Many thanks to Soph and daf9 for your encouraging comments. I only hope the rest of the story can live up to your expectations.
Serial Widow - Part Three
The paramedics were still on sight, just getting ready to drive away, when a uniformed officer ran down and brought them back upstairs. Bobby and Alex had pulled Karen up off the floor and maneuvered her to a bench down the hall, and around the corner. Where she couldn't see her husband or his office. The detectives moved out of the way, giving the paramedics room to work. Karen sat silently; her wailing giving over to the occasional sob and deep, congested breaths. Twenty minutes later one of the paramedics looked up from his kneeling position to Bobby and Alex. "She's calmer now, but we should still take her in."
"No." Karen mumbled.
"Miss, you need to be seen by a doctor."
"No." Karen refused again, a little louder.
The paramedic shrugged, and stood up, facing the detectives. "We can't force her if she doesn't want to go." He glanced back down to the huddled woman on the bench. "We've done all we can for her." He turned back toward the bench, his partner stood then, bending back down so his face was near Karen's, whispering to her. She nodded in understanding. Packing up their equipment, the paramedics started down the hall, with one glance back toward Karen, they turned the corner and were gone.
Karen watched them, and when they were out of sight, she turned her attention to the detectives. "What happened to my husband?"
Alex sat down next to Karen on the bench, and in a quite voice she used for victims families, she said: "He was stabbed. Sometime during the night."
Karen brought her hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. She swallowed hard before she was able to speak. "But, by who? Who would want to do something like that?"
"That's what we're hoping you could tell us." Bobby said.
Karen looked at him, her brow furrowed, her eyes confused. "What do you mean? I don't understand."
"Did he mention any unsatisfied clients? Any threatening letters or phone calls? Anything unusual in the past few weeks?" Alex asked.
"No." Karen thought harder, her eyes staring in to space. "No. Nothing like that. Everything's been . . . fine." She cast a quick glance to Alex, then to the floor.
Bobby picked up on her eye movement, and her pause. "Uh...it hasn't been 'fine'. Has it?"
Karen lifted her head a little, glancing at Bobby out of the corner of her eye. "No." She said sadly, and looked at the floor again before she continued. "He's been a little . . ." she paused, searching for the right word "a little off the past few months. He's been taking money out of our account, first just a little every couple of days, but then the amounts got larger and larger. The past few weeks, it's been hard to make ends meet, he's been taking so much out."
Alex cocked her head lower, "Was he gambling?"
Karen shook her head side to side. "No I don't think so. I think maybe he was doing drugs."
"Why do you think that?"
"His behavior, mostly. He'd come home irritated, angry at the world, go into the bathroom for a few minutes, and come back out happy. Too happy."
"Did you ever find any paraphernalia?"
Karen shook her head in answer.
Alex glanced at Bobby; he didn't have anything he wanted to ask. "Ok, Mrs. Wharton. Thank you. We'll get an officer to drive you home."
Karen nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, crying again.
~*~*~
Bobby stepped back into the office as Alex pulled a uniform to the side, instructing him to drive Karen home. He stood in the doorway, again taking it all in, but this time with the possible perspective that a drug dealer did this. But if a dealer did do this, why the ransacked files? Why the disarray of the desk top, the thrown lamp, the broken frame? Bobby shook his head, and walked deeper into the office. Alex appeared in the doorway. "Dealers don't usually do this." She said, look around at the chaos.
"I know." Bobby answered, kneeling down over the pool of drying blood. "And he didn't have any defensive wounds on his hands." He stood up, turning to face Alex. "Any dealer would have the knife out, threatening. They want the money, not their customer dead." He turned back to the body's outline, pointing to it. "Martin didn't see it coming, didn't know his killer had a knife, or their intentions." He looked back at Alex.
"It was someone he knew, and trusted." She said. Bobby nodded
~*~*~
Before they headed back to their office, the detectives talked to the other occupants of the offices on Martin's floor. None of them had known Martin well enough to do anything but nod hello in the hall. Disappointed, but not really surprised, they headed back to One Police Plaza.
