Cold Justice (8 page)

“I came home after work today, maybe around five thirty or
so. My wife was lying there... not moving.” He motioned toward the stuffed
armchair and continued. “I tried to revive her, but she was... already gone. I
called 9-1-1 immediately, but she... it was too late.”

“How did it happen?” Annie asked.

Philip looked at the stand by the chair. “There was a bottle
of alcohol on the table. Half full. And her bottle of pills was there too.
Almost empty. It appears she had been drinking, and took an overdose of pills.”
He looked back at Annie and shook his head. “But she would never do that.”

Annie reached into her handbag for her notepad and pen. She
flipped it open and asked, “What pills was she taking?”

“Lorazepam.”

She wrote in her notepad. “What kind of alcohol was it?”

“Vodka. But the police took it. They took the pills as well.”

“Was there a note of any kind?”

“No.” Philip shook his head.

“Had you talked to your wife today, at any time before that?”
Jake asked.

“I talked to her this morning. She appeared fine and in a much
better mood than she was in the last couple of days.”

Annie consulted her notes and frowned. “You mentioned before
that she would occasionally go out for a drink. A place called Eddie’s. Did she
drink at home as well?”

“I have never known her to. And the last time she went to
Eddie’s was on Sunday night. The night she saw the murder.”

“When was the last time she had been to see her
psychiatrist...” She flipped through her notes. “Dr. Hoffman?”

“I believe the last time she saw him was last Friday afternoon.
She may have had an appointment today as well, but I don’t know if she went.
Perhaps she did. I was unable to reach her by phone this afternoon.”

“Did she keep a schedule here anywhere?” Jake asked.

“I believe so,” Philip said as he stood up. He went into the
adjoining office and returned in a moment with a calendar. He was studying it. “She
had an appointment today at one o’clock. She may have gone.”

“We’ll check with Dr. Hoffman,” Annie said. “At this point,
we don’t know the time of death, but after we know that, and then talk to Dr.
Hoffman, we may be able to piece together her day.”

“Please find who did this.”

“We’ll make it our top priority,” Annie said.

“We’ll get the police report as soon as possible,” Jake
said. “And that will help us. We will approach this with the assumption this
was... not of her own doing. We’ll get him.”

Annie looked at Jake and back at Philip. “We can’t actually
promise we will succeed, only that we will do our absolute best.”

Philip nodded.

Annie stood and went over to the small table beside the
chair where Abigail had been found. There wasn’t much to see. Everything had
been removed by the investigators, leaving only a dusting of fingerprint powder
behind.

“Do you mind if I look around a bit?” she asked Philip.

Philip made a sweeping motion. “Please do.”

Annie wandered into the kitchen, trying to get a feel for
things. The kitchen was tidy. Better than it was last time they were here. Had
Philip been cleaning up? Or was Abigail feeling more up to doing it herself?
She checked the door leading from the kitchen to the back yard. As well as the
regular keyed lock, it had a sliding deadbolt on it, fastened securely from the
inside.

She noticed a handbag on the end of the counter. Had the
police missed that? She opened it up and dumped its contents on the kitchen
table. A pair of sunglasses, a wallet, some lipstick and a small compact. Not
much else. A cash register receipt. She looked at it. It was for a bottle of
vodka, purchased that morning. The timestamp on the receipt said 10:23. She
stuffed it between the pages of her notepad and continued looking.

There was a pot of brewed coffee in the coffeemaker. She
examined it closely, frowning. There seems to be two cups used. She looked in
the sink. No cups there.

She went back to the living room and stood in the doorway. “Philip,
did Abigail drink coffee?”

“She would have the occasional cup. Maybe every couple of
days or so.”

“And you?”

“I would drink coffee here in the morning before work, but
lately I have been stopping at a coffee shop on the way to work.” He smiled. “I
drink too much coffee.”

Annie thought a moment and then said, “There’s a pot of
coffee in the kitchen. Did you make that?”

“No, I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since I got
home, about an hour ago.”

Annie nodded. “Is there anything else you can think of that
may help us?”

