Last Call

by Allyson K. Abbott

  After doing the full circuit of the bedroom, I moved into the bathroom. There were plenty of synesthetic reactions here, but nothing that seemed significant. They were reactions I recognized in response to the smells, sights, and sounds, like the dripping faucet in the sink. There was a drinking glass—actually, a paper cup—next to the sink, and Brian bagged and tagged it. Amelia gathered up the soaps, shampoos, and shaving cream, and bagged and tagged those as well. Brian tackled the medicine cabinet, bagging containers of several over-the-counter medications for pain relief and allergies, as well as some generic vitamins.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to offer,” I said with an apologetic look at Roberta and Duncan, both of whom had watched and followed me around in silence. “Do you want me to look at other parts of the house?”

  “Might as well,” Roberta said. “Though I’m not sure we’ll find anything helpful.”

  “You never know,” Duncan said. “She’s pulled some pretty neat surprises out of her hat for me.”

  I felt the pressure was on to prove myself and my abilities, but given that Caroline had been in the house since Oliver’s body was found yesterday morning, I had my doubts as to how helpful I could be. Things were bound to have been moved, added, or deleted from the household between then and now. Depending on how much time had transpired, I might not be able to tell. I’d gotten lucky with the dust on the nightstand and the faint impressions in the area rug, but without those I wouldn’t have been able to detect anything missing from the room. Still, I was willing to give it a try. I let Roberta lead the way and followed her, with Duncan bringing up the tail.

  We came across Caroline and Officer Vasquez in the kitchen. “My lawyer should be here in a few minutes,” Caroline said, looking cross.

  “That’s fine,” Roberta said, sounding as if she couldn’t have cared less. “Just show her that paperwork I gave you when she gets here.” Roberta shifted her attention to Vasquez. “Would you mind escorting Mrs. Knutson into the living room so we can have a look around the kitchen?”

  Vasquez nodded and, without saying a word, he waved a hand toward the living room and gave Caroline a pointed look. Caroline rolled her eyes in annoyance and left the kitchen area in a huff, dropping onto a leather couch in the living room. She folded her arms over her chest and pouted, glaring at us the entire time.

  Roberta made her way around the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, inspecting the contents of the refrigerator, and even opening and looking inside the oven and microwave. There was a small butler’s pantry off the kitchen, and she looked in there as well.

  I dutifully followed her around like a devoted puppy dog, once again letting my synesthesia do its thing. But all the reactions I had were expected ones, reactions I recognized and knew well because they were related to common, everyday things.

  After finishing our circuit of the kitchen area, Roberta looked at me with a questioning expression. I simply shook my head, triggering a sigh from her. We moved on into the area at the end of the house opposite Oliver’s bedroom. There was a second bedroom here that had clearly been created out of several smaller rooms. Its shape was irregular, with odd little nooks, irregularly aligned moldings, and patched-in areas on the wooden floor. Based on the contents and decor, plus the fact that we knew Caroline’s bedroom was at this end of the house, it was easy to guess this was her room. Caroline’s tastes were much more in line with my own: basic furniture with simple lines, warmer colors, and a focus on comfort. The room lacked the flowery, frilly, feminine touches that had been present in Oliver’s room. It didn’t have its own bathroom, but there was a second one in the hallway just outside the bedroom door. We toured both rooms, and the techs once again collected items from the medicine cabinet and shower. Roberta informed me that they had already collected Caroline’s Ambien bottle the day before.

  There was a second floor to explore, and when we reached the base of the stairs, which were located by the front door, the doorbell rang. Caroline leaped from her seat and hurried over to see who it was. She peered through the peephole and then turned to look at us with a smug expression.

  “My lawyer is here,” she said. She flung the door open to reveal a dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her fifties. She was carrying a briefcase and dressed like a professional. “Thank goodness you’re here, Natalie,” Caroline said. “These people are digging and pawing through my house, treating me like some common criminal. You need to stop them.”

