Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  "Where did your parents go?"

  "I sent them home. They were here all of the time. They needed to rest."

  "Yeah, I figured they'd been here for a while. Have you heard from Khrystal?"

  "I haven't. Why?"

  "I heard they broke up."

  "That's the second time this month."

  "What?" This was getting weirder. "When was the first time?"

  He twisted his mouth and looked up. "I think it was the same day that judge was killed." He peered at me. "Something happened to you that night too, right?"

  I nodded. "Someone broke my car window in the Starbucks parking lot."

  "Yeah. That was the night."

  I had called Khrystal that night to invite her out. She declined and seemed distracted. "Why did they break up?"

  "He didn't tell me, but I got the feeling that he wasn't ready to settle down."

  "And she is. I know that." I sighed.

  "Right. He's still going out with friends, without her. She's in nursing school and working. Not home much."

  "That won't be forever though. She'll be done soon." They would have made a good couple. Might still. Well, except for his clubbing.

  "I don't think he's ready for marriage."

  "Probably not. I have to get going. Keep me posted?" I pushed myself up, feeling drained.

  "Sure thing." He glanced at his watch, leaned back in his chair and crossed his foot over his knee. "See you, Sydney. Get the person that did this to my brother."

  "That's the plan." I turned and left the waiting room, wondering if the breakup was the reason Bernie had been downtown last night. No, he'd been going downtown before the breakup. I returned to the information desk and asked for Harrington's room number, then headed that way.

  Harrington had been moved from the ER cubicle to a room on the second floor. When I got there, he was sitting in a chair watching the news on CNN as he pulled on his socks. He muted the volume when he noticed me.

  "Detective. Have you come to bring me news regarding my case?" His skin had more color and had puffed up. He'd also shaved and smelled like cologne.

  "No news yet. Are they discharging you?"

  "I'm discharging me. I'm fine and want to go home."

  "Is that against doctor's orders?"

  "They advised against it. They observed, poked, prodded, scanned, and measured this and that. When my doctor came in this morning, he said everything looks good right now, so I'm leaving. I'll follow up with my family doctor later in the week."

  "All right. Have you heard from Patricia yet?" I pulled up a chair, sat, then laid the recorder on the table.

  "I haven't heard from Patricia and I'm worried about that. She was sick the last time I heard from her. What if something has happened to her?"

  He sounded phony as hell. He just wanted to get laid. I slid my notepad from my purse. "You told us the phone she has is paid for by you. Correct?"

  "That's correct. Why?"

  "Did you buy the phone too?"

  "I purchased the phone for her and I pay for the plan. What's this about?" He was frowning now.

  "May I have your permission to access her cell phone records?"

  "Why would you need to do that and what does it have to do with what happened to me?"

  "It's part of our investigation. Will you give your consent?" I removed the consent form from my purse and laid it on the table.

  He put on his shoes and stared at the form. "I don't understand. Did she do something wrong?"

  "I don't know, but I think the information would help our case." I wanted to get her GPS information. "Did she say where she was when she called to tell you she wasn't going to make your date?"

  "I don't remember. I'd have to listen to the message again." He reached into his pocket, feeling around and frowning. He removed a plastic bag. "What's this?"

  Scrabble letters. Well, I'll be damned. Here we go. "Can I have that?" I reached for it.

  He dropped it in my hand. "It's not mine. Scrabble letters?"

  I put the bag in my purse. "It's important that you sign this consent form. Now." I held it out to him with a pen. He signed it and handed it back.

  I slipped it into my purse with the letters. "Thank you. You need to be careful. These letters link you to your sister-in-law's murder."

  "And Judge Franklin's too?"

  "Yes. Keep the Scrabble letter information to yourself."

  "I understand." He put on his jacket, looking scared now. "Oh, the message. I forgot." He removed his phone from his other pocket and played the message on the speaker.

