“Of course. I'll go by the office on my way home and send them to you. All our records are electronic.”
“Where were you last night between eight p.m. and midnight?” Marky Mark asked.
Eric scoffed. “I already told you, I was at home. In bed. Asleep.”
“Actually, I only asked you earlier where you were between ten p.m. and two a.m. Did you leave your apartment at all last night?”
“No.”
“Well, that'll be all. Thanks for coming down, and we'll need those medical records as soon as you can get them to us,” Stephenson said as he and his partner stood up from the interview table.
They pushed in their chairs and moved toward the door.
“Oh, and just one more thing,” Stephenson said, turning around to face him. “We haven't been able to locate the cell phone of your front office assistant, Daisy. Are you aware of her leaving it at the office or have any idea where we might find it?”
“No.”
“All right. We may need to search your practice if we don't find it soon.”
Eric nodded and followed them to the door. “Have you arrested Daisy's boyfriend yet?” he asked as Stephenson held the door open for him to exit first.
“No. But don't worry, we'll make sure her killer doesn't get away with it.”
Then he remembered the question he had planned but had forgotten to ask. “How did Patricia and her husband die?”
“They both died by asphyxiation due to strangulation.”
“Could it have been a murder-suicide?” Eric asked.
“We haven't ruled out that possibility.” Stephenson answered.
“Strange that two people you know are murdered on the same night, in the same way, at almost the same time. Almost seems like too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence,” Marky Mark said.
Eric decided in that moment that Blondie was his favorite of the two. “I hope you're not insinuating that I killed anyone. You know, sometimes coincidences are just that. Coincidences.” Like Daisy's boyfriend killing her the same night he killed Patricia. How he hated him.
“You okay to walk yourself out?” Blondie asked.
“Sure.” You good-for-nothing cops.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Adams took a sip from his cold coffee when they got back to their desks.
“I can't believe you volunteered us for the Martin Watts case after we just got the girl in the park. Now we'll definitely be working all weekend.”
“Their deaths could all be related. You don't think it's strange that three people who all know Dr. Leroy die by strangulation on the same night?” Stephenson asked, annoyed his partner cared more about being home on the weekend than solving their case.
“Stranger things have happened. The guy's a psychiatrist. I'm sure she's not the first of his patients to die of unnatural causes. I just don't like the idea of taking on an extra caseload when we don't even know if they're connected. The husband and wife are probably going to be ruled a murder-suicide by the ME anyway. And the media is going to go crazy when they learn a famous romance writer offed his wife before hanging himself.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Not officially, but I’ll be shocked if that’s not what happened. Plus, the girl was killed by manual strangulation on the other side of town from where the husband and wife were strangled using a necktie and an electrical cord from a curling iron.”
Stephenson normally got along fine with Adams, but after catching Serena cheating on him that morning, his partner was getting under his skin. He looked down at the framed picture on his desk of his late partner, Detective Christina Rodriguez. She had been only thirty-three when she was murdered. There wasn't a day that went by he didn't think about her; sometimes he still couldn't believe she was gone.
“The ME isn't going to be able to explain why their back-door lock had been picked. And Pete thought Martin's ligature marks were more suggestive of homicide than suicide when we were at the house. If he'd hanged himself, the ligature line would've moved upward on the back of his neck. And the ligature marks were straight all the way around. My gut says it'll be ruled a double homicide, or at least undetermined pending our investigation.
There is no way that chandelier would've held the weight of a man that size long enough for him to suffocate. It would've been practically impossible to even ensure the curling iron would catch on the light fixture anyway. He would've had to jump off the railing at the top of the stairs. I don't see how he could've done it.”
“Well, I guess we'll just have to wait for the autopsy results. At this point though, it looks like Dwayne killed Daisy.”
Stephenson couldn't disagree. Since Daisy's body had been outside on a near-freezing January night, determining her time of death at the crime scene had been difficult for the ME. For now, they were relying largely on other environmental factors to pin down the precise time of her death. A light snow covered the top of her body when the jogger had found her that morning. When the medical examiner checked underneath her body at the scene, it was dry. The snow had started around midnight the night before, so they were working with an approximate time of death between ten p.m. and midnight.
Daisy had bruising on her left temple. It looked consistent with her being punched in the side of her face, as Dwayne had admitted. She’d also sustained bruising to both of her arms, probably from being restrained by her killer while he strangled her. Both these injuries helped explain her lack of defensive wounds.
Stephenson and Adams had found ten empty beer bottles scattered around the main living area of Dwayne and Daisy’s apartment, which matched Dwayne’s story that they’d been drinking.
Dwayne gave them the names of the two friends that let him stay the night but told them they'd left early that morning on a week-long snowboarding trip to Canada. Being out of the country, they didn't have cell service, leaving no one to confirm his alibi. Dwayne stated he hadn't returned to his and Daisy's apartment until that morning. Both Dwayne and Daisy's cars had been parked outside their residence when the detectives visited him earlier that day.
