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

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  "Let's get some lunch." I stood and headed to the door. A group of people entered, but I could see the parking lot through the glass. Camps was standing near a Toyota Prius with a woman. She leaned in and kissed him as he pulled her closer. I waved Theresa over and hurried out the door. "Come on." We squeezed through the throngs of people.

  "What? What's going on?" She jogged to catch up. "What did you see?"

  "It's Camps. Over there." I pointed to the couple, who were still embracing.

  "Who's the chick?"

  "I'm not sure if she's his wife or his sister-in-law."

  "Whoa." Theresa gawked.

  By the time we got there, the woman was walking away in the opposite direction, rubbing her temples as she went, wobbling on her heels. She held onto a car along the way. Why wear shoes you couldn't walk in? Camps watched her go, maybe worried that she'd fall on her face. She didn't. She made it to a Ford Fiesta and slid backward into the driver's seat, glancing our way as she removed her heels before swinging her legs into the car. She was too far away for me to see her expression.

  I stood behind him and cleared my throat. "Camps."

  "What is it you want, Detective?" He scowled at me, then glanced at Theresa. "And you brought company. Where's your other sidekick?" Mighty cocky today, aren't we?

  "I ask the questions. Where were you Monday night?"

  He lifted a shoulder. "It depends on the time."

  "Between seven o'clock and 8:30." I got out my notebook.

  "I was in an adoption class." He grinned. "Anything else?" He tilted his head back and spread his feet wide. Well, what do you know? The lion cub has courage after all.

  "What's an adoption class and where was it held?"

  "It was here. In this building. It's a class offered to people who are about to adopt from the foster care system. We tell them what to expect and provide post-adoption resources."

  "What time were you there?" I asked.

  "From quarter to five until a little after nine."

  "Can anyone confirm your presence?"

  "Carmen Delgado facilitated it with me and about seventy-five other people were in attendance. Is that sufficient?" He smirked.

  "Who was the woman that just left?" I asked.

  "My wife, of course."

  "Looked like Rebecca to me," I said.

  "I can assure you she was my wife. Now, if you have no other questions, I'd like to get back to work."

  "Go, then. We'll be right behind you." I followed him into the building with Theresa by my side. We walked past the guard without signing in, rode the elevator up with Camps and headed to Carmen's office. She confirmed his attendance Monday night, but she said he received a phone call and left for about an hour. She wasn't sure of the time. Damn.

  We left Carmen and headed for Camps' office to confront him with his disappearance from the class. He wasn't there. We checked other offices and didn't find him.

  "Time to get some chow." Theresa rubbed her stomach. "Did you hear that? You're starving me."

  "I'm hungry, too. Let's go." I walked away.

  Theresa trailed behind. "You got a hanker for anything in particular?"

  "Hanker? Seriously?" I turned to look at her. "Where are you from?" I laughed.

  "What? Do you not know what it means?" She had placed her hands on her hips and did a neck-and-head roll with attitude. "If you don't know, a thesaurus or dictionary can be provided for you—at your own expense."

  "I know what the word means. I'm wondering why you're using it."

  "We use it all the time where I come from."

  "To answer your question, I don't have a hanker for anything in particular."

  "Shut up. Give me the damn keys and I'll drive." She laughed and caught the keys I tossed her.

  After having lunch at Sizzler's salad bar, we returned to the station and dropped off the recorder at the crime lab. I asked Rudy, the fingerprint examiner, to check if Patricia left good prints on the recorder. If she did, I asked him to compare them to any that may have been on the Scrabble letters in Harrington’s pocket. He told me he'd see what he could do to get it done today. I also asked him to compare her prints to any that might be on the other Scrabble letters in our case. I then read ME and evidence reports before going to the shooting range.

  I needed to shoot some bad guys, even if they were silhouettes.

  I left the shooting range and drove to the hospital to see Bernie. I'd spoken to his mother and she told me she and Bernie's father had been there that morning, but left because they both had doctor's appointments. She said Bernie's color looked better and he looked like he'd lost some weight. The doctors had told them his vital signs looked good, but he still hadn't woken up.