  She didn't mention her location and there was no southern accent, like Fran had. I asked him for the time of her call. I’d missed it. He scrolled through the calls and told me she had called at 7:30.

  I left him to his discharge preparations and went back to my car. All right, Patricia. Ready or not, here I come.

  I made a stop to request the cell phone records for Patricia's phone, including GPS information for the time of Harrington's attack. I ate a quick lunch of Thai food, then I was off to the Campses' home again.

  I rolled up to the curb near their house. A Ford Fiesta was parked in the driveway. I rang the doorbell.

  "May I help you, Detective Valentine?" Camps stood there, not smiling. Did he know how?

  "I'm still trying to track down Patricia's address. Do you have it now or is Fran here?"

  "She's not here and I don't have the address."

  "Get on the phone and call your wife. Get the address for me." I stepped closer. I was done with his excuses. I folded my arms in front of my chest. "I can wait."

  He looked past me. "Come in. I'll try to reach her."

  I went into the living room, picked up a baby blanket and teddy bear from a chair, then sat. Camps took out his cell phone and eyed the display. He held the phone up. "No signal."

  "Do you have a landline?"

  "We only have cell phones. Saves money."

  I handed him my cell phone and he went into the kitchen. He paced as he whispered, but I heard him ask about someone moving. He disconnected and came into the living room carrying a half-sheet of legal paper.

  "Fran gave me this address, but said Patricia told her she was moving." He returned my cell phone and gave me the paper.

  I glanced at it. Patricia lived less than five miles from Harrington's condo. "Did she say when Patricia was moving?"

  "She thinks it's this weekend, but said it could've been last weekend." He shrugged. "She wasn't sure."

  "All right. Thanks." I left and slid into the driver’s seat of my car. I got my phone out to check the time. The display said ‘No Recent Calls’. He’d deleted my recent calls. All of them! I was hoping to get Fran’s phone number from it in case I needed to call her back. I jumped out of the car, raced up to the door and banged on it.

  He opened it immediately. He must've been watching me. "Yes?"

  "I'd like Fran's cell phone number." I gave him the sheet of paper he'd given me.

  "But, why? I gave you the information you needed." His face had turned red and he rubbed the back of his neck.

  "Interfering with a police investigation is illegal." I pushed the paper at him. “Give me her cell phone number or take a ride to the station with me. Your choice.”

  He grabbed it, scribbled a phone number on it, then gave it to me. "Please leave now."

  "Is there a problem with me having her phone number?" I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.

  "No. Nothing. Anything else?" He started to close the door.

  "This is fine. Thanks." I strolled back to my car. What was up? Perhaps my chat with Patricia would solve this riddle. I hoped so. I had had enough of this.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I had called the station in advance to see if Theresa was available to ride with me to Patricia's. I just didn't know what to expect and couldn't take any chances. Theresa had returned, so I swung by to pick her up. We were about to get off the 215 at the exit which wou
ld take us to Patricia's apartment complex. I'd updated Theresa on the facts of the case on the way.

  "I heard you saw Bernie. How is he?" she asked.

  "They told me he's holding his own. It looks like he fought back."

  "Oh, yeah? Good for him. Did he wake up while you were there?"

  "No. He didn't move at all." My voice cracked and I swallowed a lump.

  Theresa gave me a quick look. "He'll recover Syd. He's young and healthy." She touched my arm.

  I moved my arm away, pretending I had an itch. I didn't need her pity. Yeah, I cared about Bernie. A lot. We'd worked together for years. "I think so too...but, when will he wake up?"

  "Did they say anything at the hospital about that?"

  "Nothing, except the sooner the better."

  "I've heard that, too. I think he'll come out of this fine," Theresa said.

  I didn't want to talk about this anymore. "I hope so. His family's spending a lot of time at the hospital." I gazed at her, hoping she'd get the message. "Anyway, we've got to focus on finding out what Patricia knows."

  "What's your gut feeling about her? Is she involved in this stuff?"