Dwayne had willingly answered all their questions and gave them permission to search his car. CSI was processing it now along with Daisy's.
Stephenson wasn't ready to admit that his partner may be right, but it was shaping up to look like there was no connection between Daisy's death and Martin and Patricia's. Although, there was something not right about Patricia and Martin's deaths. It was a bizarre scene, and Stephenson didn't buy the murder-suicide theory. Why would the husband leave the front door unlocked and pick the lock on the back door only to hang himself? It made more sense to Stephenson that he'd come home and walked in on his wife's killer.
When Stephenson learned earlier that day that Patricia was a patient of Daisy's boss, he'd insisted they take the case. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but Dr. Leroy had given him a bad feeling. And to have three people he knew all strangled on the same night seemed like more than a coincidence.
The doctor had looked genuinely shocked when they informed him of his front office assistant’s death, but his reaction to the deaths of Martin and Patricia had felt rehearsed to Stephenson. Adams hadn't seemed to notice.
“They were an odd couple, you know?” Adams mused. “Daisy was a beautiful girl from a seemingly normal family. What was she doing with an overweight sleazeball who probably liked to beat on her?”
Stephenson let his question linger in the air while he continued going through Dwayne's cell phone records. His gaze drifted to the sleeves of his navy sweater that Serena had bought him for Christmas. He wished he would've worn something different. He didn't need the sweater serving as a constant reminder of her. The wool was beginning to feel like sandpaper against his skin. He tugged at the neckline and tried to focus on the stack of papers in front of him.
Adams studied his partner from across their desks. “You seem agitated today.”
Stephenson shot Adams a look of annoyance before g
oing back to looking through Dwayne's phone records. “I'm not.”
“You piss off your girlfriend or something?”
Stephenson ignored the question.
Adams let out a snort. “All right, whatever you say.”
“Dwayne made several calls to Daisy's cell after she died. Makes me wonder if he didn't know she was dead.”
“He could've done that just to try and look innocent. Or maybe he was calling it to try and find it. That could be why we haven't been able to locate it,” Adams said.
“Maybe. Two of the calls did ping a cell tower in vicinity of Discovery Park just before midnight, which places him at the scene of where Daisy's body was dumped but could also confirm his story about driving around the city for an hour before crashing with friends.”
“I doubt his story is true.”
“Found anything yet on the traffic camera footage in that area?”
“Not yet. I'm still looking.”
Stephenson's desk phone rang.
“Stephenson.”
“Hey, we've finished processing the cars of both your victim and her boyfriend.”
Stephenson recognized Matt's voice from CSI.
“I've sent you an email with our preliminary report. We found Dwayne's fingerprints inside Daisy's car on both the driver and passenger side. His prints were also on both front doors. No prints inside the trunk and no blood anywhere. Daisy's fingerprints were all over the inside of Dwayne's car. We also found a few strands of hair that look to be a likely match to hers in the front and backseat. Nothing inside the trunk. And no blood.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
“No problem.”
Stephenson hung up and briefed Adams on what Matt had said. Afterwards, Adams went back to looking through the traffic cam footage.
“Looks like you're no longer the only rookie on the squad,” he said a few minutes later.
Stephenson turned to see an attractive, blonde woman in her mid-twenties being shown her desk across the room by another detective.
“I'd like to be her partner,” Adams said.
“Thank you.”
“No offense.”
“None taken,” Stephenson went back to looking through the phone records.
“I'm gonna ask her out.”
Stephenson looked up to see if Adams was serious. It appeared he was. Adams looked back at him with a straight face. Stephenson didn't know how to respond. Adams was a great detective, but when it came to women, he was a total screwball. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to Adams that the beautiful, young detective might not be interested in an overly-muscled, forty-something divorcee such as himself.
“I don't think that's such a good idea. Plus, she just got here. You don't even know her.”
Stephenson watched Adams check out the new detective as her partner showed her around the Homicide Unit.
“I'll give it a few days first.”
Stephenson rolled his eyes.
Detective Suarez came over to their desk to introduce them to his new partner.
“Stephenson, Adams, this is Detective Tess Richards.” He motioned toward the blonde rookie at his side. “She's just joined the squad.”
Adams leapt from his chair and shook her hand. Stephenson subtly shook his head when he saw Adams lay his left hand on top of hers, sandwiching her hand between both of his during the handshake.
“Great to meet you. It's about time we had another female on the squad,” Adams said, finally letting go of her hand.
Only so you can hit on her, Stephenson thought.
“Thanks,” she said. She pulled her hand back to her side as he let go.
Stephenson stayed seated. “Welcome to the squad,” he said with a friendly smile.
She returned his smile. “It's great to be here.”
The two detectives stepped away from their desk as Suarez continued showing her around.
“I think she likes me,” Adams said after they walked away.
