Jenna opened the door a minute later and was pleased to see him. He stepped inside and they hugged. She seemed to be all right—no drained face or red eyes. She wore a turquoise shirt unbuttoned at the bottom and tied in a midriff-knot, white jeans and sandals. “The detective said we could sit in the living room for now. They’re almost ready to leave.”
“So sorry, Jenna. How are you holding up?”
“A little tired from last night.” She led him into the living room, and they sat side by side on the couch. “The police sent my housekeeper away this morning. I assume she’ll come back. Look at this place. She was to clean up the party mess especially out on the back deck. However guests wandered about and messed up the entire house. The detective kept asking about all the shit that looked out of place—hello, detective we had a big party here. Did you enjoy yourself last night? Priscilla has to be furious with me. No doubt I got a little carried away.”
He wanted to ask if Brad had been depressed, or if there were warning signs. Why would he do such a thing? “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Can’t think of anything yet. I’m sorry, I’ve been talking about myself. You have my sympathy as well, Martin. You lost your close friend.” Jaworski was across the room watching them. Jenna called to him, “Are you men about done? I’ve got things to do, arrangements to make.”
Jaworski came over. “I didn’t want to interrupt. Hello, Martin, sorry about your friend. Are you Mrs. Ebert’s attorney?”
Martin shook his head. “Why would she need an attorney?”
“Then will you please excuse us for a moment?”
She said, “Martin is a close personal friend. You may talk in front of him.”
Jaworski shrugged. “Here’s my card, Mrs. Ebert. On the back, I’ve written the direct number of the medical examiner. The remains of the deceased....”
“You mean his body.”
“Yes, his body will be in the care of the ME. I’ll ask him to phone you if an autopsy is required. That’s standard procedure. Now, the city and county have various support services available—”
“Stop right there, Detective. I’m not a welfare case. I’ll not require any public support services. Are we through here?”
“Of course, I didn’t mean...okay, the body should be released within forty-eight hours. Unless the ME decides he needs an autopsy. If there is one, the results will be provided to you at no cost. In a few days, a report of our investigation will be available at the police department at no charge. I believe that covers it for now. Do you have any questions? Is there anything I can do for you personally at this time?”
“You said you’re through for now?”
“Might be further questions.”
Martin spoke up, “But you are assuming this is all routine.”
“Yes, we are assuming this is all routine. You have our sincere condolences in this tragedy.” He nodded goodbye to each of them.
She closed the door behind him and snickered. “I dare say by now all the neighbors know what the police cars are all about. My one normal neighbor came over when she saw the police cars. She told me I could stay over at her place tonight. That was nice of her, but why wouldn’t I want to sleep in my own bed? It’s not as though he was shot in our bedroom, and I’m sleeping with a chalk outline on the floor and blood spatter on the wall. Maybe I can talk you into staying with me.”
He was annoyed at that.
“I know. What would a psychologist call it—denial? Maybe, not all this has sunk in yet. Perhaps I’ll wake up screaming in the middle of the night.”
“You don’t seem the type for that.” She did appear to be more nervous and agitated. Perhaps something she’d taken earlier was wearing off.
“Let’s go into the kitchen. Want some coffee?” She led the way. “They put paper bags over his hands and feet before they took him out of the car. That was weird.”
She flinched at the ringing house phone. She let it ring. Then Brad’s voice came on with his leave-a-message recording. Hearing Brad’s voice didn’t seem to bother her, although it was upsetting to Martin. She reached over and cut off the call.
“It had to be a shock, Jenna.” In fact, he wanted to ask why Brad did it. “I don’t know if you want to talk about it.”
“They asked if he’d talked about taking his own life, or were there any previous attempts, was there any relevant medical history, were there any financial problems and did we get along well. I answered, no, no, no and no.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have said you didn’t get along well.”
“Look!” Her hand slapped down on the counter rattling the dishes still piled up from the party. “I don’t know why the bastard committed fucking suicide, okay? Or why he did this to me and killed all our hopes and dreams.”
“It’s okay, Jenna. Let out a scream if you want.”
She motioned toward the coffee carafe. He knew the kitchen well and found a cup and saucer. He was now shaking more than she was.
She picked up the carafe. “Maybe I’m exaggerating the hope and dreams bit. We didn’t have much of that left.” Her voice was now normal. “To tell you the truth. I’d have divorced him soon anyway.”
The phone rang again. She was startled and the carafe slipped from her hand landing hard on the granite counter, yet didn’t break. “That’s probably God. He’s going to zap me for saying such things. You’ll have to call back, God, we’re a little busy down here!” She wiped up the spilled coffee. They moved to the table and sat.
“The detective kept asking me how I discovered the body. What did I see or hear? Where was I exactly? Which way was I facing? He kept coming back to it. He found sixty-nine different ways to get back to that same question.”
“Probably routine to be certain there was no uncertainty about the death.”