~*~*~
Bobby sat at his desk, staring at the crime scene photos that had been delivered a few minutes ago, trying to find what it was that was bothering him about the scene. Alex finished typing her final comments on their initial report, pulled it out of the typewriter and handed it across the desk to Bobby. He reached for it, with out looking up from the photos, set it down, glancing and signing at the bottom. He handed it back with out looking up. Alex sighed, taking it from him. He was so deeply engrossed in the photos, his arm remained in the air for a moment or two before he pulled it back, realizing she'd taken the report. Bobby exhaled loudly, closing the folder and handed it to Alex. Stretching his arms out on his desktop, he interlaced his fingers, his mind reeling with possible scenarios. Suddenly, he looked up at Alex, startling her with his sudden animation. "Let's go to the house, see if we can find any proof he was doing drugs."
~*~*~
Bobby climbed out of the passenger side of the SUV and stopped on the sidewalk, looking up at the town home. Alex stepped up off the curb, joining him. They both silently watched the house for a moment. There was no air of mourning, no sense of sadness about the house. They could both see activity, movement though the sheer curtains of the living room. Bobby looked at Alex, she returned his glance with her eyebrow cocked, a "that's interesting" gesture. Simultaneously, they both started up the path to the front door. Bobby held the screen door open as Alex knocked. A well dressed, distinguished looking man in his early 40's answered.
"Yes?"
Bobby and Alex glanced at each other. "I'm Detective Eames," Alex showed him her badge. "This is my partner, Detective Goren. We need to speak to Mrs. Wharton."
"Of course, please come in." He stepped aside, holding out his left hand into the living room. "I'm Joel Decker, my wife Sylvia and I are old friends of Karen's late husband. Karen called us this morning, and told us what happened." He shook his head. "What a waste." He was silent for a moment, and then continued. "Anyway, Sylvia and I insisted she come spend a few days with us. We came right over, Sylvia is upstairs with Karen now, helping her pack."
As if she heard her name, Karen appeared on the stairs. She stopped halfway down, seeing her visitors. "Detectives." They turned, watching as she descended the rest of the stairs. "What can I do for you?"
"We'd like your permission to search the house for any drug paraphernalia." Karen looked at him quizzically. "If we find something, it's possible we could lift prints, or possibly even DNA." Bobby answered her expression. He took a step closer to her before he went on. "It could help us find the person who killed your husband." He cocked his head, meeting her eyes, watching her expression. What he saw was her smile slightly.
"Of course." She held her hands out in empty offering. Glancing at Alex: "Whatever you'd like." Refocusing back to Bobby, meeting his intent gaze: "I have nothing to hide."
They met Sylvia Decker on the stairs, she was coming down carrying a suite case as Bobby and Alex made their way up. Sylvia stopped in mid step, watching them with confusion. Only when they passed her and disappeared into the master bedroom, did she continue her descent, joining her husband and Karen in the living room.
It was an ordinary bedroom. Alex headed to the nightstands while Bobby began to search the adjoining bath. Each searched for silently. After not finding anything in the nightstands, Alex moved on to the dressers. Bobby looked in the medicine cabinet, the drawers, under the sink, even lifting the toilet tank cover. Both came up with nothing. No shred of evidence Martin Wharton was taking any kind of drugs, expect the occasional aspirin.
Heading down the staircase, both noticed that the house felt to quiet, empty. Reaching the bottom step, Bobby stopped, near the front door, glancing around the living room. Joel Decker laid the magazine he was reading down on the couch next to him and stood. "Uh . . . where are the ladies?" Bobby asked.
"My wife took Karen to our house. She needed to rest. I stayed behind to lock up when you were done." Joel answered.
"Alright. We'll talk to you then." Alex said as she took out her notebook and pen. "How long did you know Mr. Wharton?"
"Only about a year and a half, we met shortly after he and Karen were married."
From the bookcase he had wandered to Bobby stopped his perusing, turning to Joel. "You said that you were an old friend of Wharton's."
"No. Sorry, I didn't make myself clear. Sylvia and I were old friends of Karen's previous late husband, Stephen."
"She was married before?" Bobby asked.
"Yes. They were still newlyweds when he was killed."
"Stephen . . .?" Alex paused, waiting for Joel to fill in the blank.
"Morris. Stephen Morris. He was an old college friend of mine."
"How did he die?" Asked Bobby, taking a few steps away from the bookcase.
"Shot. He was shot straight in the heart, during a mugging."
"Was Karen there?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, she was. She said that she and Stephen had just seen a movie. The theatre wasn't far from their apartment, and it was a nice evening, they decided to walk home. About half way there, Karen said a man with a gun walked out from an alley, blocking their path, pointing the gun at her. He forced them into the alley, where he took Stephen's wallet and watch, Karen's jewelry. She said he shot Stephen then took off, running."