  I walked to the waiting room and peeked in, hoping to see Khrystal. I didn't know any of the fearful people who glanced my way, so I continued on to the ICU entrance. I used the phone, as I'd done before, and they let me in. Some of the nurses smiled at me, but most ignored me and went about their business. Doctors strolled by as if I was invisible. Bernie's room was no longer gloomy. The lights had been turned on and the shades opened. I peered at him and he looked back.

  "Hey!" I rushed to the bed and dropped my purse next to the food tray on the sliding table. "You're awake." I knew my smile covered half my face.

  "Apparently. For a few hours now." He gave me a weak grin. "What's going on with the case?"

  "The case? That's the first thing you have to say to me after scaring me half to death?" I pulled up a chair and sat. "Happy belated birthday, by the way."

  "Oh, wow. I forgot." He ran his fingers through his hair and winced. "I feel like shit."

  "I hate to tell you this, but you look like it, too."

  "Somehow, I don't think you hate saying it much." He tried another weak grin and adjusted himself on the pillows. "Who did this to me?"

  "I was hoping you'd tell me. Someone found you unconscious downtown."

  He felt his bandaged head. "I remember." He shook his head. "It was dark and I heard footsteps, but didn't see anyone."

  "Looks like you fought back." I pointed to his abrasions and broken arm.

  "Yeah, I did. I think." He frowned. "Someone hit me with something. I blocked it with my arm the first time they tried, but they kept at it and hit me on the head. I went down."

  "Maybe that's how your arm was broken...just like Mac."

  "How is she?"

  "Good. I think we may have a lead on the case."

  "Tell me about it." He reached for his water pitcher.

  "I'll get it." I poured water from the plastic pitcher into his cup and handed it to him with a straw. I updated him on the case and asked if he had heard me talking to him when I visited.

  "I did hear you, but you didn't tell me all of that."

  "That's because it hadn't happened yet." I glanced at my watch. "I have to get going. Duty calls, you know."

  "Right. Maybe I'll be ready to go home soon."

  "I hope so. Theresa rode with me when I went to interview Patricia."

  "Well, don't get any ideas about replacing me." He pointed at me with a narrow-eyed glare.

  "You're irreplaceable." I stuck my finger in my mouth and gagged.

  "Get the hell out of my room." He laughed and winced again.

  "I'm glad you're okay. See you later." I left the hospital feeling a lot better. Time to get back to work.

  When I arrived at the station, I called Bernie's parents to let them know he was awake. They told me the hospital had already called them and they were on their way back there. I informed Lieutenant Peterson of Bernie's progress and he told the rest of the Detective Division.

  True to his word, Rudy had left his report on the fingerprint comparisons on my desk. Harrington's cell phone log for Patricia's phone was there, too. I read the fingerprint report first. Patricia's prints matched one found on a Scrabble letter from Harrington's pocket.

  Bingo!

  I called to ask Rudy if he'd compared her prints to
any lifted from the other Scrabble letters. He told me he hadn't gotten to that yet. Then, I grabbed the cell log to read the GPS information. It indicated Patricia's cell phone had been near Harrington's condo around the time of his attack. Bingo again! Calls had also been made and received around that time.

  I grabbed the reports and went to Theresa's desk. "Hey, we have more to go on now." I waved them at her. "Ready to take another ride out to O'Riley's apartment?"

  "Sure thing." Theresa slung her purse over her shoulder and followed me. I gave her the reports to read along the way.

  We rode in silence. It was time to wrap this up—starting with O'Riley.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Theresa and I stood at Patricia's door after Theresa rang the doorbell. I pounded on it until it opened.

  "Lucky me. You're back." Patricia rolled her eyes. "Why?" She had a small box propped on one hip and packing tape in the other hand. She let out a hefty sigh. "More questions?"

