the best idea he’d ever had, but Will knew he may not get another chance, so he lowered his voice and repeated the words Glenn had said to him only yesterday. “Whatever this is… fix it.”

  He sighed heavily as Glenn turned on his heel and stormed back into his office, slamming the door behind him. At least he didn’t slug you… or fire you. True. Will scrubbed a hand over his face and headed down the stairs after Scott and Noah. As he went, he pulled out his cell and fired off a text to Kelly. Of course, he shouldn’t interfere. But that had never stopped him before, and it wasn’t going to now.

  Chapter seven

  Scott eased the car to a stop outside the Petersen home and turned off the engine. Will
had been chattering away to Noah for the entire journey and he’d let them get on with it, knowing Will felt guilty about yelling at the kid yesterday. He also knew he’d given Will an extra weight to carry last night, one he wished he could take back. The abuse he suffered at his father’s hands wasn’t something he’d ever planned to share with Will. As far as he was concerned, there had been no room for ghosts of the past in their relationship. All he needed—would ever need—was Will, and he wouldn’t let anyone, or anything, come between them.

  “Hey, space cadet.”

  Scott turned his head to find Will studying him curiously. “Huh?”

  “You okay?”

  “’Course.” Scott pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened his door. “Let’s do this.”

  When Audrey Petersen opened the front door, Scott wouldn’t have said she looked particularly surprised to see them.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Petersen,” Will said with a bright smile. “We’d like to ask you a few more questions, may we come in?”

  “Yes,” she replied wearily. “Please, come in.” Once they were inside, she closed the door behind them and ushered them ahead of her. “Shall we go into the living-room?”

  “Audrey? Who is it?” A man’s voice drifted into the hall from the kitchen.

  “The police.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Will raised an eyebrow at Scott as Audrey motioned for them to sit. Scott shrugged in response and settled into the same armchair he’d chosen Saturday night. Of course, circumstances were a little different now. There was no dead body in the other room and Audrey wasn’t covered in blood.

  “How are you?” Will asked politely.

  Audrey sat down in the corner of the couch and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m okay.”

  Scott narrowed his gaze. He wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, them or herself. Not that it mattered. Right now, she wasn’t convincing anyone. “And Christopher?” he said, trying not to let the knowledge they had gained from the hospital reflect in his tone.

  “He’s staying overnight at my parents’,” she replied. “I wanted to make sure the house was….” She swallowed audibly. “That everything was… as it should be before he came home.”

  “Your guys did an excellent job, but you know what women are like, she wanted to go over it again. I’m surprised you can breathe for the smell of bleach.”

  Scott watched the tall, blond man as he wandered across the living-room and sank down onto the couch beside Audrey. He was what most people would have referred to as movie-star handsome, and the coolness in his gaze told Scott he was well aware of it, too. The type of guy that Scott could sum up in three adjectives—pretty, arrogant and more than a little sleazy.

  “This is Detective Lieberman and,” she flashed a smile of apology at Scott and Will. “I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your names…”

  “I’m Scott Turner and this is my partner, Will Harrison,” Scott clarified. His gaze shifted to the man beside her. “And you are?”

  “Michael Barrett,” he said, holding out his hand. Scott shook his hand and had to resist the urge to wipe his fingers on his pants. He added sweaty to the list.

  “Michael’s my cousin,” Audrey replied with a shrug. “I… didn’t want to be alone.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable.” Scott pulled his notebook and pen out of his inside pocket and flipped it open. “As Detective Harrison said,” he began, “we have a few more questions.”

  “Have you found the son of a bitch?” Michael interjected, slipping his arm around Audrey’s shoulders and pulling her protectively against his side.

  “Not yet,” Scott replied. He glanced at Will, who lifted his chin in affirmation that he was happy to let Scott take the lead. “Mrs. Peter—”

  “Audrey, please.”

  “Audrey. You said you awoke around ten to find someone standing beside the bed?” Scott looked to her for confirmation.

  “Yes.”

  “But you couldn’t see his face?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He was dressed in black and his face was covered.”

  “Did Mr. Petersen tie you to the headboard, or was it the suspect?” Something flickered in her gaze for a moment, then it was gone.

  “He made Tristan do it.” She clasped and unclasped her fingers in her lap.

  “Did he stab Tristan before or after he had him tie you up?”

  “Um… after.” She nodded. “Yes, it was after.”

  “After?” The soft question came from Will, giving Scott the set up to his next question.

  “After?” Scott echoed. “Are you sure?” Audrey’s confused gaze flitted nervously from Scott to Will and back again. “It’s just—"

  “You heard her. She said it was after.”