“You're an idiot.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eric got a call from the homicide detectives later that afternoon. They hadn't found Daisy's phone and wanted to search his office building. They said they'd get a warrant if they needed to but asked if he’d instead drive over and let them in. Eric obliged. He didn't have anything to hide. At least, not at his practice and not about Daisy.
He hung around while they searched his entire medical suite. They started with his office, and Eric followed them inside while they searched. He took a seat in the chair normally reserved for his patients, hoping to make them uncomfortable enough to hurry up. Not that he had to worry what they would find; there was no way they could know he altered Patricia's medical records. He just didn't like them going through his stuff.
“It's not here,” Marky Mark said after rifling through every drawer of his desk.
“I could've told you that,” Eric said before following them out into the hall.
Eric reclined in the waiting room while they went through the front desk area where Daisy spent most of her time. He longed to see her again, sitting behind the desk, too bubbly and bright for a psychiatry practice. An hour later, he wished he’d brought his laptop to work on his book. Although, everything in the office reminded him of Daisy and he probably wouldn't have been able to concentrate anyway.
Soon after that, the two of Seattle's finest announced they were done with their search.
“Did you find it?” Eric asked.
“No,” Blondie said. “Thanks for letting us in.”
“No problem. If there's anything else I can do to help, let me know.”
“We will,” Marky Mark said with a flat expression.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stephenson pulled into the darkened driveway of his Northgate townhouse late Saturday night. He killed the engine but didn't get out of the car. Daisy's preliminary autopsy results had come back just before he'd left the precinct. The bruising on her left temple was consistent with her being punched in the head, as Dwayne had said in his interview. Pete believed the contusions on both her arms were caused from her killer restraining her during her strangulation. He guessed the killer straddled her, using a knee on each of her arms to hold her down. They'd have to wait and see if any DNA could be obtained from under her fingernails, but, without any defensive wounds, it seemed unlikely.
Her boyfriend was still their prime suspect in her death. Adams had found Dwayne's car on a traffic camera less than a mile away from Discovery Park around ten thirty the night before. The park was a twenty-minute drive away from downtown where he said he’d driven around. It was also in the opposite direction from West Seattle where Dwayne claimed to have spent the night. It didn’t make sense for him to have gone there apart from dumping his girlfriend’s body. They were close to being able to arrest him, but they needed a little more evidence.
Pete wouldn't have the preliminary autopsy results back for them on Patricia and Martin until tomorrow morning. With not much more they could do that night, he and Adams had called it a day nearly sixteen hours after they'd arrived at Daisy's crime scene.
He reached into his pocket for his phone and was surprised when his fingers rubbed against the smooth leather case that housed Serena's ring. In his rush to get to the crime scene that morning, he'd forgotten to take it out of his coat.
He pulled the small jewelry box out of his pocket and opened it. He wanted to get her something unique, so he'd gotten the ring specially designed. He'd made sure there wasn't another one exactly like it.
After taking the emerald-cut diamond ring out of its case, he held it up. The diamond gleamed in the faint light coming from his neighbor's front porch. He placed the ring back in the box before slipping it back into his pocket.
He took out his phone and tapped on her photo that was still on his home screen. A shortcut came up with an option to Call Mobile. His finger hovered over the screen as he struggled against the desire to call her. Where is your pride? he thought before finally shovi
ng his phone back inside his coat. He wiped away the tear that managed to escape down his cheek before he got out of his car and went inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stephenson pressed his palm against the cool tile of his shower wall while he closed his eyes and let the hot water beat against his face. He pictured Serena from yesterday morning wearing nothing but a towel with her hair dripping wet, standing next to her newfound love. Or whatever. Maybe he'd just been replaced by some casual fling.
He forced the image out of his mind and tried to focus on his new case. He heard his phone ring over the sound of the water and turned off the nozzle before stepping out of the shower. He grabbed his towel off the wall and quickly dried his hands before picking his phone up from the bathroom counter.
“Hey, Pete.”
“Morning. I just wanted to let you know I've sent over the preliminary autopsy results for Martin and Patricia.”
“Great. I'll have a look now.” Stephenson wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom. He placed Pete on speaker and set the phone on his bed while he logged onto his work laptop. “What's the manner of death?”
“For Patricia, homicide, as we'd already surmised. She suffered a nonfatal injury to her forehead prior to death when she collided with the bathroom mirror. The injury was significant enough that she would've been shoved with significant force against the mirror. She also has scratch marks around the ligature mark on the front of her neck and what looks to be her own tissue present under her fingernails. We'll have to wait for the DNA testing to be sure it's only her tissue and not her attacker's. And you know, these defensive wounds would be consistent with her trying to free herself from the necktie when she was strangled. At the scene, you saw the ligature mark around her neck was straight. The lack of blood pooling above the ligature mark and the way her body was found are also inconsistent with hanging.”
Inspired by Murder Page 7