“Not a lot.” Relieved, I sit in one of her visitors’ chairs, open my computer, and give her an update on what I’ve found. “Marnie Phillips seems nice and normal: too nice and normal. Her husband has been in some small stuff but nothing violent.”
Fishner knits her eyebrows and nods slowly. “Okay, go talk to them. Keep me posted.”
“Ten-four,” I reply, standing.
Goran and I gather our gear then go down to the car. On the way there, he keeps telling me to slow down. “You’re going to get us killed, and then we’ll never know who our perp is. They’re probably at work, anyway.”
“It’s spring break. I’m hoping that means she’s home. And I’m only going ninety-two.” I guide the Charger onto the off-ramp and slow down.
“Make a left on Second Street,” Goran says, looking at his phone.
We pull up in front of their house about five minutes later. No one answers the door, so we take a quick tour around the yard and garage. Everything is locked, including a shed that’s secured with a padlock.
“Can I help you?” an old man calls from the front porch next door.
I wave and flash him a big, warm smile. “Hi, I’m Detective Elizabeth Boyle. My partner and I are just here to ask a couple of questions.”
He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not Cuyahoga Falls. I know our police.”
I nod and walk over to him. “That’s true. We’re here from Cleveland. This is totally routine. Do you know where they are? Or when they’ll be back?”
“Nope.” He eyes me with suspicion. “You got some ID?”
“Of course, sure.” I show him my badge and police ID. “Like I said, this is routine.”
He squints at my shield before handing it back to me. “Yeah, they should be home tonight, maybe tomorrow. I don’t know where they went, but they asked me to keep an eye on the place.”
“You usually watch their house for them?”
“No. They said something about some freak they know trying to get in. I dunno. They always have scumbags over there.”
I hand him one of my cards. “Here’s my information. Would you mind giving me a call when they get back?”
“Yeah, soon as I see them.”
Goran steps in. “Do us a favor and don’t let them know we were here, okay?”
The man nods. “Are they in trouble?”
“No, we just have a few questions,” my partner replies, and the man nods.
I thank the man, and Goran and I get back in the car.
“So where we going next?” Goran asks.
“The Flats.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Why there?”
“I want to talk to Anthony again,” I say. “I have a picture of Marnie Phillips now.”
“What the hell, Boyle.” He shakes his head.
“Shit, we’re out of gas.” I cut across traffic and pull into a gas station.
Goran unfastens his seat belt and starts to open the door. “You want anything?”
“Bottle of water. Thanks.” I step out of the car and slide my card into the slot on the gas pump. Just as I’m starting to pump the gas, my phone rings with an unknown number calling. I glance at the sign that tells me not to use my cell phone, that I might go up in flames as a result. “Boyle.”
A disembodied woman’s voice, one of those that sounds like the computer that answers the phone at credit card companies, says, “Either we shall find what it is we are seeking, or at least we shall free ourselves from the persuasion that we know what we do not know.” Then the line goes dead.
“Hello?” I say. When I get no response, I jam my phone back into my pocket. “What the fuck.” I yank my notebook out and write down the message as Goran is returning with a Diet Coke and my water.
“Why the face?” he asks across the car. He slides my water across the roof.
“Thanks. Phone call.”
“Ha-ha. Who, Fishner?” He opens his door. “I just talked to her. Maybe she called you because she knows you won’t listen to me.”
I roll my eyes. “Prank call.” But it wasn’t. At least, it’s unlikely that I would get two weird calls in as many days.
“Another one, huh?”
I shoot him a look. He shrugs and gets in the car. I finish topping off the tank. I need to find out who is sending me these messages. And why. After hanging up the nozzle, I twist the gas cap until it clicks three times, then I climb behind the wheel.
He waves his phone at me. “Fishner wants me to check on Miller. And she wants you back at your desk. She said you need to fill her in on why you were first on the Cox scene and talk to her about, quote, ‘strategies for cooperating with Cleveland Heights.’” He clears his throat. “Drop me at MetroHealth.”
Chapter Twenty
Early the next day, Friday morning, I get a call from the Phillips’ neighbor. I call Goran and tell him we need to head back to the couple’s house.
“I’ll meet you at the station in half an hour,” he replies.
Goran decides that he’s going to drive today, so I gaze out the window on the way to Cuyahoga Falls. “You’re driving like an old man,” I mutter at some point.
“Safety first.”
We pull up in front of the Phillips’ house and get out of the car. The neighbor catches us on the street, looking wide-eyed and excited. “There was a big screaming fight last night, and Craig drove off. He hasn’t been back yet.”
Good, we can talk to Marnie alone. “Did you hear what the fight was about?”
He shakes his head. “No. And it’s not a rare thing. They’re at it all the time. Last night was loud, though.” There’s laughter from across the way, where three kids are playing in a neighbor’s front yard.
“Thanks for your cooperation, sir. We really appreciate it,” Goran replies as I start to walk toward the Phillips’ front door. Goran joins me as the neighbor goes back into his house.
