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Authors: Rochelle Staab
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Jarret Cooper, where a woman was found slain this morning. I’m here with Captain Eagleton from the West Valley Community Police Station.”
She addressed the mustached man in LAPD blue on her left. “Captain Eagleton, can you update us on what happened here today?”
“911 dispatch received a call near 10 A.M. reporting a female victim of an intrusion at the Cooper home,” Eagleton said.
“Have you identified the victim?” Shazia said.
“We’re withholding ID pending notification of her family. We are, however, asking for citizens in the Royal Oaks neighborhood to report any unusual or suspicious activity on or near Royal Oak Road this morning.”
“The West Valley Division phone number is onscreen for witnesses to contact,” Shazia said. “Captain, can you tell us anything else? Who placed the original call to 911?”
“Mr. Cooper placed the call. The homicide unit in charge of the investigation is canvassing the neighborhood now. That’s all the information I can give you.” Eagleton glanced over his shoulder as if to signal the end to the conversation.
“Thank you, Captain.” She turned to the camera and began a recap of her earlier report.
Eagleton crossed the street behind the reporter, and thenstopped to talk to a man at the base of Jarret’s driveway. I held up the remote to mute the volume, then froze. I stepped toward the screen for a closer look. Unbelievable.
Though I only saw his hair and part of his face, I recognized the tilt of the head and the confident stance instantly. Nick—standing on the asphalt conversing with the captain. Eagleton turned and went back up the drive. Nick pulled out his phone. Within seconds, mine rang.
“You won’t believe where I am,” Nick said.
Still in shock, I said, “I don’t—yet there you are, right on my TV screen.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, saw the reporter, and then turned away fast. “Damn.”
“Camera-shy?” I said as he sidled out of view.
“No one was supposed to know I’m here. Eagleton won’t like this at all. Did you see my face?”
“Only your profile. But if you’re going stealth, you better get out of there. Every major news and sports network is carrying the story. What are you doing there?” I said.
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over to explain.”
Chapter Seven
I made a pot of coffee while I waited for Nick. The high-pitched whir of Stan’s drill upstairs distracted me from the tape of questions running through my mind about what could have happened at Jarret’s house. As the rich brown liquid streamed into the coffeemaker on the counter, I wandered upstairs to check on Stan’s progress.
I had to hand it to him. He worked slowly but with care. Tarps protected my bed and the furniture from the dust coming out of the master bathroom into my unpainted bedroom.
Inside the bathroom, stacks of soiled, broken tiles jutted out of a white plastic bucket on top of the toilet. The wall beneath the window where the old bathtub once stood was stripped down to drywall and exposed beams. White dust coated the mirror and countertops, paint chips and chunksof plaster covered the floor. Stan and Angel kneeled at the far wall, an open sore of pipes.
I stopped at the threshold, facing the mess. “How’s the work going?”
Stan sat back on his knees, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “Moving along. After we scrape away the old grout, finish clearing the walls, setting the floor, and checking the pipes, we can bring in and set the new tub and then begin retiling. The pipes are in better shape than I thought.”
I nodded as if I understood. I heard at least another week of me showering at the gym. The guest bathroom upstairs wasn’t an option—the previous owner hadn’t used the shower in years and I had stacked the room with unopened boxes. My renovation plan looked more illogical by the hour.
Too late to change direction. I left them working, got a cup of coffee, and went to the
She addressed the mustached man in LAPD blue on her left. “Captain Eagleton, can you update us on what happened here today?”
“911 dispatch received a call near 10 A.M. reporting a female victim of an intrusion at the Cooper home,” Eagleton said.
“Have you identified the victim?” Shazia said.
“We’re withholding ID pending notification of her family. We are, however, asking for citizens in the Royal Oaks neighborhood to report any unusual or suspicious activity on or near Royal Oak Road this morning.”
“The West Valley Division phone number is onscreen for witnesses to contact,” Shazia said. “Captain, can you tell us anything else? Who placed the original call to 911?”
“Mr. Cooper placed the call. The homicide unit in charge of the investigation is canvassing the neighborhood now. That’s all the information I can give you.” Eagleton glanced over his shoulder as if to signal the end to the conversation.
“Thank you, Captain.” She turned to the camera and began a recap of her earlier report.
Eagleton crossed the street behind the reporter, and thenstopped to talk to a man at the base of Jarret’s driveway. I held up the remote to mute the volume, then froze. I stepped toward the screen for a closer look. Unbelievable.
Though I only saw his hair and part of his face, I recognized the tilt of the head and the confident stance instantly. Nick—standing on the asphalt conversing with the captain. Eagleton turned and went back up the drive. Nick pulled out his phone. Within seconds, mine rang.
“You won’t believe where I am,” Nick said.
Still in shock, I said, “I don’t—yet there you are, right on my TV screen.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, saw the reporter, and then turned away fast. “Damn.”
“Camera-shy?” I said as he sidled out of view.
“No one was supposed to know I’m here. Eagleton won’t like this at all. Did you see my face?”
“Only your profile. But if you’re going stealth, you better get out of there. Every major news and sports network is carrying the story. What are you doing there?” I said.
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over to explain.”
Chapter Seven
I made a pot of coffee while I waited for Nick. The high-pitched whir of Stan’s drill upstairs distracted me from the tape of questions running through my mind about what could have happened at Jarret’s house. As the rich brown liquid streamed into the coffeemaker on the counter, I wandered upstairs to check on Stan’s progress.
I had to hand it to him. He worked slowly but with care. Tarps protected my bed and the furniture from the dust coming out of the master bathroom into my unpainted bedroom.
Inside the bathroom, stacks of soiled, broken tiles jutted out of a white plastic bucket on top of the toilet. The wall beneath the window where the old bathtub once stood was stripped down to drywall and exposed beams. White dust coated the mirror and countertops, paint chips and chunksof plaster covered the floor. Stan and Angel kneeled at the far wall, an open sore of pipes.
I stopped at the threshold, facing the mess. “How’s the work going?”
Stan sat back on his knees, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “Moving along. After we scrape away the old grout, finish clearing the walls, setting the floor, and checking the pipes, we can bring in and set the new tub and then begin retiling. The pipes are in better shape than I thought.”
I nodded as if I understood. I heard at least another week of me showering at the gym. The guest bathroom upstairs wasn’t an option—the previous owner hadn’t used the shower in years and I had stacked the room with unopened boxes. My renovation plan looked more illogical by the hour.
Too late to change direction. I left them working, got a cup of coffee, and went to the
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