~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 8
Someone was crying again.
Wanting to block out the sound, I frowned
and rolled over, plopping two middle fingers
into my mouth for comfort. It didn't help.
There is was again. It was an unusual sound
and it frightened me. It wasn't the sound
that would come from another child,
but from someone older. Much....much older.
My eyes fluttered open and I blinked, peering
into the darkness of my room until my vision adjusted
to my surroundings. But the sobbing continued, although
faint, it could still be heard.
I climbed out of bed and in my bare feet, padded to the door
and took a peek out into the hallway, trying to locate the sound.
It was coming from my daddy's bedroom. Poor daddy. Maybe he
needed another one of my hugs to make him feel better. I missed
mommy too.
It was dark and eerie in the hallway as I walked slowly towards
his room, the sobbing growing louder as I got closer. I hesitated
outside of his bedroom door for just a moment before reaching
up to turn the knob slowly. I opened the door a small crack
and took a peek inside. It was dark inside of his room, but I could
see my daddy sitting on his bed, his strong frame silhouetted
against the white moonlit curtains of his window. He was holding
something up to his head. There was a flash of light.
((BANG!!!))
I bolted straight up bed, my heart pounding hard against my
chest. Sweat beaded my face as I gasped to catch my breath.
It was a moment before finally realized that, I had had another dream about that dreadful night. At that moment the phone
rang and I quickly eached over fumbling for the receiver.
"H-Hello." I whispered hoarsely, my mouth dry.
"Antonia"
My mind was still fuzzy as I tried to place the voice.
"Antonia...you there?"
No one called me by that name but Frank. My adoptive
father.
"Frank?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Hey, how ya doing." He chuckled.
"You in Chicago?" I frowned, puzzled by such an
early morning call, yet trying hide my nervous tone.
"No-no, I'm still here in New York. What's wrong, your voice
sounds shaky. You all right?"
With the covers crumpled around me, my heart was still racing
as I squinted at my alarm clock, the green digital numbers
illuminating the darkened room. It was 5:00 AM. I drew in a
tired breath. " Dad, it's 5 O'clock in the morning." I informed him,
feeling slightly ticked because of the dream and the early
morning wake up call.
"Sorry Hot Shot." He apologized with a chuckle.
Hot Shot. The name Frank had labeled me when I was small.
Undoubtly because of my fiery temper. After I joined the police
department, the name seemed appropriate, at least according
to Frank anyway, and stuck it with me. My excellent marksmanship
didn't help my situation.
"Antonia? You still there?"
Leaning back against the headboard, I ran a hand through
my hair, damp with sweat." Y-Yeah...I-I'm still here. " I
answered.
I had forgotten that Frank was an avid fisherman and was used
to getting up before the crack of dawn. For years he would wake
me up early to go along with him down to the lake. Not wanting to
disappoint him, I went. I really hated fishing. The fishy smell.
Tangled lines. Waiting in one spot for hours just to get a nibble.
Dishearten to discover that-that nibble, was actually an old boot
someone had lost probably years ago. Such a waste of time to me.
I had no patience for it. Which might explain my current dislike for
the "sport."
"I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning honey, but it's
hard trying to catch up with you."
"It's fine...really." I assured him, " But dad,... you can always
leave a message on my answering machine if you can't
reach me." I explained.
"I know, but I don't like talking into those blasted things.
You know that. "
"Okay...okay, " I sighed softly, resigned to the fact that
this was a lost battle while making a mental note
to scratch answering maching off of my Christmas list.
"Dad...w-was there something that you wanted to tell me?
Is everything okay?"
He hesitated for a moment, "Well..yeah honey, everything's
fine. Look, your mother and I are taking a cruise in a couple
of days and we just wanted to know if you wanted to tag along
with us. You've been working pretty hard these past couple of
months and we decided that you needed a vacation." He chuckled.
"Oh, *you* decided huh? " I smiled, scratching my head, my heart
beginning to finally settle down. Frank could have been a comedian
too. I drew in a long breath, knowing that once again, I would have to
disappoint them.
"I can't make it." I said simply.
Silence.
"That's it?" He finally said. " You can't make it?"
