“Why would he tell you that?”
She shrugged. “We were talking about our fathers, so he told me that.”
Spats held the door open for her. When they exited the restaurant, she went to Sheen, and Spats crossed the street.
Chapter Seven
“May I help you?”
The woman appeared frazzled, her shoulder-length brown hair tousled, stress wrinkles around hazel eyes. Behind her, a toddler ran screaming down the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder, sighed, and looked back at Ernie.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but are you Michelle Irwin?” Ernie showed her his badge, then pocketed his wallet.
She grimaced. “Yes. Is this about the woman who was shot?” It was more perfunctory, her look saying she knew why Ernie was there. “I talked to two other detectives earlier, and I’m not sure what else I would have to say.”
Ernie forced a smile. “Yes, you did. However, I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind. It’s important,” he tacked on to answer her hesitancy.
Behind her, the toddler ran by again, then he approached the door and clung to her leg.
“Mama, would you read me a story?” He looked up boldly at Ernie.
She put her hand on his head, then said, “Not tonight, Terry. Go get your father.”
The little boy smiled at Ernie, stared at him for a moment, then flipped a U-turn and ran down the hall, yelling for his daddy.
Michelle glanced over her shoulder again, then back at Ernie. “Come on in.”
The tone wasn’t particularly inviting, and Ernie couldn’t blame her. He remembered the days when his daughters, Zoe and Brooke, were toddlers. No matter how hard you tried, little kids – then he amended to all kids, no matter what the age – had a mind of their own. It seemed they specialized in driving their parents crazy. A lot of nights he went to bed frazzled.
“Thank you. I’ll try to keep it short,” Ernie said as he stepped into the foyer.
Michelle led him down a hall to the kitchen, where she pointed to a small, round table.
“Why don’t you have a seat, and let me get my husband to help with Terry. Then I can talk to you.”
“That would be great,” Ernie said.
He sat down on a wooden chair that was a tad too small for his big frame. He shifted, put his hands on the table, and watched her leave the room. Murmured voices came from down the hall, then Terry loudly demanded that he wanted a story read to him. A male voice told him to hush, then a door opened and closed. It was quieter as Michelle appeared again.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Ernie smiled. “I have kids of my own.”
She moved into the kitchen and gestured to a half-full coffee pot. “Would you like some? It’s decaf, but I always enjoy a cup at the end of the day.”
“Coffee would be great,” Ernie said. He secretly wished it had caffeine, as he knew it was going to be a long night.
She bustled about, got two cups from a cupboard, poured coffee, and turned to Ernie.
“Sugar or cream?”
He shook his head. “Black is fine.”
She brought the cups to the table, set them down, and sank into a chair across from him. He smelled the coffee, but underlying that was a garlic smell.
“What an evening this has been,” she said. She looked not-so-subtly at a clock on the wall.
Ernie got to the point. “Would you mind telling me what happened when you were out walking tonight? I’d like to hear it firsthand.”
She sipped coffee, then put the cup down and wrapped her hands tightly around it, seemingly both for the cup’s warmth and for some reassurance. “To be honest with you, other than when I talked to the detective, I really haven’t had a chance to process everything. I came home, and Lance – that’s my husband – had dinner ready. He was with Terry while I went for a walk. I quickly told him what had happened, but Terry was hungry, so we got dinner for him and his younger brother Sid. He’s in bed now, but when I got home, he was fussy and I had to give him a bath and get him calmed down and into bed. We’d put Terry to bed, too, and I was trying to talk to my husband about everything when Terry got back up.” She shrugged. “Sometimes he just doesn’t want to stay down, and this can drag out for a couple of hours.”
“I know about that.” Ernie gave her a knowing look. “My daughter, Brooke, could be a holy terror. She’s a great kid, but back then, we certainly did have some struggles with her.”
Michelle smiled and relaxed a bit, which is what Ernie wanted. Try to keep things casual, have time and space to recall forgotten details from her walk.
She returned to the original question. “Anyway, I had gone for a walk, and I made a phone call to a babysitter, and then I was talking to my friend, Charity. She and I both have kids about the same age, and we both have our kids in the same daycare. Most of the time when we get together, we’re talking about the kids or work. So I was just catching up with her. Lance is great about helping when he comes home from work, giving me a little time to take a walk before we start the evening routine with dinner and the kids.” She smiled at that, the joy of that precious alone-time showing on her face. “I usually walk up Hudson to Severn, and maybe walk down a few blocks and turn around and come back. I don’t like to walk on Sixth or Eighth. Too much traffic. Anyway, I was on Severn, and I noticed that other woman walking toward me. To be honest, I was on the phone and listening to Charity talk about her co-worker, so I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to others. I passed by her, and then Charity suddenly had to go because her daughter had knocked a glass off the kitchen counter. I guess there was juice and broken glass everywhere. I ended the call and noticed my shoe was untied, so I bent down to tie it, and that’s when I saw that woman on the ground.” Her eyebrows pulled together as she thought back on that. “I thought maybe she’d had a heart attack or something, so I called out to her and trotted over there. She didn’t answer. I went to touch her, and that’s when I saw that she was bleeding. I screamed for help, and that other man in the hoodie came over. His name is Manuel. I see him sometimes when I’m out walking.”
