“You’re fond of her?”
“You’ve met Kaitlyn. Who wouldn’t be fond of her? Sweetest woman I know.”
Rodney made a point of scribbling in his notepad, more for show than to actually make a note. He wanted a second to digest Scott’s remark. Was there something more there than just an employer’s interest in his employee? “Apparently someone’s not fond of her.”
Scott slid off the desk and rounded to the opposite side, taking a seat in his chair. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and two glass tumblers. “You want one?” After Rodney declined the offer, Scott went on to say, “I don’t normally do this, but with all this mess . . .”
Rodney rose from the sofa and stood before the desk. “How well did you know Brad Ludlow?”
Scott poured some bourbon into his glass. “Not too well.” He went on to describe how Kaitlyn would bring her boyfriend to station functions and staff get togethers. Brad seemed likable but, to Scott, always a bit ill-at-ease around the station staff. “We tend to talk shop a lot. Brad probably couldn’t relate.”
“Ever notice any tension between Kaitlyn and Brad?”
Scott shook his head. “No. They seemed like the perfect couple. Always happy . . .” He paused. “I take that back. There was a time.”
Scott described a recent staff gathering at a pub on Walnut Street. The drinks were flowing, and everyone was having a tremendous time, when Kaitlyn’s face went white. Soon after, she stood, said her farewells, and with Brad in tow, made a hurried departure from the bar.
Rodney flipped his notepad closed and glanced back at Sammy, who was still speaking on the phone. The nearby door, which led toward the station offices and studios opened. A tall, muscular man emerged and headed toward the entryway.
“Excuse me,” Rodney said. “Can I have a word?”
“You must be the dick, here to question us all about our alibis.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes. He ignored the flippant remark but made a mental note to let Julie do any follow-up interview. She’d eat this guy for lunch. “You are?” he asked.
“Kevin O’Neill. Look, I’ll talk to you, but it’ll have to be out in the parking garage. I just got off the air and I’ve been gagging for a cig since 10 this morning.”
Rodney followed Kevin to the parking garage, where the radio DJ was quick to light up. After a deep inhale, Kevin blew a long stream of smoke into the air. “Nothing calms the nerves like a little nicotine, don’t you think?”
Rodney made an absent glance around the garage. All of the nearby parking spots were full. A Ford, a couple Chevys, two Hondas, and a Volkswagen. He recalled standing near this very spot a couple weeks ago, on the night Kaitlyn was nearly run down in the city. He turned back to Kevin and watched him try to blow smoke rings into the air, unsuccessfully.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of trying it,” Rodney said.
Kevin thrust a pack of cigarettes in his direction. “You’re welcome to try one of mine.”
With a wave of his hand, Rodney declined the offer.
Kevin shrugged and slipped the pack into his pocket. “How can I help you, Detective?”
“Since you mentioned alibis, can you give me yours? Specifically, for Thursday night, between midnight and two.”
Kevin drew on his cigarette, seeming to savor the act. He didn’t speak for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “Midnight? I was leaving The Phoenix Bar with a real stunner I found on Grindr.”
Rodney nodded, but said nothing.
“Do you know the Phoenix, Detective? It’s a gay bar. The cops spend a lot of time down there these days.”
“Mr. O’Neill, I’m not from the Philadelphia Police. And, I am aware of the Phoenix Bar, as well as its reputation for being a Philly hotspot. Won the Best of Philly award a couple years ago, if I remember correctly.”
Kevin turned his head away and exhaled, sending vapor into the air. He remained silent for a long moment before he turned back toward Rodney. “Apologies, Detective. I’ve been a bit of an ass. I’m not fond of cops, and too many run-ins with some of the more homophobic ones have left me a bit sour.”
Rodney folded his arms and nodded. There were still a few older officers in Philly’s police force that were being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the twenty-first century. Old prejudices sometimes die hard. “Aren’t you concerned about GBT?”
Kevin shrugged. “I like it a bit rough.” He smiled.