"I-I'm sort of tied up with a case right now."
"Speaking of case," he said, a tone of deprivation in his voice.
" is there something you forgot to tell us?"
I frowned searching my memory bank trying hard to think of what
he could possibly be referring to. He quickly refreshed my memory.
"Your new position?"
"Ohh," I nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. I hadn't yet told them
about my deciding to go solo. I leaned my head back against my
head board and apologized. "I-I'm sorry, I was going to tell you
and--how did you find out about that anyway?"
"So, you're no longer on the police force?" He asked, ignoring my
inquiry.
"No...well kind of. I work independently now along with the police.
I was hired to work special forces. I'm licensed by the state of
Illinois." I answered hoping he'd be satisfied with that answer.
There was another long silence while he processed the information.
"So what exactly is it that you do?" He finally asked.
"Well, actually, it's no different really than what I did as a
police officer. I just work alone."
"Your mother and I worry about you Antonia."
" I'm fine, really."
"So do you work homicide cases too?"
"Yes."
"Antonia...I-I don't know. " I could see him shaking his head.
"Dad!" I emphasized loudly enough to get his attention. " It's no different
from what I did when I was on the police force."
Silence.
"But at least you then had the support of the police
department backing you up." He argued.
"I-I still do. " I assured him softly " I'm okay dad....really.
I-I can handle myself."
Silence.
"You always were an independent young lady." He murmured
softly after a long pause.
I nodded knowing that he couldn't see me. But he was right.
There's something quite sobering about being an only child
and left alone. To witness what I had at such a young age. Yes,
I had grown up fast.
I cleared my throat. "So how's mom?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Doing fine... still sleeping. She's going to be upset when she
finds out that I talked to you without waking her up though." He chuckled,
"Give her a call will you?"
"I will." I promised.
"You sure you can't make it?" He asked in a last attempt
to get me to change my mind and I smiled wistfully.
"Maybe when I'm done with this case huh?"
Silence.
"Best shot in Chicago." He whispered softly to no one in
particularly and I smiled at the tone of pride in his voice.
"That's right." I assured him confidently.
"Talk to you later."
"See you when you get back." I promised. "And have a good time."
There was a long pause before the phone clicked in my ear.
With that, he was gone. Unconciously, I held on to the receiver,
in my mind savoring the last bit of contact with him. But the
electronic voice of the operator informing me that if I would like to
make a call, to please hang up and try again, broke me from my
reverie and I slowly hung up.
I was ten when Frank and Rosata Valardi adopted me. They were
an older couple in their late forties, living very comfortably, but
never had any children of their own. They felt that a child would
complete their lives and were actually looking to adopt a baby boy.
But Frank told me that it was and my piercing dark eyes and
coal black hair that drew them to me. Little did they know that there
was a bite to go along with the look. After having lived in a foster
home for a part of my life, I had built up a wall of protection. After
what my father did, I was afraid to ever get so close to some one
that I would be left "alone" again.
But the Valardis dealt with me, spoiling me rotten, at least, as much
as I would allowed them to. After I turned eighteen, I packed up my
little BMW I had received from them as a graduation gift, and moved
out on my own. Frank and Rosata were good parents, actually, they
were excellent parents and I could never repay them for the life they
gave back to me. But there was a independent streak that ran deep
in me. I needed to do things for myself.
I slid down into the warmth of my covers, trying hard to remember
my real mother. Aside from a few pictures, and what my father
had told me about her, I didn't remember much. Apparently, she had
been killed in a car accident when I was 5 by a drunk driver. My
father who was driving at the time had survived the accident, but
never got over her death. Although it wasn't his fault, he blamed
himself. As the years faded, so did my memories of my mother.
My father raised me the best he knew how and I loved him very much.
I was happy. Just me and my dad. I thought that he was happy too.
I was wrong. One night, at the tender age of seven, I got to see
first hand just how unhappy he really was. I had witnessed it all.
Over the years, I learned the art of pushing it all aside, building
up a wall of defense and mistrust, learning not to depend on anyone
but myself.
Still shaky from the dream, I was unable to go back to sleep.
