Most Wanted

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Sorry to disturb you.” Christine introduced herself, handed over the business card, and told the same cover story.

  “Hello, my name is Jerri Choudhoury.”

  “I’m wondering if you heard or saw anything unusual the night Linda Kent was killed?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did you hear her scream or even fall? This would be Sunday, around midnight.”

  “No. I must say, I’m sure there’s no basis for a negligence lawsuit.” Jerri shook her head. “You can ask any of the neighbors, Linda had a drinking problem and I’m sure that’s why she fell. I didn’t allow the children around her for that reason. Her language was often inappropriate. She used to scare my little boy. You probably know, she didn’t work. She was on disability, for her back, or so she said.”

  Christine made a mental note. “Were you home the night she had her accident?”

  “With two young children?” Jerri chuckled ruefully. “Of course. My husband and I never go anywhere. If we didn’t have On Demand, we would never see a movie, and we never get to watch the entire show.”

  Christine smiled, not bothering to explain that she prayed for that very life. “But you didn’t hear anything?”

  “No, we were asleep. My husband uses a sound machine.”

  “By the way, my condolences on the loss of your neighbor, Gail Robinbrecht. That must be so upsetting.”

  “Horrifying!” Jerri’s dark eyes flew open, and she leaned closer to Christine, lowering her voice. “It’s horrifying to think that a serial killer struck so near. If they hadn’t caught him, I’d never have slept again.”

  “I’m sure.” Christine had her standard last question. “By the way, did you notice anything unusual that night, out back of Gail Robinbrecht’s house?”

  “Not that night, but I told the police what I saw.”

  “What did you see?” Christine asked, keeping her tone light.

  “I saw the serial killer,” Jerri answered, eager to share. “The one they arrested!”

  “You did? What was he doing?” Christine let her face show the surprise she felt.

  “I saw him going up the back stairs to Gail’s apartment on the Thursday before she was murdered.”

  “Really?” Christine hid her confusion. Zachary had told her that he had met Robinbrecht for the first time on Sunday, the night before she was murdered. “When did you see him, what time?”

  “At about eleven thirty at night. After the news.”

  “My God, how did you know it was him?”

  “I saw him, clearly.” Jerri glanced behind her, checking on the giggling children, then turned back, warming to her story. “Our backyard is in the back, and I was putting out the recycling. I happened to look up, and I saw Gail opening her door and a very handsome blond man coming into her apartment. I saw her give him a hug, then they went inside.”

  “Wow. How did you know it was him? It would have been dark, right?”

  “I could see, easily. When he came inside the kitchen, it was light and I could see.” Jerri’s eyes lit up. “He’s a very good-looking man. I thought ‘oh, good for Gail, she’s seeing such a hottie!’ I was happy for her. We always go to the block parties, and we liked her so much. Emma adored her, she was wonderful with children.”

  “And you told the police this, about seeing the man?”

  “Certainly. When they arrested the man, Jeffcoat, I saw his photo on the TV, and when they came around asking, I told them, I saw him before. I went to the police station and gave a statement.”

  Christine made a mental note. “Did you know if Gail was seeing anybody else?”

  “No, I don’t. My hands are full.” Jerri looked back over her shoulder as the children started to fuss. “I should go, I’m sorry.”

  “Please, just one last question. Did you generally notice visitors going up and down the stairs to her apartment?”

  “Gail’s? No, but I’m never in the backyard. Richard takes out the recycling and the trash. The night I saw the killer, Richard had fallen asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. I’m never out back otherwise.”

  “I see. Well, thank you very much, I appreciate it.”

  Christine left the house and walked down the street, troubled that Zachary had lied to her about meeting Gail Robinbrecht before. She wondered if Thursday was the first time he had been there, or if he had been seeing her earlier. And if it was the first time he had lied, as well. This wasn’t the time to figure it out, because she had her work cut out for her, hoping to find more answers around the corner on Daley Street, where Linda Kent had lived.