  No, we came to help you pack, lady. I gave her my best don't mess with me smile. "Yes. We've got more questions." I stepped forward. "We'd like to come in."

  "I have to be out of here tomorrow." She glanced at her watch, a Rolex. A gift from Harrington—or someone else? "I don't have a lot of time."

  I didn't have all day either. "May we come in?" My patience was limited.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes again. "I guess." Patricia kicked the door open wide with her foot. It swung and banged into boxes stacked on the other side. She shoved a box from a chair onto the floor and dropped into the chair. "Move a box if you want to sit." Cigarette smoke drifted from an overflowing ashtray. She plucked the cigarette from it, and took a long drag, then turned her head to exhale a stream of smoke. Well, at least she had the courtesy to blow it away from us. I was going to stink of cigarette smoke for the rest of the day. Great.

  "We don't need to sit. We're here because we'd like you to accompany us to the station." I tried to take shallow breaths.

  "Why? You just left here a little while ago." She scribbled on the box she'd pushed to the floor, then tossed the marker onto the coffee table. It rolled off and she snatched it up and slammed it on the table. "Are you arresting me?"

  If I were, she'd already be in the back of my car on the way to the station. "No, but we'd like you to come with us." I took a step closer. Quiet intimidation works on most people.

  She squinted as she took another drag from her cancer stick. "And I'm not under arrest?"

  "You're not." Not yet.

  "Okay. Let me get my purse." She scanned the room. "Oh. There it is." She grabbed her Chanel from where it lay on top of a small box on the floor. The purse would be worth more than any money I'd ever put in it. How the hell could she afford it? She wasn't living in luxury here. Men probably bought things for her—like the phone. But, there was a big difference between a cell phone and a $3000 purse. She followed us to the door, looking behind her as she went through and shook her head. "I have so much left to do."

  She swung her purse as she strutted across the parking lot, heading for her car, which was parked in a different row from ours. She clicked the remote.

  "We'd like you to ride with us." Theresa approached her. "Someone will bring you back home."

  Patricia stood at her car a few moments, pursed her lips and stared at us. Then, she shrugged, locked her doors and sashayed toward us—on her way to the slammer.

  "You can ride in the back with Detective Sinclair." I unlocked the doors and slid into the driver's seat.

  Patricia and Theresa got in the back. Nobody spoke during the ride. Fine by me.

  We took Patricia to an interrogation room when we got to the station. I offered her something to drink, but she didn't want anything. Theresa took a bathroom break and I went to my desk. I hadn't heard from Rudy, the fingerprint examiner, about his fingerprint comparison to the other crime scene prints. I read the cell phone record again and compared it to other phone numbers I'd received on the case. I started with Harrington, Fran, and Camps. The phone number belonged to Camps.

  I took the cell phone records and fingerprint reports with me and got a Coke from vending. I stopped by Theresa's desk, then activated the interrogation room's audio/video system from the room next to Interrogation. I went into Interrogation and slammed the thick reports on the table. Patricia jumped. I dragged a chair up next to hers and sat. Theresa read her her rights. I sipped my Coke and set it on the table, leaning toward Patricia. Theresa stood off to the side and leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest, her face blank.

  "I'm going to ask you again where you were Monday night."

  Patricia flicked a glance at my Coke. She removed a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at the perspiration beading on her face. "I already told you where I was that night." She let out a puff of air, blowing her bangs upwards. She reeked of cigarette smoke.

  I leaned closer. "I don't believe you."

  "I can't help it if you don't believe me." She watched Theresa. "I'm telling the truth." Her fingers worked a ring, twisting it.

  I flipped through my notes from our earlier interview. "I asked you this morning if you knew Montgomery Harrington was attacked Monday night."

  "So?" She'd leaned back and lifted her chin.

  "You never answered the question."

  "I'm sure I did answer." She pulled her top away from her body and fanned herself. "It's hot in here."

  "Tell me your answer again."

  "I believe I said I didn't know."

  "No. What you said was, and I quote, 'And you think I did it?'"

