The door swung open almost immediately. “I’m so sorry,” the man behind the door said, chewing on something. “I had no idea it was you. I was just eating my lunch.” He wiped his hand on the back of his trousers and held it out to her to shake. “I’m James Andrews. Come in, please.”
Silas cast Becca a look that seemed to say, “This is a surprise. Our suspect seems like a nice, open guy.”
Remembering her manners, Becca shook his hand and walked into his office. Silas followed after and Andrews shut the door behind them. He gestured to some chairs before walking to the other side of a small desk and sitting down himself.
The office itself was sparse, containing a small metal desk, complete with computer monitor, keyboard, and mouse, and a handful of photos hanging on the walls of the man’s son, Jamie. Two more framed pictures sat on the desk beside his monitor, and a mess of papers and invoices sat neatly stacked to his right. There was no window and, for a moment, Becca got the claustrophobic feeling of incarceration. If not for the one-way glass, she was sure Andrews would have certainly gone mad if he was forced to stay in here for any length of time.
Becca took a moment to get a good look at the used car salesman and father of Andrea’s son. He was slightly overweight, with the build of a former football player. Probably a lineman of some kind or a fullback. He had close-cropped brown hair with a receding hairline and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. Like Stu, he wore khaki pants and a Polo shirt—though James’ was blue—with his name and business logo stitched above its pocket.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, Mr. Andrews,” she said, taking the seat he gestured toward. “It looks pretty busy out there, so I’ll try not to keep you too long.”
Andrews waved the comment away. There was a half-eaten bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich and some chips laying on a paper plate in front of him, but he pushed them aside and gave her his undivided attention. “No, no. I’d like to help however I can. I’ve been so heartbroken since hearing about Andrea’s death.” He paused. “Anything you can tell me on how the investigation is going?”
“It might have gone smoother if you’d let someone know you even existed,” Silas said, his eyes narrowing at the car salesman. “It’s been over twenty-four hours since your son’s mother was found dead of suspicious circumstances. You’d think someone who genuinely cared would have reached out to us by now.”
“Silas!” Becca snapped. She was going to have to have a talk with him about his abrasive manner with their suspects. Good cop, bad cop might work in the movies, but it was poor policing in the real world. She looked over at Andrews. “I’m sorry for my partner. He’s a little on edge.”
“Oh, no apology necessary. He’s right. I should have come forward from the start.” He absently stroked at the goatee covering his chin. “But I know spouses and exes are always the first on the police’s suspect list. Given my criminal history…well, I’ll just say it, I was afraid you guys would take my son away from me.”
“Okay,” Becca said. “I can understand why you might be afraid we’d finger you for a prime suspect, but why would you think we’d go after your son? I mean, right away. That’s something that takes time. Hearings. Judges’ rulings. And that wouldn’t happen unless you actually did kill Andrea Alverez.”
“Or if it was believed you were an unfit parent,” Silas chimed in. His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hold on. Was Andrea trying to get back custody of your son?”
James’ shoulders sagged. “We’d been good for so long. Best friends. Even after we broke up, we’d always been tight. She had no problem with me having full custody of Jamie since our separation.” He straightened up a handful of pens on his desk as he spoke. “Until a couple of months ago anyway.”
“What happened a couple of months ago?” Becca asked.
“You have to understand, Andrea had given Jamie up voluntarily. She was concerned about her mental illness. She didn’t want the boy growing up around someone who could have a mood swing at the drop of a hat. Didn’t want him to see her if she had some type of schizophrenic hallucination.”
“So, she offered him over to you with the promise of supervised visitation.”
James nodded. “She’d been seeing this doctor. Dr. Emil Fruehan.”
“Yeah, we’re aware of that. He had her on some sort of special treatment or something.”
“Exactly. He’d been treating her for her disorders for a few years now. Working closely with her. During his treatment, he worked at perfecting a medication regimen. It really seemed to be doing the trick. She was getting better. Her mood swings had dwindled down to nothing. She’d stopped having auditory or visual hallucinations. She felt as though, as long as she kept taking the medicine, she would be fine to share Jamie.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Dr. Fruehan didn’t. I went to talk with him after she came to me about her desire for joint custody.” He threw up his hands. “Look, I had no problem with sharing Jamie with her. She was a good mom. She loved Jamie dearly. But I wanted to see what her doctor thought.”
“And?”
“He told me that it was too soon to tell if it was working,” Andrews said. “He said, like a lot of medicine, that Andrea could develop a tolerance for the treatment. The effects could wear off over time. He wasn’t convinced her condition would improve over the long term.”
“What did you do after he told you that?”
“I had no choice. I had to refuse her request,” he said. “It broke my heart to do it. It really did. It broke hers, too.” He gave a little shudder as if remembering something unpleasant. “You should have seen the look on her face when I told her. I’d crushed her, which crushed me. I’m telling you, I loved that woman. Not in a romantic way, mind you. But we’d been together for a long time. We shared a child together. The last thing I ever wanted was to see that look on her face.”