We knock on the door, and Marnie opens it.
“We’re here from the Cleveland Department of Police,” Goran explains. “I’m Detective Goran, and this is Detective Boyle.” We show her our badges.
She sighs. “What do you want?”
“We just have a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“Can we come in?” Goran asks. “It shouldn’t take long. Just a couple of questions.”
“I guess.” She eyes me then turns back to Goran. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Her eyes are red, and those dark circles under them are pretty severe, given that she’s only twenty-four.
“Sure,” Goran replies.
She gestures for us to come inside.
“Is your husband home?” I ask.
“No.” She leads us to the small kitchen, where she opens a cabinet and removes three mugs. “Cream or sugar?” She keeps addressing Goran, while avoiding looking at me.
“Cream and sugar would be great, thanks,” Goran replies.
“Any idea where Craig might be?” I try to catch her eye, but it doesn’t work.
She turns to face the coffeepot. “It’s spring break, so the buses aren’t running. He’s a repairman. That’s why I’m not at work today, too. I’m a teacher. I figured this was about something he’ll probably say he didn’t do.” She sighs. “He’s probably hanging out with his scummy friends down at Billiards Town. It’s in North Akron. Want me to call him?”
The clock on the microwave says it’s 8:32, which I confirm against my watch. “It’s a little early for pool, don’t you think?”
She doesn’t respond. She seems nervous and maybe angry. I can see the tension in her neck and shoulders, and I recognize it. I’m starting to think she knows exactly where her husband is but doesn’t want to tell us that it’s somewhere other than Billiards Town.
“Ms. Phillips, we stopp
ed by yesterday, too, but no one was home. Where’d you go?” I ask in my witness voice. “Just getting out of town for a few days?”
She turns and faces me but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah, we went down to Columbus to see a friend. She just had a baby.”
“And you got back late last night?” I ask.
She nods.
“Did you go anywhere else last night?”
She stares at the floor for a beat before turning to pour the coffee. “No, I was at home.” She sets the mugs down on the kitchen table.
It hits me that she looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. “Did anything happen when you got home?”
“Craig acted like a prick, and I went off on him. Just another Thursday night.” She sits down and takes a sip of her coffee.
“What can you tell us about Sean Miller?” Goran asks.
She sets down her mug and talks to the table. “He’s my brother. He tried to kill himself. I got a phone call.” She has a look of practiced stoicism, but I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“So you were here all last night, once you got home?”
She lets out a breath. “I just told you I was here.”
So she has no real alibi for Allie Cox. “Where were you last Thursday night, into Friday morning?”
She looks as though she’s trying to remember. “Here on Thursday. I probably went to bed early. I don’t remember. Friday, I came home from work and waited for Craig so we could go to Columbus. He was out late, though, so we didn’t leave until Saturday morning.”
And her alibi for Kevin Whittle is shaky. “Out where?”
“I don’t know. With his friends. Guy time or something. Look, what is this about? What did he do now?”
“Tell me about Sean’s garage,” I say as I sit in the chair next to her.
“I don’t know anything about Sean’s garage. Seriously. What do you think Craig did?”
“You have keys to the garage.”
“I have those keys because I’ve fed his dog a couple of times when he’s out of town. But I don’t get involved in Sean’s life anymore, because… because I thought that staying out of his business and trying to keep him and Craig separated would stop this from happening.”
“What’s this? What do you think is happening?”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “This. Fucking cops in my house, asking questions.”
“What kinds of things is Sean involved with that upset you?” I ask. “I have a little brother, too, Marnie. I know how it can be. Does he hang out with bad people? I get it. So does mine. He makes even the simplest thing into a huge pain in the ass, too. And the thing is, he’s not as stupid as he looks. I always have a hard time with that.”
She finally looks at me. “Sean hangs out with fucking lowlifes. He makes a living slinging shit food at CSU and dealing drugs. All he does is party. I tried to help him, I really did.” She looks down at the table again.
“Does Sean come over a lot?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. I told them they had to stop partying here.”
“Who is they?”
“Sean and Craig,” she replies. “I already said I was trying to keep them separated. They’re bad news together.”
“What kind of partying?” Goran asks. “Like drug parties?”
“I said that I didn’t get involved with that, and I don’t know. I don’t know what kind of parties. I’m a fucking teacher. Do you think I want to end up in prison?”
“Is your husband really at Billiards Town now?” Goran asks. “We could catch up with him there, if that’s more convenient.”
“No. I don’t know where he is.”
“Would you mind if I use your restroom?” I ask.
She waves toward the doorway. “It’s down the hall.”
The bathroom is tiny and squeaky clean, and seemingly normal, even if they do have one of those fuzzy toilet lid covers. There’s another half-empty bottle of Vicodin in the medicine cabinet with Marnie Phillips’s name on it. I flush the toilet for cover then go back out in the hallway and check the bookshelf. On the top shelf is a picture of Marnie at about thirteen, with her arm slung around a redheaded little boy. They’re standing outside a house that looks vaguely familiar, but the address isn’t visible. The middle shelves contain mostly fiction and some memoirs, along with a couple of pictures from the Phillips’ wedding. The bottom shelf holds a row of used college books. Some philosophy books, including The Complete Plato, are right in the middle, next to something about assessment in elementary education. I bend down and squint at the Plato, trying to see if the dust layer on top matches the other books, and wondering if Marnie is the one leaving messages for me. I suppose it could be Craig.