“No shit, Dick Tracy. You really think so? They put paper fucking bags over his hands and feet for chrissake. Did they do that when your grandfather died?”
He waited, letting there be quiet for a minute. He would be careful not to set her off again. “I’m sorry, Jenna, the police are going to do what they’re going to do. I don’t think they’re singling you out. Am I upsetting you? Do you want me to leave so you can be with your own thoughts?”
“I’m sorry. I won’t explode again, at least not at you. Please don’t leave, Martin. There’s only one straight shooter in my entire world, and I need him next to me right now.”
Again the phone. She ignored it. They didn’t speak. Finally the ringing stopped. He reached over and switched off the cordless phone. She got up, paced across the kitchen and then over to the French doors. She looked out at the pool deck and frowned. “Damn housekeeper.”
“Phone her. Have her come over now. Have you phoned your mother?”
“Brilliant idea—that would certainly calm me down wouldn’t it. I’d rather slit my wrists.” She put a hand to her mouth for only a moment, then sat again at the kitchen table. “Nothing much happened after you and Priscilla left last night. Everyone eventually left. Brad fell asleep on the chaise out there, or maybe he passed out. I didn’t give a damn. I was upset with him. I left him there and went on to bed.” She got up and poured herself a coffee.
“I awoke briefly around four, I believe it was. He still wasn’t in bed. Maybe if I left him out there, the raccoons would eat him up, and I wouldn’t have to mess with him. I didn’t use those words with the detective, in case you’re wondering. I was more concerned about the piano. Leland had thrown a plastic sheet over it before he left. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling well and went back to sleep. When I did get up, it was almost eleven. I couldn’t find him. He was no longer out on the deck. I searched around a little for him. I was here in the kitchen when I noticed the sound of the car running.”
She was rubbing her hands together. Maybe to keep him from seeing them tremble. He reached across and closed his hands around hers for just a moment. “Okay, let’s pull a few things together. First, phone your housekee
per and get her over right now. Tell her to bring two or three helpers with her. Tell her you’ll pay her extra time if they can clean up the whole place and get out of here within one hour.” He turned the phone back on and handed it to her. She was successful in talking to the housekeeper and hung up. The phone rang immediately.
He disabled it again. “I’ll stay until the housekeepers finish. Are you hungry? I don’t know what you have around here. I’ll scare up something. There’s always scrambled eggs with curry.”
“Fantastic.”
“Have you phoned Brad’s family—his mother?”
“Oh shit. I forgot.”
“Give me the number. I’ll phone them. You understandably are indisposed. Do you need any money?”
“You going to give me a couple of your billions?”
“I mean emergency cash. The banks will put a hold on some accounts that have Brad’s name on them when they hear he’s deceased. You should plan on going to the bank first thing tomorrow and transfer what you can to your accessible accounts.”
“We keep all kinds of cash in the house and we bank online.”
“Good. Can you go online in the morning, or do you know how Brad did it?”
“Brad’s the one who didn’t know how to do it. I do all the online banking myself. He didn’t do well handling money.”
The housekeeper and two helpers arrived while he was fixing the eggs. He was hungry; she just moved the eggs around with her fork like a kid facing broccoli. He was waiting for more remarks, but she appeared tired. She pushed her plate away. “I’m about to crash. I was hung over before all this started. I don’t know what’s holding me up. I hate to do this to you. I must go to bed. Can you let yourself out?”
“Go ahead. I’ll leave after the cleaning is finished. Promise me you won’t try to get through tomorrow alone. Have that neighbor come over.”
“I have friends.”
“Of course, and call me tomorrow if you like.”
“Thanks, you’re a sweetheart. I should have been with you from the start.” She started to leave the kitchen and then turned toward him. “They’re going to get me for this, aren’t they?”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re going to get me. They know I killed him. That detective has already figured it out. It’s obvious, isn’t it? They’re going to say I’m acting suspiciously. They don’t believe my story. They’ll find my fingerprints in his car.”
“Jenna, it’s normal for you to feel guilty. The police think no such thing. I’m sure everything they did was routine. You’re overwrought. Now go on to bed.”
When the cleaning women finally left, it was dark outside. He went from room to room on the lower floor turning out the lights. He was quite familiar with the house. This was the home of his friends since childhood. He’d been here innumerable times. He walked slowly back through the shadows of the darkened house to the living room and sat on the couch. He heard no sound from Jenna upstairs. Streetlights outlined the edges of drapes around the windows, and lights from upstairs flooded down the staircase. He sat in his usual spot at the end of the couch. Brad, of course, was sitting in the upholstered armchair where Brad always sat facing the couch. He was laughing at something. Jenna was also on the couch only two cushions away. Her shoes were off and she had her legs up, or perhaps this time she was sitting with a throw pillow on her lap facing him. Three glasses were on the low fruitwood coffee table between them. It wasn’t right that all this was in the past. It shouldn’t be coming to an end like this. Someone should have done something to keep this from happening.
