First Born (Lily Moore Series)

by Tricia Zoeller

  “Sorry,” she said. Her cheeks flushed pink.

  When he looked again, her hands were normal. A tear travelled down her cheek.

  “He hurt me.”

  He followed her gaze down the field to see a crumpled Phil Miller in the end zone.

  “I know,” he said.

  She jumped up then, and she was wearing the clothes they found torn to pieces at the crime scene—a black skirt, sandals, and a green knit top. “He’s here. Make him go away.”

  Caldwell bolted to his feet in time to see a tall man in a black ball cap, black shirt and pants dart around the end of the bleachers. Caldwell sprinted down the stairs, but when he got to the bottom, the man was gone and so was Lily Moore.

  Chapter 16

  Findings

  Caldwell looked in the mirror. He had nicked himself twice shaving. He was having fantasies about a woman who he feared was dead.

  “What kinda shit is this?”

  His reflection didn’t answer. At least he wasn’t completely delusional. Nightmares and exotic dreams had plagued his sleep. Nightmares were not unusual since he worked homicide, but the exotic dreams—

  He shuddered. The dreams had been explicit. At thirty-two years of age, he took most things in stride. He was well-seasoned in remaining collected, methodical and analytical. So why was his heart racing?

  Struggling to focus, Caldwell took several deep breaths. His conversation with Maggie Moore the other night ran through his head. Ms. Moore kept her married name purely because she liked the Americanized sound of it. The Moores had shared joint custody of their children until Seth turned eighteen. Emanuel Aaronson kept her preoccupied travelling the world, spending his inherited family money.

  Caldwell hoped today’s interviews would shed even more light on the players involved. In pouring through Ms. Sinclair’s phone records, he had found Professor Hitomi’s number.

  Dr. Hitomi currently headed up the Laboratory of Neuropsycopharmacology at Emory University. She had held the position for the last seven years in addition to teaching undergraduate and graduate psychiatry course work. He had spoken with her briefly after Marx’s death, but at the time the nature of her work didn’t come in to play as Marx’s accidental overdose of insulin didn’t seem to relate.

  Now, Caldwell held an intense interest in her work. In one particular study, her team of researchers was comparing the effectiveness of three classes of drugs in treating PTSD: monoamine oxidase inhibitors, anti-anxiety drugs, and beta-blockers. The MAOI was selegiline, Emsam, in a patch form, proving to have less severe side effects than previous oral MAOIs. The anti-anxiety drug was lorazepam, brand name, Ativan. The beta blocker they were using was propranolol hydrochloride—known by its brand name as Inderal, the same drug Ms. Sinclair allegedly used to kill herself, whether it was intentional or by accident.

  The other link he found between the two women was their membership in the Southern Writer’s Association. Hitomi’s profile in the group indicated that she was a published poet. Hitomi intrigued him. She presented as a complex individual with varied interests and behaviors. And Lieutenant Lake thinks she took advantage of a young Seth Moore. Interesting dossier.

  Caldwell finished up and hustled to his silver Toyota Camry. He and the lieutenant were meeting at 7:30 at the office in downtown Atlanta then heading northwest to the town of Vinings to catch Hitomi in her home.

  Twenty minutes later Caldwell sat in the driver’s seat of the unmarked car when Lake yanked open the passenger door, clutching a cup of coffee in his other hand. He nodded to Caldwell as he climbed into the car and continued his cell phone conversation. The scent of stale coffee hit Caldwell.

  He pulled out into traffic and headed toward the interstate passing the MARTA train station on Brotherton Street. A homeless man stood next to his shopping cart on the edge of the parking lot facing into the street. He smiled and stood like he was waiting for something. Men of all ages walked the lot, some waiting for rides after their release from the men’s detention center connected to the APD campus.

  The lieutenant finished his conversation as Simms pulled on to the interstate. “That was Tiny,” Lake said. “He got some results back on the hooded sweatshirt found on Seventeenth Street. DNA from the long hair is Lily Moore’s. Pulled a short strand of chemically-treated dark hair off as well. No tissue attached to test DNA. We still want to obtain hair samples from suspects involved to see if there is a match, at least we can narrow down whose hair is dyed and see if the chemicals match.