Bobby and Alex glanced at each other. "Did they ever catch the guy?" Alex asked, returning her attention to Joel.
"No. Well, yes and no. Karen did one of those picture things, a . . .what do you people call it? A composite? A drawing of the muggers face." Bobby and Alex both nodded in understanding. "Well, the police, detectives, I suppose, found someone who matched her description, but Karen was unable to pick him up out of a line up, so they had to let him go."
"What about the gun . . .did they find that?" Alex asked.
"Yes. They did. A few days later, it was found in a trash can about a half a block away from the alley, as was Stephen's wallet, the cash gone."
"Ah . ." Bobby began, "were Karen's hands ever tested for gun powder?"
Joel's head jerked in surprise. "No, I don't think so. What a ridiculous question."
Bobby smiled at the answer. "I get that a lot." His face changed as if he just remembered something, and he patted his jacket, then his pants pockets, looking for something. "I ah. . . I left my . . .uh, I need to go back upstairs." He pointed to the staircase as he headed toward it, not giving Joel the chance to protest. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went into the bedroom doorway, stopped, looking around. When he didn't see right away what he was looking for, he walked into the bathroom, again stopping in the doorway, looking. Seeing what he wanted, he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket with the flourish of a magician, wrapping the white cotton around the object and shoved the combination in his pocket.
Back downstairs, Alex was asking the usual questions, finding out as much as she could about the Wharton's marriage, Martins habits. She turned when she heard Bobby on the landing "I think we're done here." She said to him. Bobby nodded in agreement, opening the door.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Decker. Please tell Mrs. Wharton we'll be in touch." The detectives stepped outside, Joel right behind them, closing and locking the front door. "Can we give you a lift?" Bobby asked, pointing toward the SUV.
"No. No, but thank you, I've called a cab." Joel answered, pushing his hands into his pants pockets.
"Ok then." Bobby smiled and headed to the curb.
Inside the SUV, Alex started the engine and pulled her seat belt across her. "What'd you get?" She asked glancing over at Bobby in the passenger seat.
"Lipstick." He said, fastening his own seat belt.
Sorry ya'll, that's it for about a week. I'm off to spend Thanksgiving in a computer-less home.
Serial Widow - Part Three
The paramedics were still on sight, just getting ready to drive away, when a uniformed officer ran down and brought them back upstairs. Bobby and Alex had pulled Karen up off the floor and maneuvered her to a bench down the hall, and around the corner. Where she couldn't see her husband or his office. The detectives moved out of the way, giving the paramedics room to work. Karen sat silently; her wailing giving over to the occasional sob and deep, congested breaths. Twenty minutes later one of the paramedics looked up from his kneeling position to Bobby and Alex. "She's calmer now, but we should still take her in."
"No." Karen mumbled.
"Miss, you need to be seen by a doctor."
"No." Karen refused again, a little louder.
The paramedic shrugged, and stood up, facing the detectives. "We can't force her if she doesn't want to go." He glanced back down to the huddled woman on the bench. "We've done all we can for her." He turned back toward the bench, his partner stood then, bending back down so his face was near Karen's, whispering to her. She nodded in understanding. Packing up their equipment, the paramedics started down the hall, with one glance back toward Karen, they turned the corner and were gone.
Karen watched them, and when they were out of sight, she turned her attention to the detectives. "What happened to my husband?"
Alex sat down next to Karen on the bench, and in a quite voice she used for victims families, she said: "He was stabbed. Sometime during the night."
Karen brought her hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. She swallowed hard before she was able to speak. "But, by who? Who would want to do something like that?"
"That's what we're hoping you could tell us." Bobby said.
Karen looked at him, her brow furrowed, her eyes confused. "What do you mean? I don't understand."
"Did he mention any unsatisfied clients? Any threatening letters or phone calls? Anything unusual in the past few weeks?" Alex asked.
"No." Karen thought harder, her eyes staring in to space. "No. Nothing like that. Everything's been . . . fine." She cast a quick glance to Alex, then to the floor.
Bobby picked up on her eye movement, and her pause. "Uh...it hasn't been 'fine'. Has it?"
Karen lifted her head a little, glancing at Bobby out of the corner of her eye. "No." She said sadly, and looked at the floor again before she continued. "He's been a little . . ." she paused, searching for the right word "a little off the past few months. He's been taking money out of our account, first just a little every couple of days, but then the amounts got larger and larger. The past few weeks, it's been hard to make ends meet, he's been taking so much out."
