“Well, for your sake, I hope someone touches you personally someday. Meanwhile, we’ve got more questions about this case than answers,” she pointed out. “We should be focusing on that.”
“Multitasking, remember? I can do both.”
“Don’t spread yourself too thin,” she warned.
“Worried about me?” he asked, amused.
“Worried that if you go down, you’ll take me with you.”
The sexy grin on his lips told her that he wasn’t interpreting her words the way she meant them. “Count on it.”
Suzie decided that it was in her best interest not to respond.
*
The District Shopping Center was closer than the police station, so he drove there first.
The newly constructed center had its share of the usual stores and an overage of restaurants, catering to an eclectic variety of tastes. But there was only one coffee shop in the center—if they didn’t count the popular doughnut chain shop that was the first thing shoppers saw when they turned in off the thoroughfare.
“He might not be on duty,” Suzie pointed out.
Chris had already thought of that. “Then we’ll ask the manager for his address,” he answered, as they entered the coffee shop.
At least half a dozen enticing aromas greeted them as they went in. One of the clerks behind the counter pointed out the manager, who looked as if he was barely old enough to shave.
“How can I serve Aurora’s finest?” the young man asked solicitously when he was shown their credentials.
“You can tell us when Justin Sellers is coming in,” Chris answered.
The moment he heard Justin’s name, the manager’s sunny smile disappeared. “He’s not. That SOB quit in the middle of his shift.”
Chris looked at him sharply. “When?”
It was obvious that it pained the man to even talk about Sellers. “A couple of weeks ago,” he all but snarled. “You see him, you tell him that even if he comes crawling back on his knees across broken glass, he’s not getting his job back.”
“You two had words?” Chris guessed.
“Words?” The manager’s voice rose an octave. “He cursed me out. Cursed out everybody in the store. That idiot would have smashed my best coffeemaker if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“He was going to break a machine?” Suzie questioned. It sounded as if the ex-boyfriend had gone on a rampage. Was it because of Bethany?
“No,” the manager corrected impatiently. “He was going to punch Jose out. Jose’s my best coffeemaker.” He waved a hand, indicating a man behind the counter who looked as if he was filling several orders at once. “Moves like the wind.”
“Would you have Justin’s address on file?” Chris asked, trying to get them back to the main topic.
“You’re in luck,” he informed them, leading the way back to his tiny office. “I was going to purge it out of my files at the end of the month. It’s not like I’m ever going to let the guy come back, after that stunt.”
He scrolled through a file that was open on his computer. “Here,” he declared, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Here’s his address. I’ll print it up.” A moment later he handed Chris the printed sheet. “When you see him, tell him I hope he rots in hell.”
Folding the paper, Chris tucked it into his suit pocket. “Thanks, I’ll pass along the message.”
“Oh,” the manager called, when they began to leave the shop. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
Chris retraced his steps, not about to shout the words across the crowded shop, and Suzie followed.
“His ex-girlfriend was murdered,” he said, once they’d reached the manager again. “We’d just like to ask him a few questions.”
A knowing smirk crossed the man’s lips. “Sellers probably did it. Never could keep that temper of his under control.”
Suzie had to ask. “If you don’t mind me inquiring, with all that going against him, why would you keep him on?”
The man blew out a breath, as if admitting something pained him. “He could be really charming when he wanted to be. You should have seen all the women lining up here for their morning coffee. I’ve got a feeling that half of them didn’t even drink coffee. They just bought it to flirt with Sellers.” He shook his head. “No accounting for taste,” he declared.
“None,” Chris agreed. Moving quickly, he made it to the exit before the manager could say anything further. He held the door for Suzie, then followed her out. “Sellers might be our man, after all,” he said.
“Might be,” she agreed, but without conviction. Something told her that it couldn’t really be that easy. It never was.
Besides, O’Bannon was forgetting one important little fact. If Sellers killed Bethany, then who killed Shelley’s first roommate, Rosemary?
Suzie couldn’t shake the feeling that the two young women looking alike was not a coincidence, but a contributing factor to the crime.
Chapter 8
Chris waited until they had gotten back into his car before saying anything regarding the interview they’d just had about the victim’s ex-boyfriend.
His seat belt secured, he looked at Suzie as he put his key into the ignition. “You don’t think so, do you?”
She’d just buckled up, her mind admittedly elsewhere. “What?”
He stated it more clearly. “You don’t think that Sellers is our killer.”
She didn’t, but until she could come up with evidence to back her up, she didn’t want to get into any kind of a long-winded discussion with O’Bannon over this.
“I didn’t say that.”
Easing out of the shopping center, he made a left turn and got back on the main drag. “You didn’t have to. Your tone of voice did.”
She really wished O’Bannon would stop trying to pin her down all the time. “So now you’re into voice interpretation?”
He took no offense at her tone. “Hey, I’m a detective. It’s what I do.” Becoming serious, he urged her, “Tell me why you think it’s not him.”
He was still trying to pin her down. “I don’t know it’s not him,” she protested.
Chris wasn’t going to give up easily. “But...?” he asked, waiting.
