by Robin Cain
“No, sir.”
Frost made a note in his pad that Sadie might have taken off on foot. He thanked Charles again and told him he had no more questions. With that, Charles quietly left the room.
“Well, what the hell is going on?” Frank exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of this guy before!”
“Well, again, we don’t have any evidence to suggest he has anything to do with this one way or the other, Mr. Campelletti. I’m just trying to figure out how he factors into all this.”
“Seems to me he has something to do with this!”
Frost spoke clearly and succinctly to make sure his message was understood. “Yes, it appears that way, sir, but I repeat—and please understand this—we don’t have anything conclusive yet.”
“I understand, detective.”
Clearly exhausted, Frank was now distracted as well. Frost saw that it was time to go, to let this man have some peace and quiet.
“Okay, that’s all I need for now. Thank you for your time. I’ll keep you posted as things come up.”
“Okay. Sure. Thank you.”
Frank looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes, detective, just find my wife’s killer.” His words were barely above a whisper.
“We’re working on it, Mr. Campelletti. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Frost waited for a response, but Frank had already begun wheeling himself down the hall. He showed himself to the door.
thirty
FROST WALKED back to his car, wondering if Mr. Campelletti was going to be alright. He hadn’t looked so good. He deliberated whether or not he should go back to check on him but decided against it. His assistant was there if he needed anything. Frost climbed back into his car and headed back in the direction of Tyler Holmes’ house.
Frost pulled into the driveway and saw that nothing had changed since he’d been there the last time. Now, hours later, and the truck hadn’t moved. Newspapers still cluttered the front lawn, and the drapes were still drawn. If Holmes was home, there sure weren’t any signs of it.
This time Frost went directly to the front door of the guesthouse and rang the doorbell. When there was no response, he pounded on it.
“Tyler Holmes? Are you in there?” Frost yelled.
Nothing.
Frost went back and tried the front door to the main house again. No amount of pounding or yelling prompted an answer. There was no indication anyone was home. He tried the door handle but it was locked. Maybe it was time to start questioning the neighbors. They might know something. He chose to start with the house on the east side of the driveway, walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A woman Frost assumed was the housekeeper answered the door and, after checking his credentials, let him in. While she went to get her boss, Frost stood in the high-ceilinged formal foyer, once again admiring all that money could buy.
A well-dressed and nicely groomed woman, appearing to be somewhere in her late sixties, approached from the end of a long hallway. She was followed by a little, curly, tan-colored mutt prancing alongside her heels.
“Good evening, ma’am, I’m Detective Frost.” He showed her his badge and identification.
“Hello, I’m Katherine Nelson.” she said. It was obvious she was wondering why a detective was standing in her home this time of night.
“Sorry to bother you so late, but I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about your neighbor.”
“Do you mean Mr. Erickson?” she asked, gesturing to the house next door. The little curly dog, following her every move and acting as if it understood what she was saying, turned its head to look in the same direction.
“Is that the owner of the house?”
“Yes, but he is rarely here. He has a caretaker who lives there.”
“Do you know the caretaker, ma’am?”
“Yes, his name is Tyler.”
“Yes, that is actually who I am inquiring about. Do you know him very well?”
“Oh yes, I know Tyler. I wouldn’t say very well, but he’s lived there a few years now. Very nice young man.”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Well... no,” she hesitated. “As a matter of fact, no, I haven’t. I guess the last time I saw him was that night he was making so much commotion.”
“Commotion?”
“Yes, a week or so ago. It was late at night and I was asleep. Lucy started barking and woke me up. I had my windows open to get some cool air circulating in my room and that’s when I heard this terrible racket. Startled me because my husband was out of town and I was here alone. When the noise kept up, I jumped out of bed and looked out the window. I couldn’t see very well because the lights in the Erickson’s driveway aren’t working for some reason these days, but anyway, I could tell it was Tyler.”
“And what kind of commotion was he making?”
“Well, he pulled into the driveway like he was in a race or something, screeching tires and all. It made me mad because I’m not a good sleeper anyway. And his music was just blaring!”
“And that was all? That was the extent of the commotion?”
“No. He was on his phone and he was yelling at someone. It sounded like he was very drunk, if you must know. He was kind of slurring his words,” she told him.
“Could you understand anything he was yelling about?”
“Well, I got the impression he was talking to a woman because he called her a... well... he called her a bitch.” Frost could tell she found the use of the word offensive. “And he was saying something about a baby, I think.”
“Do you know what night this was exactly, Mrs. Nelson?”
“Uh... yes. Yes, it was a week ago this last Friday. I remember because I had wanted to get a good night’s sleep before my husband got home the next morning. That’s why I was so mad.”
“Do you know what time it was, approximately?”
“Oh my... let me see. I’d have to say maybe around one o’clock in the morning.”
“Do you remember anything else about the call he made or what he was saying?”
“No, the music stopped and he was yelling and then it was pretty quiet for awhile until I heard him slam his door.”
“Could you see him very well from your bedroom window?’
“No, but I could tell it was him, from his voice and all.”
“And he was alone?”
“Yes. He seemed very upset.”