  And died.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Christine kept walking to the end of Warwick Street, turned the corner onto the cross street, Latham, and walked along Latham until she reached the skinny backstreet that ran between the houses on Warwick and Daley Streets. She walked partway up the backstreet, taking pictures of the back of Linda Kent’s house. She confirmed that it was directly across from Gail Robinbrecht’s apartment, so that Kent would have a perfect view of men going in and out of Robinbrecht’s.

  Christine slid her phone back in her purse, left the backstreet, and turned right on Latham toward Daley. She passed the very spot where she had met Linda Kent sweeping up, and it struck her for the first time that she didn’t understand why Kent was sweeping so far from her own house, essentially around the corner. She made a mental note though she wasn’t sure it mattered, and turned onto Daley, scanning the street.

  Daley was almost identical to Warwick, lined with cars parked in front of well-maintained brick row houses, each with different shutter and door colors, outdoor decoration, or foliage. She started with the house on the corner, number 507, feeling hopeful. The house was the best kept so far, with a buttercup-yellow door and matching window boxes, bursting with English ivy.

  Christine knocked and waited, and the door was answered fairly quickly by an attractive brunette in her fifties, who had on a white polo shirt, tan riding britches, and black boots. Christine introduced herself, gave out the business card, then said, “I’m working for a lawyer in town, and we’re looking into the fatal accident involving Linda Kent.”

  “Oh yes.” The woman’s face fell, her brow knitting. “That was really unfortunate. How awful. I’m Rachel Cannonette, by the way.”

  “Hi, Rachel. We’re looking into if there was some problem with the steps, perhaps some negligence in construction or repair that could’ve caused her fall.”

  “I see. She did rent, the duplexes are rentals. It would be their responsibility to repair the steps, but the Realtor is Cobblestone, and they do a really good job. The man who owns the company lives in town, it’s not as if he’s an absentee landlord. So, in terms of fault, it’s not on Cobblestone.” Rachel arched an eyebrow. “I don’t like to speak ill, but Linda Kent was an alcoholic.”

  “I have heard that.” Christine thought of something. “I know that she used to sweep close to your house. Did you ever see her do that?”

  “All the time.” Rachel half-smiled. “That’s why my boyfriend calls her the ‘wicked witch.’ She was always with her broom.”

  “Why did she sweep here, if her house was at 505?”

  “I’m not quite sure.” Rachel shook her head. “She used to sweep all the time, almost compulsively. I know she didn’t work, she had nothing else to do. My boyfriend thought she used the sweeping to spy on all of us.”

  Christine thought it answered her question. “Did you know her?”

  “No. Truth to tell, I avoided her. She tended to filibuster. Otherwise, I had no problem with her because she policed these houses like nobody’s business.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cobblestone has a lot of rules for renters in the duplexes. No pets, no partying, no smoking. The rules work fine for me because I like it quiet. I’m a public-interest lawyer, I work long hours and so does my boyfriend. In summertime, I ride at night, so I get home late and I do
n’t want partying. We don’t want this part of town to turn into the other part of town, where the WCU campus is.”

  “I understand completely. By the way, did you hear any noise, like a shout or a scream the night that she was killed? After all, she fell down the stairs.”

  “No, I didn’t hear anything.” Rachel averted her eyes in thought. “My boyfriend wasn’t home, just me. He was out of town.”

  “How did you find out what happened?”

  “When I left the next morning, one of the neighbors told me.”

  “Who?”

  “The girls who live on the first floor of her house, Kimberly and Lainey Merzinka. They’re sisters, waitresses. By the time I got out, the ambulance was gone.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I was out by eight. I think Linda was found closer to dawn.”

  “Do you know who found her?”

  “No.” Rachel checked her watch. “I hope that helps. I’ve got to get to the barn before it gets too dark.”

  “By the way, I’m sorry about Gail Robinbrecht.”