  “It’s just,” Scott repeated, ignoring Michael’s interruption. “Your nightgown was covered in blood so, if it was after, how did—?”

  “Then it was before, obviously,” Michael snapped. “Wasn’t it, Audrey?”

  “Y-yes.” Audrey ran a hand through her long dark hair. “It… it must have been before.” She covered her eyes with the hand she had just scrubbed through her hair. “Everything happened so fast I-I can’t….”

  “It’s okay Audrey,” Will leaned forward in his chair. “Take your time.”

  “So, the suspect stabbed Tristan before he had him tie you up?” Scott kept his tone conversational.

  “Y-yes,” Audrey stammered. “I-I remember now.” She rubbed at her forehead as if trying to pull the details from her mind. “H-he told Tristan to tie me up and he r-refused. That’s when he st-stabbed him.”

  “Ah,” Scott said, with what he hoped was an understanding smile. “Which is when you got the blood on you.”

  “Yes!” Tiffany replied eagerly. Too eagerly.

  Scott nodded and scribbled in his notebook, more for effect than anything else. “And you were tied to the bed until Christopher came into the room and retrieved the phone, so you could call 9-1-1?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he try to untie you? Did you try to untie yourself?”

  “Yes. But he couldn’t do it and when I tried pulling it just made the knot tighter.”

  “Okay.” Scott nodded. “Thank you, Audrey. I know it must be hard for you to go over it again.”

  “I-I want to help.”

  “Is that it? Are you done?” Michael asked brusquely.

  “Unfortunately, not, Mr. Barrett.” Scott tucked his notebook and pen back into his inside pocket then leaned forward in the chair, loosely clasping his hands between his knees. “Audrey, we did a little digging and discovered that Tristan was renting an apartment in the city.”

  “W-what?”

  “We checked out the apartment and it would appear that Tristan had been renting it for the last three years.”

  “Th-three years?”

  Scott nodded. “And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but when we checked out the apartment, we found that Tristan was living there with his wife and son.”

  “What are you talking about?” Michael scoffed.

  “Tristan was a bigamist.”

  “This is a joke, right?” Michael stared at Scott in disbelief.

  “I wish it were.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Scott turned his attention back to Audrey, who sat beside Michael in what appeared to be stunned silence. “Also—”

  “There’s more?”

  “Mr. Barrett,” Will’s tone was polite, but firm. “Why don’t you and Detective Lieberman go and make some coffee?”

  Michael glared at him coldly. “You make it.” He tightened his hold on Audrey. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Will sighed, but didn’t labor the point, shooting a glance at Scott that said, “I tried.”

  “Your medical records show that you visited the emergency room a number of times over the last three years,” Scott said softly. “Can you tell us about that?”


  Audrey shrugged. “I’m a klutz.”

  “Is Christopher a klutz, too?” Scott noted she had the decency to flinch at that.

  “Audrey?” Michael turned to her, a confused frown creasing his forehead. “What is he talking about? When did you visit the emergency room?”

  “I—”

  “We also spoke to your neighbors,” Scott added. “They said you and Tristan often fought and they saw your bruises, your black eyes….”

  “What the fuck!”

  “Mr. Barrett,” Scott snapped, not shifting his steady gaze from Audrey. “If you cannot contain yourself during the interview, I’ll have to ask you to leave the room.” Michael was obviously unimpressed at being admonished in front of everyone, but Scott didn’t give much of a shit. “Audrey?” She picked at a non-existent thread on her pants. “Did Tristan hurt you?”

  After a moment or two, she lifted her gaze, looked him straight in the eye. “Like I said. I’m a klutz.”

  “Aud—”

  “Is there anything else?” she asked, effectively cutting off her cousin. “I’m tired.”

  Scott nodded. “That should do for now. But, before we go, I’d like to make our position very clear.” Audrey held his gaze, but Scott didn’t miss the almost imperceptible way she stiffened in her seat. “There is no sign of forced entry. Not a hair, a fiber, or a fingerprint to give any indication that there was anyone else in the house on Saturday night.” He leaned forward a little further, to press his point home. “So, I’m asking you, if there is anything else you want to tell us about what happened, anything that could help, anything at all, now would be a good time.”

  For a split second something flickered in her eyes. Desperation? Surrender? It was gone before Scott could decide which, but he was convinced she was going to cave and blurt out the truth, whatever that may be. Instead….

  “There’s nothing.”

  “Okay.” Scott motioned to Will and Noah. “We’ll let you get some rest.”

  “I’ll show you out.” Michael stood up and followed them out to the front door. “Listen,” he said, as he opened it. “What about this other woman? Where does she stand financially? Is she entitled to anything?”