  "I think she's involved." I tried to organize my scattered thoughts. "Maybe not with all of the killings, but I think she's involved in Harrington's attack."

  "You think she tried to kill him?"

  "That's what doesn't make sense." I shook my head, exasperated by the whole thing. "He seems to think their relationship was going fine. He said he was worried about her when she said she was sick and couldn't make their date."

  "Yeah, but she hasn't let him see where she lives and that's a red flag."

  "True, but he left his wife for her." I pulled into the apartment's parking lot and looked for a place to park.

  "Shoot. That's cold if she tried to kill him, but it's happened before."

  "Yep. If she didn't, she knows who did. We can't find any information on her. Why not?" And why can't I find a damn parking space?

  "There's an empty space over there." Theresa pointed. “Maybe she lied to him about who she was.”

  "I thought of that. We're about to find out." I slid into the parking space. I was done being polite here. We hiked up the crumbling stairway and Theresa knocked on the apartment door. We waited. The door opened and a long-legged woman, who resembled Rebecca more than Fran, peered warily at us. She wore tight jeans and an even tighter sweater. And heels. Spike heels. I could see why a guy could go ape over her. Put her in a sexy dress and she'd be a knockout.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  I showed her my ID. "I'm Detective Valentine and this is Detective Sinclair. What's your name?"

  "Patricia O'Riley. What is this about?"

  So, it's O'Riley, not Riley, as Harrington had told us. She had lied to him...or he lied to us. "We'd like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?"

  Patricia's arched brows furrowed, then she looked past us, weighing the odds of neighbors listening in versus letting us come in.

  "Do I need a lawyer before talking to you?" she snapped.

  "That's up to you. Do you want a lawyer?" I wasn't giving her anything today.

  She tapped a black Sharpie against her chin, then shook her head. "No. It's okay." She pushed the door open and stepped aside. "Come in."

  Theresa and I stepped through the door and waited for her to usher us into the room. Boxes cluttered the floor and were stacked up in the kitchen. She strutted across the hardwood floor, hammering it with her heels. From a chair, she removed a rectangular box about the size of three shoeboxes and labeled 'jewelry', and set it carefully on the floor before sitting. Theresa and I took a seat on the sofa. I placed the recorder on the table and flipped the switch. We got out our notepads.

  "May I see some ID, please?" I asked.

  She stared at me. "Why? I already told you my name."

  "For confirmation of your identity," I said. "Routine. Since you're moving, I'll also need your new address."

  Her eyes narrowed. "All right." She got up in a huff, rolling her eyes. She left the room and came back with her purse. A Coach, like Baker's. She removed a card from a high-end wallet and handed it to me. Her California driver's license was issued to Patricia Gwen O'Riley.

  The address on the license was not this one. I jotted it down and gave the license back. "What kind of car do you own?"

  "A Toyota Corolla. It's white."

  "What's the plate number?" I could get it from DMV, but why not get it now, while we were here? She dug in her purse and gave me her vehicle registration.

  "Where are you moving to, in case we need to reach you?"

  She picked up documents from the coffee table and handed them to me. "It's my new lease."

  I wrote it in my notepad.

  "Let's start with where you were Monday night."

  She lowered her gaze to her lap and twisted a sapphire and diamond ring. Buying time, or thinking about where she was that night? "What time?" She didn't look up.

  "Tell me where you were from six o'clock until nine," I said.

  She focused on a box across the room as she chewed a long well shaped fingernail, painted the color of pineapples. Interesting. A little different, but it worked for her. The lady had a sense of style—I'll give her that.

  She gazed at me, tossed her dark waves over her shoulder, head tilted. "I was home. All night."

  I locked eyes with her. "What did you do at home...all night?"

  "Let's see." She chewed on her lip. "I watched TV."

  "What did you watch?" I asked.

  "I don't remember. Do you remember what you watched?"

  "Do you know Montgomery Harrington?" I asked.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Yes," she whispered.