He stood and retraced his steps through the house this time turning on lights. He turned on the light above the range and the light in the pantry. He turned on the light in the downstairs bathroom and the front hall closet. He turned on every light he could locate. When he was done, he locked the doors, walked out and got into his car. He slammed the car door shut and put his head down in his hands.
After a long moment, he looked over at the house. All the lights on the second level seemed to be on as well. The entire house was bright and shining. He also noticed the yellow crime scene tape wrapped across the garage door. He jumped out, ran to the garage, tore the tape down and crumpled it into a tight little ball.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sandy arrived at the office early the next morning still somewhat shaken and eager to learn how Martin was dealing with the loss of his friend. He had phoned and said he was coming in; they needed to talk. Once the shock of Brad’s death had lessened, he remembered to tell her about the conversation in the sports bar with Ted Cobalt and his whistleblower suspicion. She was extremely interested, so he reached Ted and set up a meeting in the office for seven that evening.
She moved the keyboard over and typed in “Theodore Cobalt.” Nothing special came up other than he was a property owner in Florida and Maine. Was he all that he seemed? She made a mental note to check him out for a criminal record next time she had access to Chip’s police computer.
She casually did a search on “Priscilla Fowler.” Some irrelevant listings came up. She tried “Priscilla Fowler Florida”—nothing. What was the name of the TV show she had claimed to appear in? Days of something. She typed in “Days of.” Several listings—one was “Days of Tribulation.” She typed in “previous cast Priscilla Fowler.” Scrolling down she found Priscilla listed. There was also a listing for “Priscilla Fowler Miss Florida Competition.” A click on the link brought a listing with the note, Miss USA Florida finalist. Searching again a small photo appeared, twenty-five unidentified young women in a group picture. All in bikinis and heels, all with banners across their chests, and all seemingly cloned from one gorgeous body. Was that Priscilla in the photo? The hair was different and the face made up.
She heard Martin coming in and for some reason quickly switched the screen. She greeted him, “I don’t usually like Monday mornings, but after this past weekend I’m ready for some plain routine boredom. I made coffee.”
“How’s your arm?”
“It’s healing, at least the bandage is getting smaller. How’s Jenna?”
“Jaworski was just finishing up when I arrived yesterday.” He took a chair facing her desk. “He thought for a minute I was her attorney instead of just an old school chum. She was somewhat emotional, considering neuroticism is a normal state of mind for her. I wanted to ask her why she thought Brad killed himself, of course I didn’t. We didn’t talk much about the suicide, although she didn’t avoid the subject. Sooner or later, she’ll have to process it—work her way through the stages of grief. It was after dark when I left. I believe I did some good.”
“I’m sure you did.” Once again she asked herself if she could have done more. “You know the police haven’t tagged it as suicide yet. Chip says that’s normal. It’s a murder scene until determined otherwise.”
He frowned. “But Jaworski said his investigation was all routine.”
“They routinely call it homicide until proven otherwise. He also said they found Jenna’s prints in the car.”
“Of course, she rides in his car. Probably drives it occasionally.”
“And also fresh unidentified prints in the front seat and on the dash.”
“Well, I’ve ridden in his car, front and back, many times. Oh, my God, I forgot to wipe off my prints!” He covered his face with his hands in mock panic.
“Okay, okay. Point well taken. Fingerprints in his car mean nothing.”
“Would Chip tell you if the police thought it was murder?”
She shook her head. “Not until later when that info is released to the public. Moran assumes Chip blabs everything, but he doesn’t. He’s careful about disclosing police information even to me. You probably know more than I do. Any good inside info for me?”
“The late news last night seemed to cover it. Jenna did talk about how she found the body and how Jaworski kept questioning her.”
“Intensely drilling her, huh?”
“How did she?”
“She looked in the garage and there he was.”
“That’s too simple. No detective would buy that.”
“Well, there is more to it than that,” he said. “She left him passed out on the patio after the party. He never came up to bed. In the morning, while she was looking for him she heard the car running and investigated.”
“He kept repeating questions because the discovery of the body is critically important in murder investigations,” she explained. “Who discovered the body, what were the circumstances, where, when and how the discovery was made. The investigator must carefully document all of it. For example, a husband says he came back home from visiting next door and discovered his wife shot dead in the upstairs bedroom. The husband is thinking the most important question he has to answer is where was he at the time of the murder? And he’s ready with his answer. But the most important question on the investigator’s mind is how was the body discovered? So the investigator asks him, what did you do next? He doesn’t know, he just went upstairs and there she was. The investigator circles back to the subject later. This time the husband says he came home and went upstairs to use the bathroom or to change clothes. Now you have a suspect. The husband was worried about his alibi of being next door. He never considered he needed a reason to go upstairs and discover the body. Got all that from a Philadelphia detective. Nice guy. One of the few times I ever drank with a cop.”
He thought a minute. “Jenna said she heard the car running, so that sounds good, right?”
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