“I don’t want to hear about your sex life . . . unless it pertains to Kaitlyn Ashe.”
After another long drag on his cigarette, Kevin tossed the still-smoking butt onto the concrete, crushing it with his shoe. “Sorry. How can I help?”
“You can start with your alibi.”
Kevin kicked at the butt. “I left the Phoenix shortly after midnight. James . . . or his name may have been John—I can’t remember—invited me to his place. I won’t shock you with the details of how things went from there. I left around 4 in the morning.”
“How long have you known Kaitlyn?”
“As long as she’s been here,” he said. “I was part-time, working on the weekends. Since I have a rock-solid alibi, I don’t mind telling you there was some jealousy at first. I applied for that shift as well.”
Rodney asked, “Why didn’t you get it?”
“Guess they thought she was better.”
“Were you angry?”
Kevin shrugged. “At first. I’d been here six months. Figured I’d be a shoo-in. Imagine my surprise.” He brushed his hand through his hair, then folded his arms. “Worked out in the end. Five months later, I’m offered the midday shift.”
Rodney was silent for a moment. Jealousy over a job? The motive and the timing didn’t seem to fit. Why wait a solid year and a half to seek revenge? No, it wasn’t right. That didn’t mean there wasn’t something else that the radio DJ was hiding. “You from this area?” he asked.
“Grew up out near Pittsburgh.”
“Did you ever know someone named Laura Hobson?”
Kevin thought for a second, then shook his head. “Don’t think so. Who is she?”
“Just a lead we’re pursuing. Probably nothing.”
25
Julie was already at her desk when Rodney walked into the police station on Tuesday morning. She looked up from the file she was reviewing and nodded a silent greeting. He grabbed the mug from his desk, crossed to the coffeemaker, and returned moments later.
“You’re late,” Julie said.
“I stopped by the hotel to see Kaitlyn. I told her she could return home today.” He took a sip of coffee. “I offered to drive her home, but she declined. Said she’d get a cab later this morning.”
Julie set the file down. “The girl’s got guts. Going back to that house alone.”
Rodney placed his mug on the desk. “I got the impression it’s less about guts and more about not having anywhere else to go.” He slipped his gun from the holster on his belt and placed it in the desk drawer. “She’s got no family in the area.”
“Still, returning to the house where your fiancé was murdered takes guts. Unless . . .”
He glared at her. He knew what she was thinking. “Don’t say it. She’s innocent.”
“Do you have some unknown piece of evidence that proves that?”
He sat down at his desk, took a long sip from his mug, and stared across the rim at her. Ignore her. He didn’t want to go into her ridiculous theory again.
“Did those background checks come back?”
She nodded. “Got them this morning.” She gestured to the file on her desk. “Nothing too surprising. Most of the radio station staff have clean records. Scott McKay had a DUI about fifteen years ago. Kevin O’Neill had a few run-ins with the law when he was younger. All juvenile offenses over in New Jersey. Around the Penns Grove area.”
He thought about this new information for a moment. Something didn’t sound right. “In Jersey? He told me he grew up in Pittsbur
gh.”
Julie shook her head. “Not according to his records. He lived in Penns Grove for several years.” She picked up the file and glanced over the pages. “A couple petty thefts. Some disorderly conducts.” She read further down the page. “Get this. He was accused of stringing up the neighbor’s cat.”
“He hung a cat?”
“From a tree. Nothing could be proved, and no charges were filed.”
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Where is Penns Grove?”
“South Jersey. Right along the river.”
“Is it close to Woolwich?”
She tilted her head to one side. “You thinking he knew Kaitlyn when she was young? They’re about the same age. It’s possible.”