  "Why didn't you meet him for dinner Monday?"

  Her brows knitted together. "How did you know about that?"

  "Answer the question." I could see Theresa watching me, but I was not in the mood to be nice today.

  "What's going on?" Patricia leaned back, wary.

  "Why didn't you meet Mr. Harrington?"

  "I was sick."

  "What was wrong with you?" I asked.

  Her gaze shifted away. "Some type of bug maybe."

  "Mr. Harrington was attacked that night." I hammered the words home. "Did you know that?"

  Her eyes widened. "And you think I did it?"

  "Did you?" Theresa chimed in.

  Patricia's head jerked in Theresa's direction. "Of course not! That's ridiculous."

  Theresa moved to the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees. "Listen. We think you weren't home all night," she whispered.

  "Excuse me?" Patricia scowled.

  "You heard me. Did you step out for a few minutes?" Theresa's voice was like honey. "Maybe to the store to get something for your...illness?"

  "I was home...all night." She leaned back and crossed her arms, but she looked spooked. "I told you that already."

  "Okay. You're sticking to your story." I gave the words a ring of finality.

  "I am. I have nothing else to say to you. Get out of my apartment." She picked up the recorder and turned it off. "And take this thing with you." She pushed it at me and stood. She marched to the door, opened it, and waited, hands on her hips, until we stepped through. The door slammed.

  Theresa snorted. "That went well." She strolled through the parking lot.

  "Better than well." I held the recorder by the opposite end from where Patricia had touched it.

  Theresa's brows lifted. "Prints?" She double-pumped her fist. "Hot damn! I missed that!"

  "We may have caught a break." I placed the recorder in the cup holder in the back seat. "Let's get that back and have it dusted. If we can get prints, maybe they can be compared to any prints that might have been left on the Scrabble pieces."

  "What do you think about her story?" Theresa slipped her notepad into her purse.

  "It's bullshit."

  "Do you still think she didn't attack Harrington?"

  "I'm
not sure. I think she knows something." I slid into the driver's seat. I pulled from the lot while Theresa was buckling up. Slow poke.

  "If she didn't do it herself, she could be protecting the person that did. But, who would that be?"

  "The choices are limited, I'd think." I merged onto the 215.

  "What about her sister's husband? The one that works for County Social Services."

  "Camps." I shrugged. "Could be. He's definitely nervous about something."

  "Did you ask him where he was that night yet?"

  "No. My mistake. I was focused on finding Patricia."

  "Why don't we swing by CSS and ask him where he was that night?"

  "Sounds like a good idea." Yeah, Theresa was good backup for Bernie. "Let's do that."

  When we got to Camps' office, he wasn't there. We went to Carmen's office. She was reading something on her computer, leaning close.

  I knocked on the door. "Carmen?"

  She jumped. "Detective Valentine!" She clutched her chest, then laughed. "You scared me. I was in the zone, focused on what I was doing."

  "Nothing wrong with being focused. Is Mark Camps in today?" I asked.

  "He was in his office earlier. Let me check Outlook. Maybe he stepped out for a moment." She clicked around with her mouse on her computer. "Okay. There it is. Right on the calendar. He had an appointment." She pursed her lips and frowned. "He should be back by now."

  "All right. Thanks. We'll wait downstairs and catch him on the way in." I backed out of her office and headed to the elevator.

  Theresa trailed behind. "I hope he comes soon. I'm ready for lunch."

  "Me, too. Let's give him a little longer." I sat on the bench near the guards' alcove—the same bench Bernie and I had sat on as we waited for Tenley to finish his visit with Jamie. He hadn't done what he needed to do with the reunification services the first time, but maybe he'd get another chance and straighten out. I hoped so, for Jamie's sake. And Tenley's, too. Theresa and I watched the people come and go for fifteen minutes.

  "It doesn't look like he's coming or else he's later than Carmen thought." Theresa turned her wrist over and peeked at the time.