Silas held up a finger to interrupt them. “Mr. Andrews, I’m curious. Where is the photograph that is missing from your desk?”
The man’s eyes widened. “Huh?”
Silas pointed to the two frames beside his monitor. “Well, it’s just odd to me,” he said, looking at Becca first, then back to Andrews. “You’re kind of a neat freak. Maybe a little OCD. I mean look at those pens you just corralled. Look how neatly aligned they are.” He motioned to the papers on the left side of the desk. “And those. Not a page out of place. You’ve even folded your bag of potato chips up and sealed them with a clip. You can’t stand anything out of place, I believe.”
“Well…yeah.” James Andrews shrugged. “Lots of people are. I don’t understand.”
Silas directed their attention back to the framed pictures on his desk. “Well, they’re improperly aligned. If there had only been two photos there, you’d have them closer together. Perhaps angled differently. The gap between them gives the impression that there was another photo sitting there. Maybe one you didn’t want us to see when you saw us coming from that one-way glass behind me?” He thumbed back to the mirror.
Becca looked from the photos to Andrews.
“Is he right?”
The car salesman’s face turned several shades of red. “It’s not what you think.”
“I’m getting kind of tired of people telling me that,” Becca said. “So, what am I thinking?”
With a sigh, Andrews reached into a desk drawer and pulled out an 8x10 picture frame and held it up for both of them to see. It depicted a professionally photographed image of Andrea Alvarez, standing on the beach in a flowing white dress. Wind whipped at her hair as she appeared to stand on one foot in a ballerina’s pirouette.
“I don’t understand,” Becca said. “Why hide this from us?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t. At least, I wasn’t hiding it from you.” He carefully returned it to the top drawer of his desk. “I’ve had it out since I heard about her death. Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about her now that she’s gone, wondering if we made a horrible mistake
by breaking up.”
“Ah,” Silas said. “I see. You weren’t hiding it from us. You were hiding it from your girlfriend.”
James Andrews nodded. “I really didn’t see you guys from the window when you approached. When you knocked, I was afraid it was my girlfriend.” He gave a sad smile. “I love her, but I know she wouldn’t understand.”
Becca cleared her throat. “I understand,” Becca said. “I just have one more question for you. If you had to guess, who would be the most likely person who’d want to see Andrea dead?”
He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. Then, with the most serious face Becca had probably ever seen, he said, “Spenser Blakely. No doubt in my mind.”
23
SAND CASTLE CONDOMINIUMS
THURSDAY, 3:40 PM
Becca pulled her cruiser into the parking lot of the Sand Castle Condominiums and parked it in the same spot she’d pulled into yesterday. Officer Sharron’s car was once more parked a few spaces over, but no one was inside the vehicle.
“Strange,” Becca said as they climbed out of the patrol unit. “Tim should be here.”
“Unless he’s making one of those random rounds he told you about yesterday.”
“Good point.”
“I hate to say I told you so,” Silas said, as they started making their way for Andrea’s front door.
“Then don’t.”
“Yeah, but James Andrews seems to agree with me that Blakely is our guy.”
“True, but neither of you are cops, are you?” They turned onto the sidewalk leading directly to Andrea’s door. “There’s a little thing we need called evidence before we can start accusing people of murder.”
“Well, that’s why we’re here isn’t it? To see if there’s anything we missed that might tie Blakely to her death?”
She nodded. “Keep in mind though, until the medical examiner rules this a homicide, we’re only conducting a death investigation. Nothing more. So, technically, we’re here just to search for any medication, drugs, or poisons that CSU might have missed.” She paused. “Of course, if we happen to see anything we might have missed the last time we were here, all the better.”
“Personally, I’d like to take a closer look at those Santeria paraphernalia in Andrea’s living room,” Silas said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but after seeing Blakely’s collection, I know there was something off about her own.”
They came to the door and Becca froze, pointing to the police tape attached to the frame—or rather, the tape that was supposed to be attached. Now, the yellow and black tape hung limply against the wood, flapping occasionally in the breeze.
“Curious,” Silas said, but was cut off before he could say anything else by Becca placing a finger to her lips.
She withdrew her sidearm and flicked the safety off, then motioned for Silas to sneak around to the back of the property in case someone was still inside and decided to make a run for it out the sliding glass door. Afterwards, she pointed to herself, then held up a hand with all five fingers sticking out, closed the hand into a fist, and opened it again.
Wait for my signal before entering, she silently ordered him.
Nodding his understanding, he left her, disappearing around the corner of the building. Of course, she’d only done that to get him out of the way. Grim Reaper or not, she still wasn’t convinced that he was immortal now that he was in human form. She wasn’t sure how it all worked and wasn’t willing to take any chances. To the public, he was a civilian and she was going to treat him that way. She couldn’t have him traipsing into dangerous situations if she could help it. It was bad enough he’d been attacked by three thugs earlier that morning. Like it or not, he was her responsibility and she would do what she needed in order to keep him safe.