“You mean the yelling?”
“Well, yes, that too, but then it sounded like he was crying.”
“Crying?”
“Yes. I heard him after he got off the phone and his truck was shut off. That’s why I didn’t yell at him or anything. He’s such a nice man. He helps out my husband and me a great deal. He’s a handy young man. But, anyway, I couldn’t bear to hear him crying like that.”
“Did you go out and talk to him or anything?”
“Oh no, I didn’t want to interfere. It was none of my business. I took a sleeping pill, shut my window and went back to bed.”
“And you never heard anything after that?’
“No, my sleeping pills knock me out. My husband always complains that a burglar could come in here and rob us blind before I’d ever wake up!”
“Yes ma’am. Did you know a woman named Sadie Campelletti?”
“Isn’t that the woman who was murdered? Is that what this is about?”
“Yes, we are just doing some background investigation, ma’am. Had you ever seen her around here? I mean, with Mr. Holmes?”
“No... no, can’t say that I have. There was that other girl here for awhile. A young girl. I remember because she had badly dyed blonde hair; stuck out like a sore thumb. I don’t know why girls these days color their hair such awful colors. Don’t they know it looks terrible?”
“I can’t answer that, ma’am, sorry. Anyway, did you know this girl?”
“No,
I never met her, but I did see her around for awhile.” Frost didn’t think it important, but he wasn’t taking any chances with information.
“You haven’t seen her here lately either?”
“No, I haven’t seen anyone over there.” Bending down, Mrs. Nelson stroked her little dog’s back. “We’ll just be a minute longer, sweetie, then mommy will take you up to bed.” She turned back to address Frost. “His truck has been parked in front of his house for an awfully long time.”
“It has?” Frost couldn’t help but wonder how much time had been lost.
“Well, I don’t think I thought anything of it until just now. I don’t really pay much attention to him but, now that you mention it, every time I go out it looks like his truck hasn’t moved. And this morning I did notice that the papers have been piling up. I just thought maybe he went somewhere and forgot to cancel them is all.”
“So the last time you actually saw him was when?” Frost asked for clarification.
“A week ago this last Friday. You don’t think anything is wrong, do you?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, but we’re going to find out.” Frost finished his note taking and thanked Mrs. Nelson for her time. Leaving her his card, he told her to call if she saw Tyler or thought of anything else from that night.
Frost left Mrs. Nelson’s house and walked over to the neighbor’s house on the other side, but no one seemed to be home. Just as well, he thought; it’s getting pretty late. If this Tyler guy had something to do with the murder, he shouldn’t be wasting any more time. The crime scene was Tyler’s building project and the murder weapon was likely his tool. There was proof he knew Mrs. Campelletti and that they were friends of some sort. She had spoken of or to him the day she disappeared, and he had a record of assault as well as being drunk and disorderly at one point in time. Last, but certainly not the least of which, was the fact that he was missing. Frost had enough probable cause now that Tyler wasn’t answering his door, but he’d need a search warrant before he could even think about getting into this house. Unable to wait any longer for this guy to show up, Frost knew that even if he hurried, this was going to take awhile.
He went back to the driveway and got in his car. Using the overhead dome light to see, Frost grabbed his cell phone and placed a call into the station. Once he got his sergeant on the line, he explained the circumstances, giving him a heads-up as to what he wanted to do. He explained the facts of the case and, without further prodding, got his boss’ blessing to call it all in.
Frost glanced at his watch. It was getting late. It had likely been six days since Sadie Campelletti had been killed, so whoever had done it now had had plenty of time to get away. Just the thought of it made him want to punch someone.
He walked back to the guesthouse and left his business card on the front door, giving the guy the benefit of the doubt should he just not have been home. Frost wanted to catch who had done this but, for reasons he couldn’t even yet explain to himself, he didn’t want this guy to be guilty.
Back at the station, Frost spent the next several hours creating all the necessary paperwork for his search warrant. When that was complete, he made some calls to find out who was around in the court system to get him the search warrant. He finally reached the on-call search warrant Deputy District Attorney, gave him all the necessary case information and got his authorization to apply for the warrant. After several tries, he was then able to get a hold of the on-call judge to take his sworn testimony over the phone so he could complete the paperwork. He would soon have what he needed to search the property at 465 Park Street. There was nothing he could do now but wait.
It was hours past his shift being over. Nearly headed into a second twenty-four, he knew he should go home to get some sleep, but he wanted to be there when the paperwork came through. He left a note with the front desk saying he was going to be in the break room and asked someone to call when the paperwork hit. He went into the break room, laid down on one of the sofas and closed his eyes, intending only to rest for a few minutes.
A few hours later, as the first rays of the morning sun began to shine in through the break room windows and across his face, Frost woke up to the smell of garlic. Before he could even sit up to look around, Azarrella started talking. He should have known.
“Hey, heard you caught a break on your case.”
“Yeah, making progress.” Frost said, rubbing his eyes. “Shit, what time is it? And why the hell do you always reek of garlic?”
“Five a.m. and I don’t know. I like garlic, what the fuck’s it to ya?”