Sensing that he wasn’t going to back off, she gave in and told him what was bothering her about pegging Sellers as the killer. “It just seems too simple somehow.”
“When you hear hoofbeats, it’s usually a horse,” Chris reminded her.
“And every so often,” she countered, “it does turn out to be a zebra. I’m not saying we don’t question Sellers, I’m just saying we need to keep an open mind while we’re doing it.”
At this early stage of the investigation, he had no problem with that. But he also wanted her input. “Tell me what your open mind is telling you.”
Suzie frowned. She didn’t like sharing things until she was absolutely sure of the facts and the person she was sharing them with, and in this case, she knew very little about either, especially the latter.
She shrugged, looking out the side window. “Maybe later.”
He wasn’t about to let her brush him off. “Maybe now, Suzie Q,” he told her firmly. “I didn’t bring you along for your pretty face—although that is a bonus,” he allowed. “Uncle Sean thinks you could be the best crime scene investigator he’s ever had. Show me why he thinks that.”
Was O’Bannon just flirting with her, or did he really want to know? She wasn’t sure, but she decided to share a little of what she was thinking.
“Does it make any sense that Bethany broke up with Sellers and then gets back with him just before this blowout of a bash, which definitely had to be the thing she was into? From the looks of it, all the beautiful people were there, and I got the sense that she really wanted to be part of that world. Sellers would have just cramped her style, so why bring him?”
Chris thought he had an answer for that. “Maybe she didn’t bring him along. Maybe he followed her there, waited for his chance, and then when sh
e was alone, dragged her off and gave her an ultimatum—choose him or this new lifestyle. When Bethany chose the latter, he killed her.”
“You just said it yourself—she wouldn’t have gone off with him willingly,” Suzie insisted. “If Sellers tried to drag her off, she would’ve made noise, a lot of noise. No matter how loud that party was, someone would have heard. No, whoever killed her, I think it was someone she trusted.” Suzie clenched her jaw, thinking of Bethany’s last moments. “She never saw it coming.”
“Sounds like your theory might have possibilities,” he agreed. “But I still want to talk to Sellers.”
“Best way to rule him out if it’s not him,” she agreed.
His uncle was right, he thought as he drove. This one really did have a lot of potential—in more ways than one.
*
No one answered the door when he knocked. Not even when he knocked hard the third time.
“Maybe he’s out, looking for a new job,” Suzie suggested.
“Or maybe he’s just out,” Chris told her, peering in through the kitchen window, which looked out on the courtyard. He beckoned Suzie over.
When she joined him and gazed through the glass, Suzie saw what he was referring to. There was a man sprawled out, facedown, on the kitchen floor. It was obvious that he was unconscious.
“You think he’s dead, too?” she asked, reassessing her theory.
“Dead drunk is probably more like it,” Chris told her. He pointed to the figure. “I don’t see any signs of blood on the floor around him.” Walking away from Suzy, he said, “Since he’s unconscious, I’ll go see if the apartment rental manager is in so he can open the guy’s door for us.”
“Don’t bother getting the manager,” Suzie called after him.
Chris turned around. “You want to come back?” he inquired.
“No, I want you to come back.” Suzie slipped something that resembled a nail file back into her messenger bag and pointed to the apartment door, which was now standing open.
“The door wasn’t locked?” Chris asked, surprised. He could have sworn he’d tried the doorknob when there’d been no answer. There had been no give when he’d turned it.
Suzie smiled as he rejoined her. “It wasn’t when I finished with it.”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. “‘Finished with it’?”
She didn’t want to go into details. He’d probably think she was bragging.
“Just call it standard CSI training,” she told him, gesturing for him to enter.
“Not from what I’ve heard,” Chris replied. But it was obvious he was not about to stand on ceremony or remind her about there being rules against breaking and entering. Instead, he said, “Nice work, Suzie Q,” and walked into the eight-hundred-square-foot apartment.
Chris went directly to the man lying on the floor. After satisfying himself that Sellers did have a pulse, he shook him and cheerfully announced, “Rise and shine, Sellers. Time to wake up and start talking.”
“You think that he’s drunk?” Suzie asked. Getting on the unconscious man’s other side, she slipped her arm under his and proceeded to help Chris lift him off the floor.
“I think he drank some whole damn bar dry,” Chris told her, having the misfortune of taking a deep breath as he maneuvered him up. The man fairly reeked of alcohol.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” Suzie grunted, as they struggled to get him upright on a kitchen chair.
“That’s because every inch of him is completely filled with booze,” Chris told her. He exhaled as he took a step back. “I wouldn’t recommend lighting a match around this guy for the next twenty-four hours,” he said, only half kidding. “Does he have any coffee?” he asked Suzie, who was already going through the cupboard, looking for the very same thing.
“Just instant,” she concluded, finally finding a half-empty jar of a popular brand.
“And he calls himself a barista.” Chris pretended to scoff. “Okay, boil some water and let’s start getting that stuff into him.”
She did as he suggested, turning on the low-end coffeemaker Sellers had on the counter.