I got up and showered, got dressed and headed over to my office,
wanting to pour myself into my work. That's the good thing about
being in this profession. You get to concentrate on other people's
problems, while shoving your own under a rug for a while. Speaking
of problems, there were still a few things that I wanted to take care
before I made any more moves on the Spiolie case. I hadn't checked
out Mike's apartment as of yet, and with Nancy's approval that would
be one of the first things on my agenda for the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 9
There are a few small businesses in the same building
where my office is located. One is a printing supplies place, and
the other a small Subway Sandwich shop, which, fortunately for me,
is a convenient way to snag a cup of coffee on the way to my office.
I parked in a space right in front, paid for a cup of
coffee, and walked over to my office a few feet away
and let myself in.
It was stuffy inside. Leaving the door open, I set my
purse and coffee down and pushed up the small window in back
of my desk. I hadn't been there in a couple of days, and the
place smelled like mold. The red message light on my answering
machine was blinking like crazy. I hit the rewind button and removed the top from my coffee to stir it.
"Morning." Gaunter, the mailman for the building
peeked his head inside of the door.
"Morning, Gaunter," I greeted. "Got any mail for me
today? I only want the good stuff."
Gaunter was the silent type--didn't say much but had a
nice kindly face. He rummaged through the pile in his arms and
pulled out a small stack and handed them to me. "There's more behind the door." He said, pulling back the door to reveal a small trail of
letters that had spilled over onto the floor from my outside mail box.
"Gee, thanks Gaunt." I smirked, plopping down in my
chair. It was going to take a while to sort through that pile, and I was
getting tired just thinking about it. They were mostly advertisements, I kept reminding myself.
He smiled, tipped his hat, and left, leaving me with
a handful of letters and the beeping sound of my answering
machine kicking in.
((Beep!))
"Hi Toni," a female voice sang cheerfully. I
recognized it to be that of my best friend Ariana.
"Just keeping in touch with you. I know how you feel
about blind dates..and don't you dare cut this message off!
Anyway, you just gotta give this one a chance Toni. Look..
my boyfriend has
a friend who's just dying to meet--."
I shuddered and reached over fast-forwarding quickly
to the next message. Ariana was always trying to set me up with a
blind date. The last time I had given in and gone out with her and a
friend-of-a-friend who was a doctor, he had proven to have more a
surgeon's skill with his hands, and was hell-bent on showing me. After I got
through with him, he probably needed his own surgeon. Jerk.
((Beep!))
"Hey, Toni. Winslow. Look, I had some spare time today
and decided to do
a little trace on our friend Heather."
I took a sip of coffee and leaned forward in my chair,
eager to hear what Winslow had come up with.
"Apparently, she's been in close contact with someone
down in Mexico.
Her phone records indicate that she's made quite a few
calls to this
number. Got a pen handy? 1-212- 995-8764."
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pen and
quickly scribbled down
the number as Winslow read it off.
"Seems as if our friend is into motorcycles. Found
out she belongs to
a motorcycle club.. don't know the name of it right now,
but also that she just recently returned
from a vacation somewhere down in Jamaica, some type of
motorcycle trip. With whom I'm not sure. But Toni,
here's the
clincher...."
I held my cup in mid of another sip, bracing myself for
whatever it was Winslow had to say.
"I checked with her job and apparently, she's
quitting. She's already
given her six weeks notice and from what I understand,
she's leaving as
soon as next week. Apparently, she purchased two
one-way plane tickets
to...guess where? Switzerland. She's moving kind of
fast, don't you
think? Well, let me know if there's anything else you
need. I'll keep in
touch."
Click!
I leaned back in my chair, startled at what Winslow
had just revealed.
Little Heather seemed to be hiding something. But
what? And who was she
contacting down in Mexico? The motorcycle club and the
trip was also a surprise, and now two one-way plane
tickets to
Switzerland? Heather was full of surprises. I had
many questions and
didn't know where to start. I thought about Mike's
place and felt an
urgent need to go through it, but I had to get
permission from Nancy to
let me take a look around inside. Maybe there's
something the police
missed. I reached over and picked up the phone to
dial her number. By
now I had the damn thing memorized. There were a few
rings before the
phone picked up.