“Five? What do you do—eat it for breakfast?”
“Maybe. Anyway, I came in early; have some things to do. You sleep here all night?”
“No, I just fell asleep a couple hours ago.”
“I heard your warrant came through. Gonna get this guy?”
“What? What the hell, they know I’m waiting. Damn it!” He nearly knocked Azarrella over in his excitement.
“Hey, man, sorry. I just happened to be walking by and saw it come over.”
“Okay, thanks, man,” Frost said over his shoulder as he hurried over to the stairs, not wanting to take the time to wait for the elevator. He raced up the stairs and over to the Records department, quickly running his ID through the scanner located outside the entrance door. In his haste, he shoved the doors open the minute they had unlocked, nearly knocking over a woman with an armload of files.
“Oh, sorry,” he distractedly said. His cell phone began ringing. It was Records letting him know the fax for his warrant had arrived.
“I’m already here to pick it up,” he muttered, hanging up just as he became face-to-face with his caller. He would have tried to be more polite but all he could think of was the cup of coffee he needed.
Paperwork now in hand, Frost called his sergeant to let him know where he was at on the case. Once he received authorization for the people he needed to bring with him, he made some calls and, within an hour, had his team assembled and ready to go.
thirty-one
AT A LITTLE PAST SEVEN that Friday morning, Frost, two other detectives and a patrol unit pulled into Tyler Holmes’ driveway.
Nothing had changed beyond the addition of another daily newspaper. Neighbors, out for an early morning walk, stopped to stare as all the cars pulled in, wondering why the Erickson house appeared to be under siege. Mrs. Nelson, out in her front yard with her little dog, stopped dead in her tracks and put her hand to her mouth. Frost got out of his car and directed one of the guys to tell all the neighbors to stay back and out of the way.
Warrant in hand, Frost made the decision to check the main house first, telling one of the other officers to stand in back by the guesthouse in case Holmes was there and decided to bolt. He proceeded to the front door, allowing the two others to get into position.
“Mr. Holmes, it’s the Sullivan police. We have a search warrant for this address. If you don’t open the door, we are going to break it down,” he yelled, pounding on the closed door, hoping someone inside would hear and respond before they had to resort to breaking down the door.
Nothing.
“Mr. Holmes! We’re coming in!”
Frost motioned to one of the officers, giving him the go-ahead to use the battering ram on the door.
It took a couple swings before the door finally blew off its hinges. The other police officers, standing back when the door came down, listened and watched for anything out of the ordinary. Frost yelled into the now gaping doorway.
“Mr. Holmes! Sullivan Police!”
With Frost in the lead, each of the officers prepared for the worst and slowly entered the home with their guns drawn. They methodically walked through every room in the house, searching for signs of life and came up empty-handed. There was no sign of anyone having been there anytime recently. Frost had been afraid of this, knowing Holmes was said to reside in the guesthouse, but they had to be certain he wasn’t hiding anywhere inside.
Once they de
termined the house was secure, they exited through the back door. The officer waiting out back just shook his head. He hadn’t seen or heard anything. Frost’s pulse quickened as they approached the door to the guesthouse. His own business card was still stuffed in the door jamb where he had left it earlier.
“Okay, let’s do it again,” he told the other officers.
“Mr. Holmes! This is the Sullivan Police. We have a warrant to search this property. Please open the door or we will knock it down!” The officers exchanged quick glances before Frost once again gave the go-ahead to use the battering ram on the door.
With one single hit, the door to the guesthouse flew wide open. Unlocked, it offered little resistance. The odor from within wafted out the newly opened door, causing everyone in range to put a gloved hand to their face.
Frost was the first one in. The room, stuffy and airless, made what smelled like vomit and old booze cling to everything in the place. The small countertop television appeared as if it had been picked up and thrown against the wall. It lay in a broken heap on the floor. A table by the front door was knocked over, its contents scattered all over the carpet. Its broken leg lay by its side.
The officers stood quietly, waiting and listening for any sound. There was nothing beyond the sound of their own tense breathing.
Frost slowly made his way over to the kitchen. The refrigerator stood, its door wide open, with its days-old food on display for all to see. What wasn’t actually inside the refrigerator had been thrown all over the floor. Eggs, tossed everywhere, congealed in smelly globs amongst the broken bottles, smashed glasses and shattered dishes all over the room. Curdled milk coagulated in puddles on the floor, blending in with a dried river of poured-out whisky. A clothes basket of formerly white clothing had been dumped over in a pile. The telephone base, yanked from the wall, was in the kitchen sink, and papers from the table were strewn all over the place. Frost picked up a handful of the papers. They were assorted bills and paperwork from Holmes Homes. The scene screamed of rage, frustration and anger.
Frost walked to the back of the house to the bedroom. With its unmade bed and heaped, discarded clothing, the entire room reeked of body odor, old whiskey and vomit. Another empty bottle of Jack Daniels rested on the carpet. The bathroom mirror had been shattered. Its bits and pieces lay in the sink and on the floor. Some of the surfaces were smeared in a brown substance that appeared to be blood. Anything was possible with all this broken glass around, Frost thought.