“Actually, yes. Abby always puts the chain on the door when
she’s here alone. But today when I came home, it wasn’t on. It was locked, but
no chain.”

Annie made a note in her pad. She twiddled with the pen a
moment and then asked, “Philip, what was your wife wearing when you came home?”

“She was wearing her housecoat.”

Annie made another note and paced the living room floor,
thinking. Finally she said, “That’s all I can think of now.” She looked at
Jake.

Jake shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else.” He stood
and followed Annie to the door.

Philip saw them out. “Please let me know if you find out
anything.”

“We will,” Jake said.

Chapter 14

Thursday, August 17th, 9:00 AM

“CAN I SEE YOU a minute, Captain?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

Detective Hank Corning stepped into the office, pulled back
a chair and dropped down. He glanced across the desk at Captain Alano Diego and
waved some papers in the air.

“Captain, I just have a gut feeling there’s something more
going on here.”

Diego dropped his pen and sat back, “Listen Hank, I know
what you’re saying. You’re the best detective I have and I respect your gut,
but it’s all there in black and white.” He was a few pounds overweight, and his
jowls quivered as he talked.

Hank frowned and pointed at the papers he was still holding.
“But there’s more to it than this. And they didn’t do a full autopsy.”

He watched as Diego reached to the side of his desk for a
manila folder, dropped it in front of him and flipped it open. “The coroner
didn’t think a full autopsy was necessary,” he said.

“I believe there’s more than just what’s in the report,”
Hank said.

Diego shrugged his shoulders and brushed down his bristling
mustache with his finger. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I can’t justify keeping you on
it.” He looked down at the open folder. “The drug screen came back positive for
Lorazepam. The coroner’s report labeled the cause of death as suicide, and the
investigators at the scene found no evidence to the contrary.”

Hank stared at him.

Diego continued, “Add that to the fact Mrs. Macy was
experiencing mental and emotional problems at the time. Her psychiatrist said
she might have been suicidal.” He paused and looked up. “There’s just nothing
to go on. Except your gut.”

“My gut is telling me there’s something here.”

Diego continued, “Even the manner of death is consistent
with suicide. I think the figure is something like, thirty-eight percent of
women who attempt suicide, do it with something toxic. Usually an overdose.”

“If this was a homicide,” Hank said, “the killer may have
known that figure, and knew an overdose was the best way to avoid suspicion.”

Diego ignored the assumption. “Hank, we’ve known each other
for a long time. I know you’re a good cop.” He leaned forward. “What you do on
your own time is up to you, but officially, this file is closed.”

“The Lincolns are looking into this. If they, or we, come up
with something solid, can we take another look?”

“Not meaning to disrespect the Lincolns in any way, but they’re
looking into this because they’re paid to look into it. Not because they
necessarily think there’s anything to go on.” He paused. “However, if they come
up with something solid. I mean solid. Real proof a crime has been committed
here. Something that will stand up in court, then we’ll take another look. But
until then...” He closed the file folder in front of him with a swish, sat
back, adjusted his navy blue tie, and looked at Hank.

Hank studied Diego a moment, and then finally stood. “All
right. Thanks Captain,” he said reluctantly as he turned and left the room.

Hank knew Diego had done the logical thing. As head of
Richmond Hill Police Department, Captain Diego had worked his way up through
the ranks and was well respected by the men under him. That’s not to say Diego
was always right, of course, but he is the Captain.

He sighed and stabbed speed dial on his cell phone.

“Jake here.”

“Hey Jake, the captain closed the file. Mrs. Macy’s death is
officially labeled a suicide by the coroner.”

“So the investigators found nothing either?” Jake asked.

“Nope. I have all the reports right here. If you guys are
going to be home for a while, I’ll drop them over.”

“Sure,” Jake said. “We’re here now. Come on over.”

“Be right there.” Hank touched the cell phone and ended the
call, shoving it into his pocket. He made photocopies of the papers, went to
his desk, and slipped them into his valise.

Before leaving, he poked his head back into Diego’s office. “Can
we at least have an autopsy done?” he asked.