As I return to the kitchen, Goran’s running names by her.
“Allie Cox?” he asks.
“Never heard that name.”
“Elaine Whittle?”
She shakes her head.
“Kevin Whittle?”
“Nope. I swear that I have no idea about anything, other than my brother being in intensive care and that my husband is out doing whatever it is that he does.”
Goran nods and stands. “Thanks for your time.”
I pass her one of my cards. “Marnie, do us a favor and don’t go anywhere, okay? No more trips to Columbus until we can talk to you again. You don’t want this to look bad for you.”
She looks directly at me. “Okay, Detective Boyle.”
When we get back to the car, Goran gets on the phone with Fishner and tells her that we’re going to look for Craig. While he’s talking, I notice something stuck under the windshield wiper. I get a little wigged out when I see that it’s a business card. I lean out the door and reach around the edge of the windshield to snatch it. It’s one of my business cards from when I was on patrol: Officer Elizabeth Boyle, Badge #1761. I remember thinking it was pretty great to have business cards.
“What is that?” Goran asks as he slides his phone into his pocket.
“I wish I knew.” My stomach drops. What is that feeling? It’s dread. I have something to do with this. The feeling snakes up like a thin line from the bottom of me. It works its way to the top of my head, and when it gets there, I finally turn the card over.
Written in the same block lettering that was on the back of Arya’s card is another message: “It is important that the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuous thought.”
I raise my head and scan the street for suspicious people. I don’t see anyone. Even the kids are gone. I pass him the card. “I guess Marnie Phillips isn’t the one leaving messages for me.”
“Wow. Liz, this isn’t good. We were only in there for half an hour.” He looks around in the same way I did. “I’ll go ask the neighbor if he saw anything.” He gets out and goes to the neighbor’s door.
While he’s gone, I let my head fall back and close my eyes. I really don’t need this crap right now.
The driver’s side door opens, and Goran slides back behind the wheel. “Nobody saw a thing.” He studies my face. “Are you all right? You look weird and pale.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”
A prickly feeling needles me all the way back to Cleveland. Who is sending me these messages? And why? If someone has information on the Whittle case, why be so cryptic about it? And if the notes aren’t supposed to help me but just supposed to taunt me… Is Kevin and Allie’s killer behind them?
Chapter Twenty-One
When we get back to the station, I tell Goran I need to leave for a few minutes. “I forgot to feed the cat this morning,” I offer as my lame excuse.
I can tell he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press me on it, either. We exit the car, and I go around to get into the driver’s seat.
He leans into the open window. “What
do you want me to tell Fishner?”
“I don’t care. I’m just gonna run home, feed him, and then I’ll be back.” I make my best blank cop face at him.
He sighs. “Okay, Liz. Whatever you say.”
“Thanks. Bye.” I put the car into drive and pull away.
A bell is ringing in my head. Marnie seems so familiar, but I can’t figure out a connection to the case beyond the possibility that I crossed paths with her at some point while I was on patrol. But when? I run through a list of possibilities, given her age and the fact that she’s lived in the Falls for almost ten years now. She would likely have been a juvenile, and those cases aren’t usually easy to forget.
I text Becker: I need juvie records on Sean Miller, Marnie Miller, and Craig Phillips ASAP. She has access that I don’t.
Once home, I dead bolt the front door then go into my bedroom. In the closet, next to my gun safe, I have six large plastic totes that contain all my duty notebooks from day one as a rookie to, roughly, last week. Not even Shue knows about them. Everyone would think it was crazy to keep notebooks like this. Actually, I kind of thought it was, too. Until now.
I mash my dress blues against the closet wall then shove a duffel bag and an old pair of boots off the top of the totes before sliding them out into the middle of the floor. The patrol notebooks are on the bottom. Apparently, I take a lot of notes. See, Shue? I told you.
I close my eyes and try to place the memory, which is starting to flicker in my brain. I was working the 513 out in the fifth district, driving a radio car with Dwayne Arya in the passenger seat. The location and partner put it early in my career.
The call came while we were getting a cup of coffee at a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner of Shaw and East 113th, our usual coffee spot. I’d been pissed that they were out of heavy cream for my coffee, as usual.
It was dark. I was on midnights, so it was definitely my first or second year on the job. The dispatcher advised… something. Two units needed for a nine-one-one at a house, located at… Shit, Boyle, keep remembering.
I can see the house in my head, almost out in East Cleveland. It was a big brick house with a huge front porch and a gravel driveway. Some kids’ toys littered the front lawn, which was blanketed with snow. Christmas lights decorated the border of the porch.
The Flats Page 24