  Natalie graced us with her professional smile as she set her briefcase on the floor, removed her gloves, and extended a hand. “Natalie Sokoloff,” she said as Roberta displayed her gloved hands with an apologetic look. “Right,” Sokoloff said, withdrawing her hand. “I’m here on Caroline’s behalf as her attorney. May I ask why you’re here?”

  “We’re exercising a search warrant,” Roberta explained. “Your client has her copy.”

  Natalie turned and raised her eyebrows at Caroline. With a scowl, Caroline handed over the paperwork. Natalie unfolded it and scanned the contents. “The warrant appears to be in order,” she said eventually. She looked over at Roberta. “Have you seized anything yet?”

  “We took some stuff from both bathrooms, some medications and some personal hygiene items. And also a cup we found in Mr. Knutson’s bathroom. We collected a full mug of coffee and the contents yesterday that we found on his bedside table. And we took his CPAP machine so we could test it to make sure it was functioning properly. We haven’t had a chance to look upstairs yet. We’re headed there now.”

  Natalie nodded sagely, and then walked over and settled in beside Caroline, who had retaken her spot on the couch. “Have you been questioned at all?” Natalie asked Caroline.

  Caroline frowned, looking deep in thought, though I didn’t think deep thought was something the woman was capable of. “No, not really,” she said. “We talked some, about why they’re here.”

  “Did the detective ask you any questions?”

  Once again, Caroline frowned, and she took several seconds to answer. I guessed she was replaying a mental reel of our visit. “Detective Dillon did ask me if I wanted to reiterate my story about how I found Ollie yesterday.”

  “And did you?”

  Caroline winced. “All I did was repeat what I told her yesterday.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Don’t repeat anything, don’t say another word,” she said in a chastising tone. Then she looked over at Roberta and gave her a nod.

  Natalie’s marching orders to Caroline eliminated any chance I had of talking to the woman anymore to determine if she was lying. Duncan and I exchanged looks communicating our shared disappointment, and I knew he was probably kicking himself for not trying to talk to her right away, when we first arrived.

  Natalie and Officer Vasquez stayed with Caroline, while Roberta headed up the stairs. Officer Barrow, Amelia, Brian, Duncan, and I all followed.

  We reached a landing that was as big as the living and dining areas in my apartment. Boxes were stacked along the walls, and judging from the packing lists and labels I saw, they were supplies destined for Oliver’s party supply stores. There were boxes of Mylar balloons for various occasions, packages of streamers and confetti, disposable dishes and silverware, wrapping paper, ribbons, novelty items, and more.

  I studied the boxes, giving my synesthesia full rein, trying to determine if anything had recently been moved, added, or removed. Several times, in several different places, I got a sense of something displaced.

  “Something was removed from this spot,” I said, pointing to one of the areas. “And it was done fairly recently.”

  “Like what?” Roberta asked me.

  I shrugged and gave her an apologetic look. “I can’t tell you what it was. All I can tell is that there was something there that isn’t now. I think it was something about the size of those boxes over there.” I pointed toward some cartons stacked on the other side of the landing that were approximately two feet square. “Some of th
ese boxes have been moved around recently,” I said, pointing to two spots where my synesthesia reacted. “But I don’t think they were removed, just moved.”

  “Well, that doesn’t help us much,” Roberta said, giving Duncan a pointed look.

  “It seems odd that he would keep this stuff here in his house, doesn’t it?” I said. “I mean, I would think that if he owned a string of these stores, he would keep most of his supplies in the stores themselves, or in a warehouse somewhere.”

  Roberta conceded the point with a slight sideways tilt of her head. “I suppose,” she said, sounding unsure.