Once he was out of sight, Becca reached for the knob and turned it. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. Her eyes made a quick scan of the door jamb, but there were no marks of any kind. It hadn’t been jimmied, so whoever had entered had done so using a key.
The landlord had been given explicit instructions not to enter the residence. She had no idea who had keys to Andrea’s place other than him and Ceci. Then again, Andrea had been found nude on the beach. No personal effects were anywhere near her, so it’s possible the killer had taken the keys after the murder.
And where on earth is Officer Sharron?
She didn’t have time to worry about it right now. She had more pressing matters to deal with, like sweep the condo for any potential intruders still lingering around. And she had to do it quietly.
Knob still in hand, she eased the door open inch by inch, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak as she did so. Then, there was a crash from inside. The sound of glass shattering and an angry yell. Throwing caution to the wind, she burst into the house, gun ready, and ran toward the commotion. She came up short when she peeled into the living room to find Silas on the floor, holding his bleeding head, and the shattered remains of an Orisha statue crumpled on the floor around him. The sliding glass door was wide open and there was no sign of the intruder.
Geez, she thought as she looked down at Silas. That’s a lot of blood.
She crouched down, placing a hand on Silas’ shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
He groaned, still rubbing the back of his head, but managed to look up at her and nod. She stood, ran upstairs and grabbed a couple of towels from the linen closet before returning downstairs to tend to him. By the time she returned, he was seated on an ottoman in front of the reading chair and looking at the blood covering his hands.
“Here.” She handed him a towel. “Hopefully that will stem the bleeding. But head wounds bleed more than anywhere else, so we might need to take you to the urgent care clinic for some stitches.”
“Not to worry,” he said, pressing the towel to the back of his head. “Looks far worse than it is. I can feel the ectoplasm already closing the wound as we speak.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Ectoplasm or not, that still looks an awful lot like blood. You’re still going to get checked out.” She looked around the room. Besides the broken idol and the open sliding glass door, it pretty much looked the same as it did yesterday when they were there. “So, what happened?”
“Came around back, like you asked.” He winced as if he’d pressed down too hard on his injury. “I found Officer Sharron unconscious over on the side of the building.” He stopped his story and held up a hand to wave the statement away. “Don’t worry. He’s okay. Just knocked out. Anyway, I came around to the back and found the door wide open, just like it is now.”
“You came inside then? Before I gave the signal?”
“Signal? You didn’t mention a signal.”
“I most certainly did.” She pantomimed the hand signals again.
He let out another groan. “I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve never bothered to learn police sign language. My bad.”
She gave him a playful scowl.
“Anyway, yes. I let myself in and just started to look around when someone came at me from behind and slammed poor Eleggua down over my head.” He glanced around the apartment as well, though he looked dazed. Possibly had a concussion. “Next thing I know, you’re standing over me with your gun out.”
“I’ll call for a rescue unit to come check you and Tim out,” she said. “I’m assuming you didn’t get a good look at whoever attacked you?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. My eyes were too busy rolling into the back of my head.”
“Okay. Just sit tight for a second.”
Becca walked out the back door and gave a cursory examination of her unconscious officer. She checked his pulse and respiration. Everything seemed within normal parameters. She then rolled him over onto his back to ensure he got enough oxygen. As she did so, she noticed the faint trace of solvent in the air. A familiar odor. She leaned closer toward Tim’s face and the world around her began to spin. She backed off, inhaling a lungful of
fresher air, and stood over the officer a minute to collect her thoughts.
“Chloroform.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911, providing the details to the operator and returning to Andrea’s apartment. Silas was already up and searching the living room. “What are you doing?”
“Looking to see what our mystery visitor was up to.” He was still holding the towel to the back of his head.
“You should be sitting down. Resting.”
“I’m fine.” He stood in front of the antique travel chest in the corner of the room, his fingers hovering over the lid as he prepared to open it. “But so far, I haven’t found a single thing we missed yesterday, nor anything our intruder might have taken.”
“EMTs are on their way,” she told him. “I’ll go upstairs and look around. You stay down here and keep an eye out for them. Show them where Officer Sharron is once they get here.”
He nodded, swinging the chest’s lid up.
“And don’t bleed on any evidence,” she joked, before taking the stairs to start her search in the master bedroom of the two-bedroom townhome. Very little had changed in the room since the last time she was there. The king-sized bed was still neatly made and devoid of any clutter or clothes Andrea might have tossed on it prior to her death. The vanity mirror in the corner still had the same creepy writing in blood scrawled across it, though now it was dry and chipping away from the glass. There was an overturned nightstand to the left of the bed.
She opened the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and found the usual odds and ends. An adult toy, hair scrunchies, a couple of paperback romances, and a miniature version of one of the Orisha statues at the front door—she couldn’t remember which one it was—the one with the crossbow, she thought. In the center drawer, under a pile of socks, she found three pill bottles. Becca, of course, couldn’t pronounce the name of any of the medications, but she’d seen enough of them in her time to know they were psych meds of some type. She set them aside to collect later and resumed her search.
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