" Spiolie residence," a female voice answered.
"Yes, um, may I speak with Nancy please?"
"Who's calling?" the voice asked politely.
"Toni Brigatti," I said.
There was a rustling sound before Nancy's voice came
on.
"Hello?"
"Hi Nancy...Toni again. Look, I was just wondering if
I could take
a look around inside of Michael's beach house?"
"Sure. But I think the police have already gone over
it...."
"I know," I interrupted. " But I just want to take
another look around,
you know, to kind of check things out for myself."
"Well...I-I don't see why that would be a problem.
Everything is just
as it was. I haven't done any cleaning up or anything.
Too painful...
you know."
I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me.
"Yeah, I understand."
"So when would you like to see it?"
I checked my watch. "Is this morning okay?"
"Sure...wait a sec..." It sounded as if she had
placed her hand over
the receiver to talk to someone. The voices were to
muffled to really
make out anything. There was another slight rustle and
then her voice
came back over.
"You know Toni, I'm sort of busy right now, but my
husband Stanley said
that he would be more than happy to let you in."
"Sure," I said, remembering how sweet Stanley was.
"You got the address?" she asked.
"I think so," I said fishing through the pile of
papers on my desk
until I brought out a piece of paper with Mike's
address on it.
"1701 Beach Terrace?" I asked.
"That's it. How long will it take you to get over
there?"
I checked my watch again. "Umm...about a half hour?"
"Okay, Stanley will be waiting out front."
"Okay thanks."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up and checked my watch. It was 10:00 am. I
could make it there
by 10:30. I wasn't sure what I expected to find at
Mike's place, but
you just never know. I've had cases where the smallest
little piece of
thread or lint in a murder investigation broke the
case. I should only
hope that I could find something, anything, that would
let me know
whether or not Michael had killed himself or if he
had been killed.
I quickly downed the rest of my coffee and stood,
grabbing my purse
from my desk. Removing my **24** magnum from my desk
drawer, I checked
to make sure I had enough ammo before sliding it into
my purse. I
lowered the window, making sure to lock it before
heading out the door,
locking it behind me too.
Chapter 8
Someone was crying again.
Wanting to block out the sound, I frowned
and rolled over, plopping two middle fingers
into my mouth for comfort. It didn't help.
There is was again. It was an unusual sound
and it frightened me. It wasn't the sound
that would come from another child,
but from someone older. Much....much older.
My eyes fluttered open and I blinked, peering
into the darkness of my room until my vision adjusted
to my surroundings. But the sobbing continued, although
faint, it could still be heard.
I climbed out of bed and in my bare feet, padded to the door
and took a peek out into the hallway, trying to locate the sound.
It was coming from my daddy's bedroom. Poor daddy. Maybe he
needed another one of my hugs to make him feel better. I missed
mommy too.
It was dark and eerie in the hallway as I walked slowly towards
his room, the sobbing growing louder as I got closer. I hesitated
outside of his bedroom door for just a moment before reaching
up to turn the knob slowly. I opened the door a small crack
and took a peek inside. It was dark inside of his room, but I could
see my daddy sitting on his bed, his strong frame silhouetted
against the white moonlit curtains of his window. He was holding
something up to his head. There was a flash of light.
((BANG!!!))
I bolted straight up bed, my heart pounding hard against my
chest. Sweat beaded my face as I gasped to catch my breath.
It was a moment before finally realized that, I had had another dream about that dreadful night. At that moment the phone
rang and I quickly eached over fumbling for the receiver.
"H-Hello." I whispered hoarsely, my mouth dry.
"Antonia"
My mind was still fuzzy as I tried to place the voice.
"Antonia...you there?"
No one called me by that name but Frank. My adoptive
father.
"Frank?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Hey, how ya doing." He chuckled.
"You in Chicago?" I frowned, puzzled by such an
early morning call, yet trying hide my nervous tone.
"No-no, I'm still here in New York. What's wrong, your voice
sounds shaky. You all right?"
With the covers crumpled around me, my heart was still racing
as I squinted at my alarm clock, the green digital numbers
illuminating the darkened room. It was 5:00 AM. I drew in a
tired breath. " Dad, it's 5 O'clock in the morning." I informed him,
feeling slightly ticked because of the dream and the early
morning wake up call.