  “I know, isn’t that so awful? I thought she was so nice. She always made a point to include our street in her block parties, and it’s shocking to think that a serial killer struck so close to home. I lock my door and my car, now. I never did before.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’m so glad they caught him. I’m not a fan of the death penalty, but I hope he rots in prison.”

  Christine shuddered but kept it to herself. “Did you see or hear anything unusual that night Gail was killed? I noticed that you have a view of her back staircase.”

  “No, the police asked me that, too, but I was at the barn that night. I stayed late because my horse was colicky.”

  Christine hadn’t known that horses could get colic, only babies. “Did you ever see the man they locked up, Zachary Jeffcoat, at Gail’s before?”

  “No. Okay, well, I have to leave. Thank you.”

  “Thanks.” Christine stepped away, feeling a tingle of anticipation as she approached the next house, 505. That was Linda Kent’s house, and if anybody had heard or seen anything on the night Linda was killed, it would be her downstairs neighbors, Kimberly and Lainey, the sisters.

  Christine went to the door, which was black and matched the shutters, and she was about to knock when suddenly the door was flung open, and a blonde and a brunette in their early twenties came out, tottering on wobbly black platform shoes, enveloped in a cloud of powdery perfume.

  “How funny!” the blonde squealed. “I didn’t know you were there, did you knock?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I was about to.” Christine introduced herself and gave her a business card and quick cover story.

  “Okay, hi, I’m Kimberly, and that’s Lainey.” The sisters had on matching uniforms, a black-and-white checked vest with no shirt underneath and black satin shorts. Lainey closed and locked the door behind them.

  Christine said, “I was wondering if you could help, I just have a question or two about Linda Kent.”

  “Sorry, we can’t talk, we’re late for work.” Lainey aimed the fob at an old red Jetta parked on the street. An oversized white purse dangled from the crook of her arm, and her skin glistened with glittery moisturizer.

  “I’ll walk you for a minute.” Christine fell into step with them. “I’m sorry about your loss. It must be sad to have a neighbor die, so suddenly.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s sad,” Kimberly said, with a glossy pout.

  “Really sad,” Lainey added. “She wasn’t even that old.”

  Christine asked, “How well did you know Linda?”

  “Not very well, because of our hours,” Kimberly answered, while Lainey went to the driver’s side of the Jetta. “We work at night, at Burnsie’s on 202? When you work at night, you sleep during the day. We don’t know many of the neighbors.”

  “Were you home the night she fell?” Christine walked Kimberly to the Jetta, where she stopped at the back fender.

  “No, our only night off is Wednesday.”

  Christine made a mental note. “What time did you get home Sunday night?”

  “Not ’til four. We went over a friend’s house after work and got in really late. We didn’t even hear the ambulance come the next morning, on Monday. It didn’t run the sirens, that’s why.”

  “Who found Linda then, do you know?”

  “Our next-door neighbor, Dom. They live right there, at 503.” Kimberly pointed with a manicured acrylic nail. “Yo, I appreciate you work for a lawyer and all, but you know Linda fell because she’s a total drunk. You knew that, right?”

  “I had heard she had a drinking problem.” Christine switched gears. “By the way, the night that Gail Robinbrecht was murdered, did you see anything unusual on her staircase?”

  “Gail was so the coolest! We loved her parties, and it’s horrible that she’s dead. We can’t even deal.” Kimberly grimaced. “Our mom freaked the hell out, too. She wants us to move home now.”

  “Did you see anything unusual at Gail’s the night she was murdered?”

  “No, we were working that night, too. We weren’t home, and I’m so glad they caught that guy. So horrible!”

  Christine couldn’t let it go. “I’m asking because the back of your apartment is directly across from Gail Robinbrecht’s.”

  “I know, but we never go in the backyard. We just use it for trash, and that’s where Linda used to hang, on her stairs. She smoked there.”

  “Really?” Christine sensed something wasn’t adding up, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Yes, the landlord’s big on the rules. No smoking in the apartments. Linda smoked outside, a lot.”