*
By the time they got a third cup of coffee into him, Sellers was fairly awake and demanding to know who the hell they were and what the hell they were doing in his apartment.
Deciding that the man was sober enough, Chris stopped forcing the black liquid into him. “We’re with the Aurora Police Department, and right now, we’re trying to get you sober.”
“Don’t!” Seller ordered, pushing him back. “I’ll only have to get drunk again.”
After putting the mug down, Chris crossed his arms before him and studied the man. “Any particular reason?” he asked.
“That’s none of your damn business,” Sellers snapped angrily. Dragging a hand through his unruly hair, he started to get up. But he was unsteady on his feet and immediately sank back down in his chair.
“Where were you last night—and before you tell us it’s none of our damn business,” Chris warned pointedly, “it is. It’s official police business and you need to be honest with us.”
Sellers was scowling so hard his eyebrows all but covered his eyes. “I was at the same place I am every night,” he muttered. Taking a breath, he added, “The Saint.”
That didn’t make any sense to her. Suzie came to the only conclusion she could, given the fragmented information. “You were in church?”
“No, The Saint,” Sellers repeated, this time with more emphasis. Seeing that he wasn’t getting through, he huffed and said, “It’s a local bar. Only damn place I can get to within walking distance.” He blinked several times and focused on Suzie. Seeing her for the first time, he asked, “Hey, are you with anyone?”
“I’m with the police department,” she informed him stiffly.
“No, I mean with a man,” Sellers said insistently, drawing himself up as if he was about to make a pitch for her.
“She’s with me,” Chris told him, before she could say anything that would prolong this line of questioning on Sellers’s part. The man was hitting on her and they didn’t have time for this. The fact that it annoyed him was something he’d revisit at another time.
“Oh.” Sellers’s face fell noticeably. “It figures,” he muttered. “All the gorgeous ones are taken.”
“Hey, Sellers, concentrate,” Chris instructed, snapping his fingers to bring the man’s attention back to him. “Did anyone see you at this bar?”
The man looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “Sure, someone saw me at the bar. What do you think I am, invisible? She acts like I’m invisible,” he complained, talking to his shoes as if they could hear him. “But I’m not, and someday she’s going to be sorry she treated me like that.”
“Who’s going to be sorry?” Suzie asked, before Chris could beat her to it.
“Bethany!” he shouted. “Bethany’s going to be sorry she dumped me. I’m going to make her sorry,” he said, becoming so animated that he almost fell off his chair.
Chris managed to catch him at the last moment, steadying Sellers as he righted him, then patted the man on his shoulder.
“First things first, Sellers,” he told him. “Can you give us the names of some of the people who saw you at the bar two nights ago?”
Sellers appeared to be thinking the question over. “I could,” he answered.
Chris looked around for a piece of paper and something to write with. He didn’t know how long Sellers would be willing to cooperate.
Finally, Chris took out the sheet the coffee shop manager had given him with Sellers’s address on it. Flipping the paper over, he handed Sellers the pen he found on the counter.
“Write them down,” he instructed.
The man was blinking, obviously trying to focus on the blank paper. He started to write, then stopped. “Does neatness count?” he asked, slurring his words.
“Not this time,” Chris assured him, guiding the man’s hand back to the paper. “Just get the sp
elling right.”
“Hey, man, I never asked nobody to spell their name for me,” Sellers protested.
“Just do the best you can,” Suzie told him.
He leered at her. “I can do better if you give me a little encouragement, honey.”
“Just write,” Chris ordered. “Before she’s tempted to break your hand.”
Muttering under his breath, Sellers wrote. He managed to get a total of three names on the paper before passing out again. As the pen slipped from his hand, the former barista slid bonelessly onto the floor.
Suzie jumped back to get out of his way. She surveyed the slumped form, shaking her head. “How can a man consume that much alcohol and still live?” she marveled.
Chris looked over the names Sellers had written, then folded the paper again and put it back into his pocket. They were barely legible, but he could make them out.
He laughed at Suzie’s comment. “You should have met some of the guys in my dorm. On second thought, maybe it’s better that you didn’t.”
“So does Sellers have his alibi?” Suzie asked.
“We’ll find that out when we locate these men and talk to them.”
“From what Sellers said, our best bet is to go to that bar he mentioned and ask the bartender. He should be able to tell us where to find the men Sellers named—not to mention maybe back up his story, as well.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, that should get Sellers off our suspect list.”
“We’re just going to leave him here?” Suzie questioned. O’Bannon had been rather keen on the man being the killer just a little while ago, but now he wasn’t taking him in. She didn’t understand. Had she missed something?
The detective stopped at the door. “Well, he’s got no job, and I’m pretty sure if he wakes up, he’s just going to reacquaint himself with the contents of that bottle he has over there.” He pointed it out. “So my guess is that, at least for the time being, Sellers is not about to go anywhere.”
“But we are,” she assumed, judging by Chris’s body language.
He nodded. “You’re pretty good at this,” he said. In all honesty, he’d had no idea what to expect when he’d taken her on today, and he had to admit that he was pleased it was working out. “We’re going to Autopsy.”
Cavanaugh in the Rough Page 8