Rodney toyed with a pencil that was on his desk. Why would Kevin O’Neill lie about where he lived? Did he think they wouldn’t run checks on everyone involved with Kaitlyn Ashe? The radio DJ had been a little too standoffish for his liking. Yes, the GBT Strangler had put the Philadelphia LGBTQ community on edge for the past several months. Yes, the Philadelphia police were under a lot of pressure to catch the bastard, enough so that there had been recent reports of some heavy-handed crackdowns on some of the clubs in Philly’s iconic “Gayborhood”. But that didn’t explain why Kevin O’Neill might lie about his background. Unless he knew more about Brad Ludlow’s murder than he was letting on.
“I’ll need to speak to him again. Anything else in the reports?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
He pulled open his desk drawer and retrieved his gun, slipping it back into its holster. “I’m going out.”
Julie looked at him, her eyes questioning. “Where to?”
“Back to the radio station. To talk to Kevin O’Neill.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. See what you can find out about Jesse Riley’s family. What happened to them. Where they are now.”
Rodney stood in the corner of the radio station bullpen, making a meticulous study of Kevin O’Neill. The radio DJ sat at his desk, looking a bit agitated. His eyes were evasive and darted from side to side. His leg bounced like a piston.
“What’s this about? Are you accusing me of something?” Kevin said.
Rodney shook his head. “Not at all. I just want to understand why you told me you grew up in Pittsburgh.”
“Because it was the truth.”
“Really? Then please explain how you have a string of petty theft arrests from New Jersey.”
Kevin sighed and rose from his desk. “I was born in Pittsburgh. My family moved to Penns Grove when I was eleven.”
“Did you know Laura Hobson when you lived in Penns Grove?” Rodney watched for any sign of recognition at the mention of the name. None seemed obvious.
“You asked me that before.”
“I’m asking again.”
Kevin paused, seeming to give the question some thought before answering. “No. Not that I can remember.”
“What about Jesse Riley?”
Kevin opened his mouth as if to speak but didn’t. Instead, he pondered the question. “It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t know why. Who is it?”
Rodney wondered how much information he should divulge. He didn’t want to put Kaitlyn in an uncomfortable position by telling her co-workers secrets from her private life. “He drowned several years ago in Woolwich Township. It was a fairly big deal in the area at the time.”
Kevin folded his arms and leaned against his desk. “What’s that got to do with Kaitlyn?”
“Possibly nothing. It’s just an inquiry we’re following.”
“Can’t say I remember it.”
Kevin’s attitude shifted from agitated to indifferent. He kept his arms folded and faced off with Rodney, returning a gaze that said Are we done here?
“Tell me about the cat,” Rodney said.
“What cat?” Kevin seemed genuinely puzzled.
“The one you were accused of hanging from a tree.”
Kevin let out a loud laugh. “That? My god, you cops really dig deep for dirt, don’t you?” He rolled his eyes and smirked.
“What happened?”
“If you must know, that cat was feral and a whore. Every night, the damn thing was going at it. Screeching and howling. Like she was in heat twenty-four seven. Doubt there was a male cat in the neighborhood that didn’t have her at least once.”
“Did you kill it?”
Kevin pushed off the desk and gathered up the papers scattered on the desktop. “I know where you’re headed with this. If I could kill a cat, I could kill Brad Ludlow.” With the papers in his hands, he turned and faced Rodney, standing inches from him. “You cops are all the same. You find the one person who had it a bit rough as a child and blame them. You can’t pin this one on me.”
Rodney remained still and matched Kevin’s stare with his own. “I’m not trying to pin anything on you. Just looking for the truth.” He could smell Kevin’s breath. Stale cigarettes. The odor mingled in the air with a hubris that Rodney struggled to understand. Kevin had been on the defensive from the moment Rodney arrived.
With a smirk, Kevin stepped back and smiled. “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad.”
“Aldous Huxley.”
Kevin raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Impressive. A cop with a penchant for philosophy.”
Rodney couldn’t let the moment slide. “Truth is the breath of life to human society. It is the food of the immortal spirit. Yet a single word of it may kill a man as suddenly as a drop of prussic acid.”
Tilting his head, Kevin looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Oliver Wendall Holmes,” Rodney said.