  “I wonder if that’s why she was out on her steps that late? Because she was smoking?”

  “Prolly.”

  “When did she usually go to bed, do you know?”

  “I only know from my night off. She smoked her last cigarette at midnight, usually. I know because I could smell it. I used to smoke so I didn’t mind.” Kimberly dug in her oversized black purse. “You said you work for her lawyer, right?”

  “Well, uh—” Christine started to say, but before she could answer, Kimberly had rummaged around in her purse, wedged a key from her key ring, and handed it over.

  “Here, take it. She gave us her key in case she got locked out, but would you give it to her lawyer?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Christine hid her excitement as she pocketed the key.

  “We gotta go, nice talking to you.” Kimberly turned to the passenger door, then stopped. “Oh wait, here’s Dom now. Dom, come here a second!”

  “Great,” Christine said, as Kimberly flagged down a trim, compact man in aviator sunglasses and a khaki suit, who was getting out of a parked blue BMW. Dom waved back, then walked over, hoisting a leather messenger bag to his shoulder. He slid off his sunglasses with a hooked index finger, revealing bright blue eyes and a lean, tanned face, with short gray hair.

  “Hey, Kimberly, how are you doing?”

  “Good.” Kimberly hurried to the Jetta, talking to him on the fly. “Dom, I have to go to work, but you should talk to this lady. Her name’s Christine and she’s a paralegal and she’s asking about Linda. Do you mind? We’re super late for work.”

  “Not at all, take care.” Dom turned to Christine with a polite smile. “Dom Gagliardi. Nice to meet you. Which law firm did you say you were with?”

  “I’m Christine Nilsson, a paralegal with Francis Griffith.” Christine handed him the business card.

  “Griffith?” Dom eyed the card with a frown. “I don’t know his firm. I work in corporate insurance, in Philly. We use a lot of civil firms in West Chester, but I don’t recognize this one.”

  Christine wanted to change subjects. “We’re looking into the circumstances of Linda Kent’s death, whether there was any negligence involved in her fall. Kimberly said that you found Linda. Do you think you could show me where?”

  “Sure, follow
me.” Dom turned toward the house. “You get to the second-floor apartment through this alley, here. Obviously, the front door’s only for the first floor.”

  “Right.” Christine fell in behind him, and they walked through the long alley between the two row houses, which was only wide enough to hold a single person. “Do you know if there are any security cameras around here?”

  “No, I doubt it. There’s not even security lights. It’s safe, or it used to be. People don’t even lock their doors. I do, but I grew up in Queens.”

  “What about surveillance cameras, nothing like that?”

  “No, it’s residential. Downtown or the campus may have, but not here.” Dom chuckled. “West Chester is a stop-time. My wife calls it Mayberry. She’s from the area.”

  “Any traffic cameras that you know of?” Christine realized the answer as soon as she asked. “Oh, whoops. There’s no traffic lights.”

  “Right, it’s great for runners. I never worry about getting hit, like I used to in Manhattan.” Dom stopped as the alley ended in a wooden stairwell and pointed down to the concrete at the bottom of the stairs. “Here. This is where I found her, at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “I see.” Christine didn’t see blood or other marks on the concrete, and she scanned the small, narrow backyard, which was completely paved. Trash cans and recycling bins sat on the right, against an old privacy fence. There was a back privacy gate with a barrel lock, and a sign read PROPERTY OF COBBLESTONE REALTY MANAGEMENT.

  “It was really pretty horrible.”

  “I’m sorry,” Christine said, sympathetic. “I hate to ask you, but what did Linda look like? I mean, could you tell how she had fallen?”

  “No, I couldn’t.” Dom grimaced. “I knew right away she was dead, because her neck was bent and her eyes were open, staring upward.”

  “Was there blood or anything?”

  “No blood.” Dom shook his neat head. “Her legs didn’t look broken, but they were bent underneath her, like she had fallen down the steps.”