The reality of what had happened to Sarah, of seeing someone shot, seemed to hit Michelle for the first time. She drew in a breath, and her lower lip quivered.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood. Maybe the time when Sid, my younger boy, cut his finger. It was pretty bad, but still nothing like tonight.” She put her hand to her chest. “There was blood all over her shirt.”
Ernie felt his muscles tighten. He could picture Sarah down on the ground. He had to work again to keep his anger in check. “What happened next?” He was relieved his voice didn’t shake.
She thought for a moment. “Manuel checked for a pulse and told me to call 911. I was already doing that, but he told me anyway.” She sipped some coffee and stared at the cup. “I told the dispatcher to come, that a woman had been shot. I think she asked me some questions, who was it, what happened, and I honestly don’t remember what I told her. Manuel took off his hoodie and pressed it on the wound. It seemed like we waited forever, and I was telling that woman to hold on. Then we finally heard sirens, and a squad car and the paramedics showed up. They took over at that point, and Manuel and I stood back and watched. They worked on the woman for just a moment, then quickly put her on a stretcher, loaded her into the ambulance, and took her away. About the same time, those two detectives showed up and they talked to Manuel and me.” She sipped more coffee and looked at Ernie over the rim of the cup. “I’m pretty sure I told the other detectives the same thing I told you.”
“I’m sure you did, but would you think back,” Ernie said. “Did you see anybody around at all?”
She shook her head. “No. The other detective asked me the same thing. I had been talking to Charity, and I didn’t really notice anything.”
“Did you hear anything unusual at that time?”
“No.”
“Any cars passing by ab
out the time you ended the call with her?”
She gave that due consideration. “Not that I recall. I think a few cars passed by on Severn – that road can get busy around rush-hour – but I don’t recall anybody stopping or even slowing down.” She suddenly tipped her head to the side, pensive.
“What?” Ernie asked.
“When Manuel and I were waiting for the police to show up, I remember looking around. There was a dark SUV parked on Grape Street, toward Eighth Avenue.” Her lips parted as she put memory pieces together. “It was there for a little bit, but then after the police showed up, I remember looking over there while they were working on that woman, and the car wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know when it drove off. I remember wondering why they didn’t come help, but then I forgot about it. Until just now.”
Ernie sat a bit straighter. Manuel Garcia thought he’d seen an SUV on Grape Street as well. “Did you see the driver?”
“I think I did,” she said slowly. “I couldn’t say if it was a man or woman. I just had that fleeting thought of wondering if they’d help.”
A man in jeans and a black T-shirt came into the kitchen. He approached the table and held out his hand.
“I’m Lance, Michelle’s husband.”
Ernie shook his hand as he introduced himself.
“Michelle already talked to some other detectives.” The tone wasn’t accusatory, more curious.
“Sometimes it’s helpful to circle back,” Ernie explained. “People might remember things differently the second time around.”
Lance nodded as he sat down next to his wife and put an arm around her shoulder.
“I can’t remember if I told the other detectives about the SUV,” Michelle said. “So maybe you’re right. I did remember something else.”
“What SUV?” Lance asked.
Michelle glanced at him. “Just a car I saw while Manuel and I were waiting for the police to show up.”
Lance nodded. “Well, maybe that’s something.” He eyed Ernie expectantly.
“It could be,” Ernie said. He looked at Michelle. “Did you happen to catch a license plate number?”
“Gosh, no,” she said. “I was so worried about that woman, hoping she’d be okay.”
Ernie hoped the same thing. It bothered him that he hadn’t heard anything from Rizzo, and yet maybe no news was good news. He returned his focus to Michelle.
“You’re sure you didn’t notice any strangers around? Anybody unusual in the neighborhood as you were walking tonight?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. It was a nice evening, maybe a little chilly. I was enjoying a little peace and quiet.” She glanced at Lance with a smile.
He laughed. “Yes, it does get crazy around here.”
“Have either one of you noticed any strangers in the neighborhood recently, any strange cars, or that SUV?”
They both shook their heads.
“It’s a good neighborhood,” Lance said. “Very little crime to speak of, nothing unusual happening.”
“Yes, although this makes me nervous,” Michelle said. “You think you live in a good area, that things will be fine, and then …”
“Did you know the woman who was shot?” Ernie asked.
She shook her head. “I think I’ve seen her once in a while, but I don’t know where. Should I?”
“No,” Ernie said. “Not necessarily.” He finally took a drink of coffee and put the cup down. “Any idea where the shot might’ve come from?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t even know she was shot until I went over to her. And it was Manuel who said he thought she’d been shot, or I’m not sure I would’ve known.”
“And after the detectives talked to you?” Ernie arched an eyebrow at her. “What did you do?”
“I came right home,” she said.