Kevin nodded, checked his watch, then turned away, heading toward the door. “I’d love to stay and toss quotes back and forth all day, but I’ve got a show to do.” He halted halfway across the room and turned back to look at Rodney. “If there’s nothing else . . .”
Rodney shook his head.
Kevin started to turn toward the door, then looked back at him. “I didn’t hang the cat, detective. My old man did.” With that, he stepped from the room and left Rodney alone.
The conversation hadn’t gone the way Rodney had hoped. He was left with more questions than answers. The radio DJ was startled to be questioned again so soon. He even appeared fearful at first. But a self-confident indignation soon emerged and was evident throughout the rest of the conversation. Rodney didn’t buy Kevin’s excuse for being “economical” with the truth. There was something more to Kevin O’Neill, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He started toward the door but noticed that the top desk drawer of Kevin’s desk was half open. He glanced at the door, then opened the drawer. It contained the usual assortment of items; most that he’d expect to see in any desk. He made a quick mental inventory. A box of staples, a half dozen pens, a chain of paper clips, an opened box of condoms, a pad of Post-It notes, a thick leather cord, and assorted rubber bands. Rodney pushed the drawer shut again and pulled open the drawer below the first. A stack of magazines was piled in the bottom. He fingered through them, noting each as he scanned their covers. Billboard. Time. Billboard again. He paused on the next. A gay porn magazine. Interesting work reading. Another copy of Billboard was below that. Then, he found the books.
26
The cab pulled up to the curb in front of her house. Kaitlyn just sat for a few moments, staring toward the garage. The concrete driveway was still damp with the Tuesday morning dew. She imagined for a moment that the wet patches were Brad’s blood spilt from his BMW the night he died. She shuddered at the thought and toyed with the idea of telling the cab driver to return her to the hotel. Coming home alone, maybe not such a good idea.
The cab driver cleared his throat, shaking Kaitlyn out of her brown study. She handed him two twenties over the seat. “Keep the change.”
Kaitlyn stood at the bottom of the driveway, suitcase resting on the concre
te by her feet, and drew in a deep breath. When Detective Shapiro had told her she could return to the house, her first reaction had been one of apprehension and fear. Her house, a place that had once served as a source of comfort and sanctuary, was now indelibly stained by the horror of Brad’s death. Rodney had offered to drive her home himself, but his presence would’ve only served to remind her of what had been happening. If she was going to get through this, she’d have to do it on her own. No one, not even Rodney, could be strong for her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to rise from the ashes like a Phoenix.
With her bag in hand, Kaitlyn walked up the driveway, averting her eyes from the faint blood stains on the concrete near the garage door. They’d fade over time, but until then, the brown patches would remain a reminder of her loss. She let herself into her home, dropping her bag inside the door as she crossed the threshold. With the door closed behind her, she leaned back and pressed her back against it. The house was still, the air thick. All of the blinds were drawn, leaving everything in shadows. Kaitlyn moved down the hall into the kitchen. From an overhead cabinet, she withdrew a glass and filled it with water from the refrigerator.
She drew back the curtains covering the sliding-glass doors out onto the deck. Kaitlyn gazed out over the backyard, then out to the cemetery beyond. A faint morning mist still hung low across the ground surrounding the grave markers, tombstones, and mausoleums. The gray monoliths stood like silent sentries over the dead. Normally, this view would have sent a shiver up her spine, but this morning she was numb. An indistinct dark figure stood over a distant grave, a mourner paying their respects to the lost.
The mist reminded her of the night of Jesse’s death. She had been determined to remain while the police retrieved his body from the water. It’d been well past midnight by the time they’d closed the zipper on the black plastic body bag and loaded it into the back of the county coroner’s van. The silver thermal blanket over her shoulders had ceased to keep her warm hours before. She barely registered being placed in the back of a police car and driven through the early morning Woolwich Township countryside. When she finally arrived at home the next morning, she’d spent four hours in the police station recounting the events that led up to the drowning. They believed every word she said.
Dead Air Page 14