Alex cocked her head lower, "Was he gambling?"
Karen shook her head side to side. "No I don't think so. I think maybe he was doing drugs."
"Why do you think that?"
"His behavior, mostly. He'd come home irritated, angry at the world, go into the bathroom for a few minutes, and come back out happy. Too happy."
"Did you ever find any paraphernalia?"
Karen shook her head in answer.
Alex glanced at Bobby; he didn't have anything he wanted to ask. "Ok, Mrs. Wharton. Thank you. We'll get an officer to drive you home."
Karen nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, crying again.
~*~*~
Bobby stepped back into the office as Alex pulled a uniform to the side, instructing him to drive Karen home. He stood in the doorway, again taking it all in, but this time with the possible perspective that a drug dealer did this. But if a dealer did do this, why the ransacked files? Why the disarray of the desk top, the thrown lamp, the broken frame? Bobby shook his head, and walked deeper into the office. Alex appeared in the doorway. "Dealers don't usually do this." She said, look around at the chaos.
"I know." Bobby answered, kneeling down over the pool of drying blood. "And he didn't have any defensive wounds on his hands." He stood up, turning to face Alex. "Any dealer would have the knife out, threatening. They want the money, not their customer dead." He turned back to the body's outline, pointing to it. "Martin didn't see it coming, didn't know his killer had a knife, or their intentions." He looked back at Alex.
"It was someone he knew, and trusted." She said. Bobby nodded
~*~*~
Before they headed back to their office, the detectives talked to the other occupants of the offices on Martin's floor. None of them had known Martin well enough to do anything but nod hello in the hall. Disappointed, but not really surprised, they headed back to One Police Plaza.
~*~*~
Bobby sat at his desk, staring at the crime scene photos that had been delivered a few minutes ago, trying to find what it was that was bothering him about the scene. Alex finished typing her final comments on their initial report, pulled it out of the typewriter and handed it across the desk to Bobby. He reached for it, with out looking up from the photos, set it down, glancing and signing at the bottom. He handed it back with out looking up. Alex sighed, taking it from him. He was so deeply engrossed in the photos, his arm remained in the air for a moment or two before he pulled it back, realizing she'd taken the report. Bobby exhaled loudly, closing the folder and handed it to Alex. Stretching his arms out on his desktop, he interlaced his fingers, his mind reeling with possible scenarios. Suddenly, he looked up at Alex, startling her with his sudden animation. "Let's go to the house, see if we can find any proof he was doing drugs."
~*~*~
Bobby climbed out of the passenger side of the SUV and stopped on the sidewalk, looking up at the town home. Alex stepped up off the curb, joining him. They both silently watched the house for a moment. There was no air of mourning, no sense of sadness about the house. They could both see activity, movement though the sheer curtains of the living room. Bobby looked at Alex, she returned his glance with her eyebrow cocked, a "that's interesting" gesture. Simultaneously, they both started up the path to the front door. Bobby held the screen door open as Alex knocked. A well dressed, distinguished looking man in his early 40's answered.
"Yes?"
Bobby and Alex glanced at each other. "I'm Detective Eames," Alex showed him her badge. "This is my partner, Detective Goren. We need to speak to Mrs. Wharton."
"Of course, please come in." He stepped aside, holding out his left hand into the living room. "I'm Joel Decker, my wife Sylvia and I are old friends of Karen's late husband. Karen called us this morning, and told us what happened." He shook his head. "What a waste." He was silent for a moment, and then continued. "Anyway, Sylvia and I insisted she come spend a few days with us. We came right over, Sylvia is upstairs with Karen now, helping her pack."
As if she heard her name, Karen appeared on the stairs. She stopped halfway down, seeing her visitors. "Detectives." They turned, watching as she descended the rest of the stairs. "What can I do for you?"
"We'd like your permission to search the house for any drug paraphernalia." Karen looked at him quizzically. "If we find something, it's possible we could lift prints, or possibly even DNA." Bobby answered her expression. He took a step closer to her before he went on. "It could help us find the person who killed your husband." He cocked his head, meeting her eyes, watching her expression. What he saw was her smile slightly.
"Of course." She held her hands out in empty offering. Glancing at Alex: "Whatever you'd like." Refocusing back to Bobby, meeting his intent gaze: "I have nothing to hide."