"Sorry Hot Shot." He apologized with a chuckle.
Hot Shot. The name Frank had labeled me when I was small.
Undoubtly because of my fiery temper. After I joined the police
department, the name seemed appropriate, at least according
to Frank anyway, and stuck it with me. My excellent marksmanship
didn't help my situation.
"Antonia? You still there?"
Leaning back against the headboard, I ran a hand through
my hair, damp with sweat." Y-Yeah...I-I'm still here. " I
answered.
I had forgotten that Frank was an avid fisherman and was used
to getting up before the crack of dawn. For years he would wake
me up early to go along with him down to the lake. Not wanting to
disappoint him, I went. I really hated fishing. The fishy smell.
Tangled lines. Waiting in one spot for hours just to get a nibble.
Dishearten to discover that-that nibble, was actually an old boot
someone had lost probably years ago. Such a waste of time to me.
I had no patience for it. Which might explain my current dislike for
the "sport."
"I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning honey, but it's
hard trying to catch up with you."
"It's fine...really." I assured him, " But dad,... you can always
leave a message on my answering machine if you can't
reach me." I explained.
"I know, but I don't like talking into those blasted things.
You know that. "
"Okay...okay, " I sighed softly, resigned to the fact that
this was a lost battle while making a mental note
to scratch answering maching off of my Christmas list.
"Dad...w-was there something that you wanted to tell me?
Is everything okay?"
He hesitated for a moment, "Well..yeah honey, everything's
fine. Look, your mother and I are taking a cruise in a couple
of days and we just wanted to know if you wanted to tag along
with us. You've been working pretty hard these past couple of
months and we decided that you needed a vacation." He chuckled.
"Oh, *you* decided huh? " I smiled, scratching my head, my heart
beginning to finally settle down. Frank could have been a comedian
too. I drew in a long breath, knowing that once again, I would have to
disappoint them.
"I can't make it." I said simply.
Silence.
"That's it?" He finally said. " You can't make it?"
"I-I'm sort of tied up with a case right now."
"Speaking of case," he said, a tone of deprivation in his voice.
" is there something you forgot to tell us?"
I frowned searching my memory bank trying hard to think of what
he could possibly be referring to. He quickly refreshed my memory.
"Your new position?"
"Ohh," I nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. I hadn't yet told them
about my deciding to go solo. I leaned my head back against my
head board and apologized. "I-I'm sorry, I was going to tell you
and--how did you find out about that anyway?"
"So, you're no longer on the police force?" He asked, ignoring my
inquiry.
"No...well kind of. I work independently now along with the police.
I was hired to work special forces. I'm licensed by the state of
Illinois." I answered hoping he'd be satisfied with that answer.
There was another long silence while he processed the information.
"So what exactly is it that you do?" He finally asked.
"Well, actually, it's no different really than what I did as a
police officer. I just work alone."
"Your mother and I worry about you Antonia."
" I'm fine, really."
"So do you work homicide cases too?"
"Yes."
"Antonia...I-I don't know. " I could see him shaking his head.
"Dad!" I emphasized loudly enough to get his attention. " It's no different
from what I did when I was on the police force."
Silence.
"But at least you then had the support of the police
department backing you up." He argued.
"I-I still do. " I assured him softly " I'm okay dad....really.
I-I can handle myself."
Silence.
"You always were an independent young lady." He murmured
softly after a long pause.
I nodded knowing that he couldn't see me. But he was right.
There's something quite sobering about being an only child
and left alone. To witness what I had at such a young age. Yes,
I had grown up fast.
I cleared my throat. "So how's mom?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Doing fine... still sleeping. She's going to be upset when she
finds out that I talked to you without waking her up though." He chuckled,
"Give her a call will you?"
"I will." I promised.
"You sure you can't make it?" He asked in a last attempt
to get me to change my mind and I smiled wistfully.
"Maybe when I'm done with this case huh?"
Silence.
"Best shot in Chicago." He whispered softly to no one in
particularly and I smiled at the tone of pride in his voice.
"That's right." I assured him confidently.