  Also, identified dog fur that is similar to the kind found on Miller after his attack. Paw prints from that crime scene are another matter.” The lieutenant blew out air. “Tiny’s working with the veterinary forensic experts in Oregon on the prints. One paw print is that of a very small canine. Another is of a human-like footprint with claws.”

  “So our suspect either is a male or female with short dyed hair?”

  “Uh huh,” Lake said, digging his fingernails into the dashboard. Caldwell knew he got carsick when he rode shotgun.

  “And another suspect possibly barks and another is...I don’t know, what does Forensics think?” Caldwell asked.

  “There is the possibility that our alleged kidnapper is the owner of a toy breed,” said Lake putting his foot through the passenger side floorboard as Caldwell screeched to a halt, almost rear-ending the minivan in front of them.

  “For fucks sake, Simms. You drive like a soccer mom on Ritalin!”

  “Sorry.” Caldwell couldn’t help Atlanta traffic. The lieutenant would just have to cope. “We’ve established that the Grady Knights didn’t play any teams that weekend with some kind of bizarre mascot, right?”

  “Real cute,” Lake quipped.

  Caldwell smirked. “Hitomi have a dog?”

  “We shall see.”

  “How about a jackal?”

  Lake shook his head. “I’m glad you’re entertaining yourself. Your driving makes me nauseous.”

  As they pulled up to Hitomi’s grey, stucco, two-story home, Caldwell began to feel the first tinge of optimism. His detective radar had a hard-on.

  He rolled up the sleeves to his white oxford shirt. It was in the high seventies and the humid air already was oppressive.

  As Caldwell leaned in to ring the doorbell for a second time, the door flung open, making both of them step back. Hitomi wore a satiny pink robe and high-heeled slippers. People really wear those? Her short hair looked still damp from the shower. She had almond-shaped eyes of a remarkable citrine color and exquisite cheekbones.

  “Dr. Hitomi, sorry to interrupt your morning. I’m Detective Caldwell Simms with the Atlanta Police Department. We spoke back in August about Peter Marx. This is Lieutenant Lake. We have a few questions for you if you have the time.”

  “I remember you,” she said. “What is this about?”

  “We’re here to speak with you about Lily Moore’s disappearance and how it may relate to two other cases we are working on.”

  “This is about the Moores?” she asked, lips pursed.

  “Yes ma’am,” Caldwell said.

  “Guess I don’t have much choice.” She turned and sauntered past the staircase and down a narrow hall that led to the back family room. Caldwell and Lake entered the house and followed.

  Caldwell noted the two-story foyer, peach-colored walls, and framed black and white nature photos. Hitomi sashayed in front of them, showing absolutely no insecurities in her lack of clothing—no nervous tugging at the V of the robe or the ends of the belt. Simms caught the boss studying her backside in the thin satin. She was a striking Japanese woman in her forties, but could have easily passed for thirty.

  She came up to Lieutenant Lake’s nose when she abruptly stopped and he almost ran into her. He looked wide-eyed into her unfaltering gaze. Caldwell saw something transmit between them. Recognition of a sort on both parts. She tilted her head to examine him. They stood staring, until Caldwell cleared his throat and the lieutenant took a step back.
r />   “Perhaps you would care for some coffee?”

  “Uh, no thanks, Dr. Hitomi,” Caldwell responded from behind Lake.

  “Please, call me Koko.” She pirouetted and continued into the family room where she sat back to lounge in an off-white leather recliner. She carefully crossed her legs then impatiently peered up at them. Lake and Caldwell sat in the black leather couch across from her. Lake sat upright with both of his black loafers planted squarely on the floor. In synchrony, the men reached into their pockets and pulled out hand-sized notebooks.

  “Aren’t you two charming with your matching notebooks,” she laughed. Lake remained motionless while Caldwell chuckled nervously with her.

  Caldwell initiated the conversation since Lake seemed to have fallen into a stupor.