They met Sylvia Decker on the stairs, she was coming down carrying a suite case as Bobby and Alex made their way up. Sylvia stopped in mid step, watching them with confusion. Only when they passed her and disappeared into the master bedroom, did she continue her descent, joining her husband and Karen in the living room.
It was an ordinary bedroom. Alex headed to the nightstands while Bobby began to search the adjoining bath. Each searched for silently. After not finding anything in the nightstands, Alex moved on to the dressers. Bobby looked in the medicine cabinet, the drawers, under the sink, even lifting the toilet tank cover. Both came up with nothing. No shred of evidence Martin Wharton was taking any kind of drugs, expect the occasional aspirin.
Heading down the staircase, both noticed that the house felt to quiet, empty. Reaching the bottom step, Bobby stopped, near the front door, glancing around the living room. Joel Decker laid the magazine he was reading down on the couch next to him and stood. "Uh . . . where are the ladies?" Bobby asked.
"My wife took Karen to our house. She needed to rest. I stayed behind to lock up when you were done." Joel answered.
"Alright. We'll talk to you then." Alex said as she took out her notebook and pen. "How long did you know Mr. Wharton?"
"Only about a year and a half, we met shortly after he and Karen were married."
From the bookcase he had wandered to Bobby stopped his perusing, turning to Joel. "You said that you were an old friend of Wharton's."
"No. Sorry, I didn't make myself clear. Sylvia and I were old friends of Karen's previous late husband, Stephen."
"She was married before?" Bobby asked.
"Yes. They were still newlyweds when he was killed."
"Stephen . . .?" Alex paused, waiting for Joel to fill in the blank.
"Morris. Stephen Morris. He was an old college friend of mine."
"How did he die?" Asked Bobby, taking a few steps away from the bookcase.
"Shot. He was shot straight in the heart, during a mugging."
"Was Karen there?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, she was. She said that she and Stephen had just seen a movie. The theatre wasn't far from their apartment, and it was a nice evening, they decided to walk home. About half way there, Karen said a man with a gun walked out from an alley, blocking their path, pointing the gun at her. He forced them into the alley, where he took Stephen's wallet and watch, Karen's jewelry. She said he shot Stephen then took off, running."
Bobby and Alex glanced at each other. "Did they ever catch the guy?" Alex asked, returning her attention to Joel.
"No. Well, yes and no. Karen did one of those picture things, a . . .what do you people call it? A composite? A drawing of the muggers face." Bobby and Alex both nodded in understanding. "Well, the police, detectives, I suppose, found someone who matched her description, but Karen was unable to pick him up out of a line up, so they had to let him go."
"What about the gun . . .did they find that?" Alex asked.
"Yes. They did. A few days later, it was found in a trash can about a half a block away from the alley, as was Stephen's wallet, the cash gone."
"Ah . ." Bobby began, "were Karen's hands ever tested for gun powder?"
Joel's head jerked in surprise. "No, I don't think so. What a ridiculous question."
Bobby smiled at the answer. "I get that a lot." His face changed as if he just remembered something, and he patted his jacket, then his pants pockets, looking for something. "I ah. . . I left my . . .uh, I need to go back upstairs." He pointed to the staircase as he headed toward it, not giving Joel the chance to protest. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went into the bedroom doorway, stopped, looking around. When he didn't see right away what he was looking for, he walked into the bathroom, again stopping in the doorway, looking. Seeing what he wanted, he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket with the flourish of a magician, wrapping the white cotton around the object and shoved the combination in his pocket.
Back downstairs, Alex was asking the usual questions, finding out as much as she could about the Wharton's marriage, Martins habits. She turned when she heard Bobby on the landing "I think we're done here." She said to him. Bobby nodded in agreement, opening the door.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Decker. Please tell Mrs. Wharton we'll be in touch." The detectives stepped outside, Joel right behind them, closing and locking the front door. "Can we give you a lift?" Bobby asked, pointing toward the SUV.
"No. No, but thank you, I've called a cab." Joel answered, pushing his hands into his pants pockets.
"Ok then." Bobby smiled and headed to the curb.
Inside the SUV, Alex started the engine and pulled her seat belt across her. "What'd you get?" She asked glancing over at Bobby in the passenger seat.
"Lipstick." He said, fastening his own seat belt.
Sorry ya'll, that's it for about a week. I'm off to spend Thanksgiving in a computer-less home.