He took another gulp of coffee. “Anything else important about this evening that you can think of?”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. If anything comes to mind, I have that other detective’s phone number.”
Ernie reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a business card. “Or you can call me. I certainly appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
They all stood up and walked to the door.
“I’m glad to help,” she said. “Although I don’t think I did. It all happened so fast, and I just reacted. I hope she’ll be okay.”
For the second time that night, Ernie agreed.
Chapter Eight
“This isn’t a good time.” The woman holding the door open frowned after Spats introduced himself.
“I just need a minute of Mrs. Sheen’s time,” Spats said. “And Cody’s sister.”
While Dave Sheen was talking to the manager of Charlie’s Restaurant, Spats had left. He wanted to talk to Cody’s mother and sister before Sheen had a chance to let them know he’d be dropping by. It had only taken him about ten minutes to drive from the restaurant to the Sheen house, east of Colorado Boulevard, and Dave Sheen wasn’t there yet.
The woman at the door was about to say something else when a heavyset woman with a round face and dark eyes appeared. Her heavy makeup was smeared, her eyes red.
“What’s going on, Danette?” she said to the woman who’d answered the door. “Who is it?”
“A detective,” Danette said.
“Oh,” the heavyset woman said. “I’m Leah.” It seemed an effort to say that.
“Cody’s mother,” Spats said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She nodded and touched Danette’s elbow. “Let him in.”
Danette wasn’t pleased, but she stepped aside. They all stood in a small foyer. The house was quiet. Spats focused on Leah. A teenager came into the hall. She was thin, with round cheeks and big eyes, and she looked a lot like her brother.
“Caitlyn, honey,” Danette said.
The teenager moved a little closer. Leah stared at Spats. He smelled perfume, a subtle flowery odor.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he repeated. Like Sarah, he’d said these words many times in the past. Sarah had even remarked how it somehow felt like such a lame comment. He had to agree with her. He pushed the thoughts of her out of his mind and focused on Leah and Caitlyn. “I won’t take much of your time now, but could you tell me the last time you saw Cody?”
“Last week.” Leah sniffled. “And we talked on the phone Sunday night. Everything seemed fine.”
“I talked to him last Tuesday,” Caitlyn said. She’d been crying as well, but now she appeared to be in shock, her face impassive. “He seemed okay.”
“He didn’t think anyone was after him?” Spats asked.
“No, not at all.” Leah was trying hard to maintain her composure. “I –” Then she broke down in tears. “I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”
Danette put her arm around Leah. “It’s okay.” She glared at Spats. “How about you talk to her tomorrow?”
Spats nodded. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“That would be best,” Danette said.
“Yes, thank you.” Spats handed her a business card. “Oh, what’s Cody’s middle name?”
“Ryan.”
“Thanks.” He knew he would need it for any warrants he needed. He then stepped outside. He’d gotten an impression from Cody’s mom and sister. They were stunned and brokenhearted, but he didn’t see any nervousness with either one, as if they might be hiding something. Their emotion seemed real, so he was okay to continue talking to them another time. He hurried back to his car and left.
“Have you found anything?”
Spats was standing in the doorway to the abandoned café on Sixth Avenue. One of the crime-scene techs, a new man unfamiliar to Spats, was standing near the Formica table in the middle of the open room. The tech shook his head and held up his camera.
“I’ve taken a bunch of pictures, and we dusted around the windows and the doorknobs for prints.” He introduced himself as Eric. “I don’t think w
e’re going to get much. I’ve got a few partial prints, but that’s it. We’ve bagged and tagged a couple of pieces of paper. I think they’re old receipts.” He shrugged. “If the shooter was in here, he was careful.”
Spats shielded his eyes against the bright spotlight they’d set up in the room. “If our guy was in here, he was probably careful enough to not leave discernable tracks.” He let his gaze roam around. “It makes you wonder what he wanted with the waiter. What was that kid doing that would get him killed?”
Eric just stared at him, then shrugged.
Spats wrinkled his nose against a stale smell that hung heavy in the air. “Get me a report on everything when you can.” He wiped imaginary dirt from his hands, then stepped back into the alley. His phone rang, and he looked at the screen. Ernie.
“What have you got?” Spats asked.
Ernie was talking fast. “Sarah was shot from a distance. Likely a rifle. No one saw her actually get shot, a woman just noticed her on the ground and came to help, then realized she’d been gunned down.”
“You think we have the same shooter doing both of these?”
An audible sigh through the phone. “Two people shot long-range within minutes of each other? Could be. I’d love it if we could recover the bullets and run ballistics on them. But so far, nothing’s been found.”
Spats nodded to himself. “Yeah, that would make it easy. So who would shoot a waiter in a restaurant and then a homicide detective? What in the world do the two have in common, that someone would want to kill both of them?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
“What time did you first call Sarah?”
“About 5:30.”
“Was she on her walk then?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to get her cell phone records to find out.”
“So,” Spats said, “we have the same shooter, that person would’ve had to shoot the waiter, then race over toward Sarah’s house and shoot her about the time that you called her.”
Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6) Page 4