  After she confirmed her basic information with them, Lake snapped out of it. “We’re investigating two deaths that have occurred in the last nine months, Peter Marx and Mona Sinclair,” he said.

  “And how this could relate to Lily Moore’s disappearance,” interjected Caldwell.

  “I see,” she answered. “I don’t know what this has to do with me, but shoot.” The corner of her pretty mouth rose, apparently amused with herself.

  “How long did you work with Mr. Marx?” Caldwell asked.

  “Let’s see. I would say about two years.” She clasped her dainty hands on her bare knee that was peeking out from her robe. “Why are you investigating Peter’s suicide?”

  “We’re looking more carefully at his accidental death in conjunction with the recent events. Even the minutest detail may seem useless to you, but could be significant to the case,” offered Lake.

  “So sad, Peter’s situation. I mean I sensed he was troubled, but it was still so upsetting. He was invaluable in the lab.”

  “You weren’t surprised by Peter Marx’s death?” Caldwell asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t surprised that he committed suicide, no.”

  “What makes you so certain it was suicide?” he asked. “The Medical Examiner ruled it accidental.”

  “Peter was a perfectionist and a nice guy. He lived with the Moore girl and I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Caldwell asked, irritated.

  “I’m sure you know the Moores’ reputation. The father was killed, the wife and poor Seth went off the deep end, and that Lily is troubled, strong-willed, and controlling.”

  “You got along well with Peter?” Lake asked, giving Caldwell a sideways glance.

  “Sure. Peter got along with everyone. He was harmless.”

  “When did you last see him?” Caldwell said.

  Hitomi drummed her nails on her knee as she thought. “It was the night before he was found. We had just finished preparing lesson plans and lecture ideas for fall quarter. I offered to buy him a drink.”

  “Anything unusual about his behavior strike you at the time?” Lake asked.

  “He looked worn out, like he was stressed and hadn’t slept for days. He spent about five minutes venting to me about Ms. Moore and her anxiety and paranoia.”

  “Did he describe this paranoid behavior?” asked Caldwell.

  She shifted her jeweled gaze to him. “She was a nag, wanting to know where he was every minute of the day.”

  “Was Mr. Marx hiding something from her? What specifically did he say?” Caldwell persisted.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t live in that house,” she said. Her eyes were piercing into him. He held her gaze.

  “You just said that he had vented to you about her paranoid behavior,” Lake said. “Give an example of what he was complaining about.”

  “She questioned his every move, like she thought he was cheating on her.”

  “Was he?” Caldwell asked.

  Hitomi laughed. “Peter? Really? No Detective, he was a boy scout.”

  “So a pretty responsible person then?” Caldwell asked.

  “As responsible as men can be,” she said raising an eyebrow to Lake.

  Lake ignored her. “Did you know anything about Peter’s diabetes?”

  “Sure, but we didn’t discuss it much. He had it since he was a kid. He really took it in stride since he had been managing it so long.” Caldwell watched as she tilted her head and stared at the lieutenant like she was propositioning him with a single gaze.

  The lieutenant looked down quickly. “You mentioned that he was responsible. Wouldn’t it be odd for him to accidentally give himself too much insulin?” Lake asked.

  “Why would that be strange? People do it all the time,” she said.

  “I’m just trying to understand. You said that you thought Mr. Marx’s death was a suicide,” Caldwell said. She swung her head toward Caldwell and pursed her lips.

  “I said no such thing. I said it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Caldwell relaxed back against the couch and surveyed her for a moment. She didn’t squirm or fidget like most individuals would. “What happened after the drink?”

  “You know this, Detective. You have your little notes from my friends. I left around 7:30 and joined my neighbors for a dinner party.”

  “Did you know any of Peter’s friends?”

  “Some fellow students and coworkers.”

  “What about Seth Moore?” Caldwell asked. A slight crease appeared in her forehead.

  “They were friends, apparently,” she said, casually.

  “You had some interaction with Mr. Moore. Did he seem like an aggressive individual?”

  Caldwell asked.