"Talk to you later."
"See you when you get back." I promised. "And have a good time."
There was a long pause before the phone clicked in my ear.
With that, he was gone. Unconciously, I held on to the receiver,
in my mind savoring the last bit of contact with him. But the
electronic voice of the operator informing me that if I would like to
make a call, to please hang up and try again, broke me from my
reverie and I slowly hung up.
I was ten when Frank and Rosata Valardi adopted me. They were
an older couple in their late forties, living very comfortably, but
never had any children of their own. They felt that a child would
complete their lives and were actually looking to adopt a baby boy.
But Frank told me that it was and my piercing dark eyes and
coal black hair that drew them to me. Little did they know that there
was a bite to go along with the look. After having lived in a foster
home for a part of my life, I had built up a wall of protection. After
what my father did, I was afraid to ever get so close to some one
that I would be left "alone" again.
But the Valardis dealt with me, spoiling me rotten, at least, as much
as I would allowed them to. After I turned eighteen, I packed up my
little BMW I had received from them as a graduation gift, and moved
out on my own. Frank and Rosata were good parents, actually, they
were excellent parents and I could never repay them for the life they
gave back to me. But there was a independent streak that ran deep
in me. I needed to do things for myself.
I slid down into the warmth of my covers, trying hard to remember
my real mother. Aside from a few pictures, and what my father
had told me about her, I didn't remember much. Apparently, she had
been killed in a car accident when I was 5 by a drunk driver. My
father who was driving at the time had survived the accident, but
never got over her death. Although it wasn't his fault, he blamed
himself. As the years faded, so did my memories of my mother.
My father raised me the best he knew how and I loved him very much.
I was happy. Just me and my dad. I thought that he was happy too.
I was wrong. One night, at the tender age of seven, I got to see
first hand just how unhappy he really was. I had witnessed it all.
Over the years, I learned the art of pushing it all aside, building
up a wall of defense and mistrust, learning not to depend on anyone
but myself.
Still shaky from the dream, I was unable to go back to sleep.
I got up and showered, got dressed and headed over to my office,
wanting to pour myself into my work. That's the good thing about
being in this profession. You get to concentrate on other people's
problems, while shoving your own under a rug for a while. Speaking
of problems, there were still a few things that I wanted to take care
before I made any more moves on the Spiolie case. I hadn't checked
out Mike's apartment as of yet, and with Nancy's approval that would
be one of the first things on my agenda for the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 9
There are a few small businesses in the same building
where my office is located. One is a printing supplies place, and
the other a small Subway Sandwich shop, which, fortunately for me,
is a convenient way to snag a cup of coffee on the way to my office.
I parked in a space right in front, paid for a cup of
coffee, and walked over to my office a few feet away
and let myself in.
It was stuffy inside. Leaving the door open, I set my
purse and coffee down and pushed up the small window in back
of my desk. I hadn't been there in a couple of days, and the
place smelled like mold. The red message light on my answering
machine was blinking like crazy. I hit the rewind button and removed the top from my coffee to stir it.
"Morning." Gaunter, the mailman for the building
peeked his head inside of the door.
"Morning, Gaunter," I greeted. "Got any mail for me
today? I only want the good stuff."
Gaunter was the silent type--didn't say much but had a
nice kindly face. He rummaged through the pile in his arms and
pulled out a small stack and handed them to me. "There's more behind the door." He said, pulling back the door to reveal a small trail of
letters that had spilled over onto the floor from my outside mail box.
"Gee, thanks Gaunt." I smirked, plopping down in my
chair. It was going to take a while to sort through that pile, and I was
getting tired just thinking about it. They were mostly advertisements, I kept reminding myself.
He smiled, tipped his hat, and left, leaving me with
a handful of letters and the beeping sound of my answering
machine kicking in.
((Beep!))
"Hi Toni," a female voice sang cheerfully. I
recognized it to be that of my best friend Ariana.
"Just keeping in touch with you. I know how you feel
about blind dates..and don't you dare cut this message off!
Anyway, you just gotta give this one a chance Toni. Look..
my boyfriend has
a friend who's just dying to meet--."