  "Okay. Maybe I didn't say it, but I'm saying it now. I didn't know he was attacked."

  "Aren't you going to ask how he's doing?" Theresa moved closer, shifting her position along the wall.

  Patricia turned in her chair and peered at her. "Well, I know he's not dead." She flashed a smile that twitched at the corners.

  "How do you know that?" Theresa asked.

  "Because he texted me asking if I was feeling better."

  "When?" I asked.

  "Yesterday. I told him I was better and I was in the middle of packing. He offered to hire someone to help." Of course he did. He wouldn't do physical labor himself—even for her.

  "Did you call anyone or did anyone call you Monday night?" I asked.

  "I don't remember." She shrugged. "Maybe."

  "Let me refresh your memory." I flipped through the pages of the call logs, back and forth, like I couldn't find what I was looking for. I hummed.

  "What's that?" She tried to read upside down, tilting her head to the side like a confused puppy.

  "This is your cell phone record." I'd highlighted the phone numbers from the calls made around the time of Harrington's attack. I dropped one page of the log on the table.

  She glanced at it, then picked it up, but didn't read it. "How did you get that without my permission?" she snapped.

  "Didn't need your permission. You're not the subscriber."

  "Okay. So?" Patricia tossed the paper onto the table and leaned back in her chair, scowling, the pretty face gone.

  I picked up the call record and paced the room, running my finger down the page. "You received and made calls that night. Monday."

  She shrugged. "If you say so."

  "I say so. Why did Mark Camps call you that night?"

  "He didn't."

  "That's his cell phone number." I pointed to one of the highlighted calls and put it in her face.

  She looked away. "He didn't call me."

  "My information indicates that this is Mark Camps' phone number. It's an incoming call to your phone." I dropped it on the table near her.

  She pulled the papers closer, read them, and snorted. "This is wrong." She pushed them away.

  "Let's move on." I sat on the table and sipped the Coke. "According to your phone's GPS record your phone was near Montgomery Harrington's condo around the time he was attacked."

  "It wasn't. I was home."

  "Ma
rk Camps called you, then several minutes later your phone was near Montgomery Harrington's condo. I'm assuming your phone didn't get there by itself."

  "I was home all night." Her face had closed up, no emotion visible at all now.

  "Did anyone borrow your phone that night?"

  "No. It was home with me—all night."

  "Saying it repeatedly doesn't make it true."

  "I didn't do anything wrong. You're trying to say that I hurt him!"

  "If you didn't hurt him, why was your phone in the area?"

  "I don't live far from him. It's a mistake."

  "I'm not buying it." I leaned closer and whispered. "You were there."

  "I wasn't!" She scooted away, scraping the chair on the floor. Her face had flushed and she swiped at her sweaty hairline, shoving strands of hair behind her ears. "I didn't hurt Montgomery."

  I moved closer. "You were there. Why did you hurt him, Patricia?"

  "I didn't do anything." She looked around the room. "Can I have some water?"

  I glanced at Theresa. She pushed off the wall and left the room.

  "Have you ever been to Morrison Park?"

  "No. I don't know where it is."

  I pulled the chair out and sat, leaning back. "You need to come clean here."

  "I'm telling the truth. I didn't hurt Montgomery."

  "Do you know who did?"

  She stared at the far corner of the room, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Bingo!

  "Did you leave your apartment that night? Even for a little while?"

  "All right! I left!" She put her forehead in her trembling hands and looked down, shaking her head.

  Now we were getting somewhere. It's about time. "Where did you go?"

  "To the store, like the other detective said at my apartment. I went to the store." Her heel tapped the tile floor.

  "Which store?"

  "Walgreens. For medicine." She rocked in her seat, hugging herself.

  "Which Walgreens?"

  "The one on Center Street?"

  "Is that a question or a statement?"

  "Statement. That's the store."

  "That's near Mr. Harrington's condo. What time was it?"

  "Eight o'clock? I don't know."