  “Seth?” she asked in alarm. “Seth is a lamb.” Koko Hitomi’s face flushed as she returned Caldwell’s stare.

  So now we know how to ruffle your feathers. “You talk to Seth much?” Caldwell pushed.

  “Why would I talk to him?”

  “It’s just, ironic, you referring to him as a lamb when you called the authorities on him just a few years ago.” Caldwell leaned forward, eyes set on her.

  “That was a silly misunderstanding,” she said looking down at her manicured nails. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat with you gentlemen all day, but I really must get dressed at some point. I have work to do.”

  “Of course,” Lake said. “We just have a few more questions. Thanks for your patience.” Hitomi leaned back in her chair and slowly recrossed her legs.

  Caldwell looked at the floor.

  “Did you know Mona Sinclair?” Lake asked.

  “Sure. She and I were in the same writer’s association.”

  “How often did you speak with her,” Caldwell asked.

  “Well, it varied. At first, we saw each other once a month at the writers meetings. Sometimes she called to chat.”

  “Was it writing advice she wanted or medicine for her PTSD?” Caldwell asked.

  “You’re talking about Inderal?”

  Caldwell waited.

  “She did confide in me about her anxiety and depression. We discussed her medication. I’m sure you know that I’m a researcher. I spoke with her from a scientist’s perspective. She had a primary care physician for her medicine. Gentlemen. I conduct various studies using different medical protocols, pharmaceutical drugs. I’m sad about her death, but I have no idea why you’re here questioning me.”

  The lieutenant tapped his pen. “Did you know Lily Moore?”

  “No.”

  “No university functions brought you together?” Caldwell asked.

  “Honestly, other than an occasional lunch or drink, I didn’t socialize with the student researchers. I’m busy. They’re busy with their projects and studying.”

  “Except for one student, Seth Moore,” Caldwell said.

  Hitomi got to her feet. “Let’s not beat a dead horse. You have all your notes about that night. Seth had too much to drink or smoked something and was out of it. I didn’t pursue charges. I suppose I panicked at first because I was a woman by myself in a lab at night.”

  They got to their feet.

  “Couple things,”
Lake said. “Please take a look at your calendar for us and let us know where you were on these dates,” he handed her the dates and times of the Sinclair murder, and Miller/Moore assault.

  Dr. Hitomi grasped the edge of the paper as if it were a bag of dog waste.

  “We’re just checking everyone’s alibi within the circle of friends and acquaintances,” Caldwell said, cocking his head as she had at them. Lake gave him a pained look.

  “We’ll also need a sample of hair for DNA evidence,” said Lake. Caldwell leaned in to give her his card. “Call this number to set up a time to meet with our forensic expert.”

  “Why would you need my DNA if I had nothing to do with these incidents?” Hitomi’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “That’s just it. We don’t know that you had nothing to do with these incidents. DNA will help us to rule you out as a suspect. You knew and interacted with all the victims.”

  “I see.”

  Both men were quiet as they returned to the car.

  “She’s watching us from the window,” Lake cautioned.

  “Yep,” Caldwell said.

  They waited until they were out of the subdivision before reacting.

  As Caldwell rolled through the first stop sign, Lake turned to him. “What the hell was that?”

  “A serious wack job!” responded Caldwell. “Did you notice she didn’t blink?”

  “That’s not all I noticed,” Lake said. “I can’t believe she had nothing on under that robe and kept lifting her leg and crossing and recrossing and crossing and recrossing...”

  Caldwell snorted. “Talk about evasive maneuvers.”

  They quieted down as he pulled on to the interstate. “She sure had an opinion about Lily Moore despite her claim that she never met her.” He realized he sounded a bit like a protective boyfriend. “And strange reaction to Seth’s name. No offense, Boss, but I think he tapped that.”

  Lake shrugged. “I’ll see if we can get a warrant to search her lab, home, phone, and computer records. Maybe we will find something related to Sinclair.”

  Caldwell reached for his cell. “I’m calling Mr. Moore. We need to feel him out. See what he knows.”