  From there, we moved on to explore the rest of the floor. There were three more bedrooms and two more bathrooms on this level, though two of the bedrooms had been converted into home offices. It wasn’t hard to tell whose was whose. One of the offices had more of the party supply boxes in it, and the furnishings were the heavy, wooden affairs one might find in an old-fashioned home library. The other office had a drafting table, a glossy black bookcase filled with graph paper, drawing pads, and an assortment of colored pencils and markers. On the drafting table was a sheet of plain white paper with various drawings on it. On one side of the paper was a detailed picture of a table covered in a lavender-colored cloth, and a chair with a white cloth cover and a lavender bow at the back. In another corner was a detailed close-up of what appeared to be a centerpiece: a simple glass vase filled with lilac cuttings and adorned with white ribbons. In the middle of the page was a sketch of a room featuring several of the drawn tables beneath a ceiling of lavender and white balloons and crystal lights. The sight of the balloons made me flash back to the Sheldon Janssen case again, and the synesthetic balloons that led me to Felicity.

  “It looks as if Caroline was the special occasion planner for the company,” I said. I looked over at Roberta. “Does she inherit the business with her husband’s death?”

  “She does,” Roberta said, giving me a smile. She shot a glance at Duncan. “Looks like you’ve trained her well. She’s already thinking motives.”

  Duncan smiled but said nothing,

  “It doesn’t take much of a genius to figure out money as a motive,” I said.

  Roberta looked over at the evidence techs, Amelia and Brian, and said, “Let’s confiscate all the computers from up here. And any tablets you may find. It might be enlightening to see what sort of things Caroline searched for on the internet.”

  While the techs bagged and tagged the various computers, Duncan, Roberta, and I moved on to finish examining the second floor. We didn’t find anything that seemed significant to anyone, and we regrouped back in the landing area amid all the boxes.

  “Anything to add?” Roberta asked me.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Are you planning on inviting Caroline down to your station for a chat?” Duncan asked.

  Roberta nodded. “Not sure we’ll get much out of her with the attorney there, but I’d like to give it a try.”

  “Then you should let Mack listen in and observe,” Duncan said. “She has a very helpful ability when it comes to listening to people. She can tell when they’re lying.”

  Roberta arched her eyebrows at me. “Really?” She sounded cynical.

  “It’s true, at least with most people,” I told her. “My synesthesia makes people’s voices either taste or look a certain way,” I explained. I was about to continue, but the confused and skeptical expression on Roberta’s face made me pause.

  “I haven’t explained your condition to Bobby,” Duncan said.

  “Condition?” Roberta repeated, sounding wary. She gave Duncan an exasperated look. “Are you telling me your secret weapon is some kind of mind reader?”

  “No, not at all,” I said. “I have a neurological condition called synesthesia. It’s a cross-wiring of my senses that makes me experience the world around me differently from you, or most other people.”

  Roberta cast a tired look at Duncan. “I thought she was some kind of Sherlock Holmes savant or something.”

  “Not exactly,” Duncan said. “It’s a little difficult to explain. It might be better if she just showed you how it works.”

  “Oookaaay,” Roberta said, her voice now rife with doubt. She folded her arms over her chest and cocked one hip to the side, a stance that told me all I needed to know about her take on things.

  Duncan looked over at me. “Do your thing,” he said.

  I sighed. This constant testing of my abilities was getting old, but I knew it was a necessary evil until I could establish myself with this and other groups of investigators.

  “I’d like you to say three things to me,” I said to Roberta. “Make them statements about yourself, or your life, things no one would know from any sort of routine search on the internet or any other resource. Have two of the statements be true and one of them a lie. I’ll tell you which one is the lie.”

  “A one-in-three chance of guessing correctly doesn’t sound all that convincing,” Roberta said.

  “Fine,” I said tiredly. “How many statements would you like to make?”

  “How about five?”

  “Five it is.”