Diego sighed. “All right. I’ll get the coroner to do a full
autopsy. Then we’ll close the case.”

“Thanks Captain,” Hank said. He turned and left the
precinct.

Thursday, August 17th, 9:22 AM

JAKE SWUNG the front door open when Hank knocked. “Come on
in. We’re in the kitchen. There’s some fresh coffee on.” He led the way and
Hank followed.

Annie was in the kitchen and greeted Hank with a smile. Hank
and Jake dropped into chairs at the kitchen table. Jake slouched back,
utilizing another chair to prop up his feet, while Annie poured three steaming
mugs of coffee. She set them on the table with cream and sugar, and sat at the
end.

Hank opened his valise and removed the folder of reports. He
dropped them on the table in front of Annie. “It’s all here,” he said. “Police
report. Coroner’s report. Doctor’s report. Drug screen.”

Annie flipped open the folder and browsed the papers while
Hank and Jake prepared their coffee. Lots of sugar in Hank’s. Not too much
cream.

Jake looked at Annie, “Hank said the investigators found
nothing suspicious.”

Hank nodded. “That’s what they say, but...”

Annie looked at Hank. “You don’t think it’s a suicide
either, do you,” she stated.

Hank shook his head. “I’m not sure, but the captain closed
the file. He said he had no choice as there’s nothing there to indicate it was
anything other than suicide.” He shrugged and took a gulp of coffee. “But, I
was able to convince him to do a full autopsy first.”

Jake sat up and picked up one of the reports. He browsed the
pages, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee.

“Outside of these reports, there’s a lot of little things
that don’t make sense, “Annie said.

“Such as?” Hank asked.

“For starters, Philip Macy said his wife would always keep
the front door chained when he’s not home. But today, when he came home, the
chain was off. The door was locked, but the chain was off.”

“That’s a little slim,” Hank said.

“Not to me it’s not,” Annie said. “We know how afraid she
had been the last few days. She didn’t even want to leave the house. The back
door, leading from the kitchen to the back yard, had a manual lock on it, as
well as the regular lock. Both were secured. And yet, the front door was not so
secure. That doesn’t make sense to me, considering Mrs. Macy’s state of mind,
and the fact she always kept that door chained.”

“OK, that’s a good point,” Hank said. “But she could have
just forgotten to chain it.”

Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Jake said, “I was wondering why she would sit in the chair.
It just seems to me if she was going to kill herself, she would more than
likely lie down on the couch.” He shrugged. “It just makes sense to me.”

Hank nodded dubiously. “Perhaps, but I don’t know how much
weight I would give to that assumption.”

Annie looked at Hank, “From a woman’s point of view,” Annie
said, “that makes a bit of sense. Woman commit suicide differently than men.
They never shoot themselves, and rarely hang themselves. They do things nice
and neatly. Jake may have a point there. I think she would have taken the
pills, and then lie down on the couch or perhaps in bed.”

Hank squinted, looking thoughtful, and nodded slowly.

“And I have a problem with the coffee,” Annie said.

Hank raised his cup. “Mine’s ok,” he said, taking another
gulp.

Annie laughed. “Not that coffee.”

Hank cocked his head.

Annie continued, “The coffee at Macy’s. There was a pot of
coffee in their kitchen, in the coffeemaker. It was turned off, but it smelled
fresh.”

“So?”

“I looked at it carefully. There appeared to be two cups
missing. Philip said his wife rarely drank coffee, and yet there were two cups gone.”

“So you think the killer made some coffee and drank it?”
Jake asked.

“No, but maybe Mrs. Macy made a cup of coffee for him, or
her.”

Jake frowned. “So that means she knew who he was, let him
in, they drank coffee together and then...”

“And then he killed her, and left,” Annie said.

Hank looked at her. “Makes sense,” he said, “but don’t
forget the alcohol. The tox screen showed a high level of alcohol in her
system. When and how did that get there?”

“Maybe before the killer came, or perhaps she was drinking
while he was there,” Annie replied.

Hank shrugged. “So, how did he get the pills into her
system?”