I shuddered and reached over fast-forwarding quickly
to the next message. Ariana was always trying to set me up with a
blind date. The last time I had given in and gone out with her and a
friend-of-a-friend who was a doctor, he had proven to have more a
surgeon's skill with his hands, and was hell-bent on showing me. After I got
through with him, he probably needed his own surgeon. Jerk.
((Beep!))
"Hey, Toni. Winslow. Look, I had some spare time today
and decided to do
a little trace on our friend Heather."
I took a sip of coffee and leaned forward in my chair,
eager to hear what Winslow had come up with.
"Apparently, she's been in close contact with someone
down in Mexico.
Her phone records indicate that she's made quite a few
calls to this
number. Got a pen handy? 1-212- 995-8764."
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pen and
quickly scribbled down
the number as Winslow read it off.
"Seems as if our friend is into motorcycles. Found
out she belongs to
a motorcycle club.. don't know the name of it right now,
but also that she just recently returned
from a vacation somewhere down in Jamaica, some type of
motorcycle trip. With whom I'm not sure. But Toni,
here's the
clincher...."
I held my cup in mid of another sip, bracing myself for
whatever it was Winslow had to say.
"I checked with her job and apparently, she's
quitting. She's already
given her six weeks notice and from what I understand,
she's leaving as
soon as next week. Apparently, she purchased two
one-way plane tickets
to...guess where? Switzerland. She's moving kind of
fast, don't you
think? Well, let me know if there's anything else you
need. I'll keep in
touch."
Click!
I leaned back in my chair, startled at what Winslow
had just revealed.
Little Heather seemed to be hiding something. But
what? And who was she
contacting down in Mexico? The motorcycle club and the
trip was also a surprise, and now two one-way plane
tickets to
Switzerland? Heather was full of surprises. I had
many questions and
didn't know where to start. I thought about Mike's
place and felt an
urgent need to go through it, but I had to get
permission from Nancy to
let me take a look around inside. Maybe there's
something the police
missed. I reached over and picked up the phone to
dial her number. By
now I had the damn thing memorized. There were a few
rings before the
phone picked up.
" Spiolie residence," a female voice answered.
"Yes, um, may I speak with Nancy please?"
"Who's calling?" the voice asked politely.
"Toni Brigatti," I said.
There was a rustling sound before Nancy's voice came
on.
"Hello?"
"Hi Nancy...Toni again. Look, I was just wondering if
I could take
a look around inside of Michael's beach house?"
"Sure. But I think the police have already gone over
it...."
"I know," I interrupted. " But I just want to take
another look around,
you know, to kind of check things out for myself."
"Well...I-I don't see why that would be a problem.
Everything is just
as it was. I haven't done any cleaning up or anything.
Too painful...
you know."
I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me.
"Yeah, I understand."
"So when would you like to see it?"
I checked my watch. "Is this morning okay?"
"Sure...wait a sec..." It sounded as if she had
placed her hand over
the receiver to talk to someone. The voices were to
muffled to really
make out anything. There was another slight rustle and
then her voice
came back over.
"You know Toni, I'm sort of busy right now, but my
husband Stanley said
that he would be more than happy to let you in."
"Sure," I said, remembering how sweet Stanley was.
"You got the address?" she asked.
"I think so," I said fishing through the pile of
papers on my desk
until I brought out a piece of paper with Mike's
address on it.
"1701 Beach Terrace?" I asked.
"That's it. How long will it take you to get over
there?"
I checked my watch again. "Umm...about a half hour?"
"Okay, Stanley will be waiting out front."
"Okay thanks."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up and checked my watch. It was 10:00 am. I
could make it there
by 10:30. I wasn't sure what I expected to find at
Mike's place, but
you just never know. I've had cases where the smallest
little piece of
thread or lint in a murder investigation broke the
case. I should only
hope that I could find something, anything, that would
let me know
whether or not Michael had killed himself or if he
had been killed.
I quickly downed the rest of my coffee and stood,
grabbing my purse
from my desk. Removing my **24** magnum from my desk
drawer, I checked
to make sure I had enough ammo before sliding it into
my purse. I
lowered the window, making sure to lock it before
heading out the door,
locking it behind me too.