  Roberta narrowed her eyes at me, and thought for a moment. “Okay,” she said finally. “Statement one: the first boy I ever kissed was named Bradley. Statement two: I have a heart-shaped birthmark on my left hip. Statement three: the first pet my brothers and I ever had was a cat named Tiger. Statement four: I was born in a taxi. Statement five: my kindergarten teacher’s name was Miss Terwilliger.” She arched her brows at me again and gave me a challenging look as she waited for me to respond.

  Officer Barrow, Amelia, and Brian stared at me, their attention riveted.

  “Well, your statements are a little tricky,” I began, and I watched Roberta take on an I-knew-it expression. “At least one of them was,” I amended. “Your third statement, the one about the cat . . . that’s the one that isn’t true, although I suspect you had a pet named Tiger, either it wasn’t your first pet or it wasn’t a cat.

  Roberta’s expression rapidly morphed from smug satisfaction to one of surprise. Amelia and Brian stared at her expectantly. “Our first pet was named Tiger,” Roberta said. “But you’re right; it wasn’t a cat. It was a fish.”

  Amelia muttered, “Wow,” under her breath, and Brian gaped at me.

  “Okay,” Roberta said, finally letting her arms loose to hang at her sides. “You’ve convinced me. So, shall we head on down to the station?”

  “Lead the way,” Duncan said.

  As we all fell into step behind Roberta, Duncan and I brought up the rear.

  “Way to go, Mack,” Duncan whispered in my ear, his voice tasting of sweet milk chocolate.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Chapter 17

  The police station where Roberta worked was on the far north side of town. It bore similarities to Duncan’s, but the interview rooms were quite different. At Duncan’s station there were rooms surrounding a central observation area where one could both watch and listen to what was going on. At Roberta’s station, each room—much smaller rooms than the others I’d seen—had a camera and audio feed that could be observed from a computer located virtually anywhere in the station.

  Caroline and her attorney, Natalie Sokoloff, were directed to one of the tiny interview rooms, which contained a small, square table and four chairs. They were left alone until the feed from the room could be set up. Roberta directed Duncan and me to what appeared to be a break room and sat us at a table with a laptop. A technician accompanied us, and once he had the visual set up, Roberta left us and went into the interview room. She looked up at the camera and gave our technician, a man named Gregory, a thumbs-up signal; with a couple of taps on the keys, we also had audio.

  “I don’t know if my synesthesia will work like this,” I told Duncan, soliciting a curious, sidelong glance from Gregory. “It may be too distant, too mechanical.”

  He nodded, looking thoughtful. “Let’s give it a try and s
ee what happens,” he said. “If it doesn’t work, perhaps Bobby can arrange for something a little more up close and personal.”

  I settled into a chair, and Gregory turned the laptop toward us. “The entire interview will be automatically recorded,” he told us. “Please don’t touch the laptop, particularly the keyboard.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Roberta began by stating the date, time, the relevant case, and the person being interviewed, with a mention that the attorney of record with Caroline was Natalie Sokoloff. After that, she read Caroline her rights and asked her if she understood them.

  “We do,” Natalie said. “I’d like it noted for the record that I have advised my client not to partake in this interview, but she has decided to do so anyway, against my objections.”

  “So noted,” Roberta said.

  Natalie turned to Caroline and said, “I want to give you one more chance to rethink this.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Caroline said. She sounded convincing, but I couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or not because the wavy, yellow line did not appear.

  “I’m not getting anything,” I told Duncan.

  “Very well,” Natalie said, looking both annoyed and resigned.

  Duncan scowled.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Caroline said to Natalie, “but the sooner we can get this silly business resolved, the better.”

  “Wait,” I said to Duncan, feeling a trill of excitement. “I can see it now. For whatever reason, it wasn’t there at first, but now it is.”

  Gregory studied me, eyes narrowed, the back of his hand rubbing over his bearded chin. I wondered what he was thinking.

  “Okay, then,” Roberta said. “Let’s begin with yesterday morning, when you found your husband. Tell me again everything that happened.”

  I realized I could taste Roberta’s voice and relaxed, determined to focus. It was working.