asked.
Cordie put the cheeseburger back on her plate before answering. “Yes, it looks like there were other women, but no hard evidence had been collected. The lieutenant insisted he was working on it. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, another month went by and still no arrest had been made. I found out that Lewis had shuffled the investigation over to one of his more lackluster detectives named Sweeney.”
She picked up the cheeseburger again and was about to take a bite when Regan asked, “And how long did you say you’ve been working on this?”
“Not that long,” Cordie said.
Regan deliberately waited until Cordie was about to take a bite of her sandwich and then said, “One more question…”
Cordie put the sandwich down again. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? Asking me questions just as I… Sophie, leave my french fries alone.”
“They’re not good for you. I’m just helping you eat them because I care about your health. That’s the kind of friend I am.”
Cordie rolled her eyes at Sophie and then turned back as Regan was asking, “I do have a serious question. Do you think Mary Coo-lidge committed suicide, or do you believe what Sophie believes?”
“That she was murdered?” Cordie whispered. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.” Regan dropped her fork and leaned forward. “Are you serious?”
“How come you didn’t act shocked when I told you my opinion?” Sophie asked.
Regan didn’t mince words. “Because you’re a drama queen. Cordie’s more practical, and if she thinks it’s possible, then…”
“Then what?” Sophie asked, frowning now.
“Then it’s possible.”
“I’m not a drama queen.”
“Tell me why you think it’s possible,” Regan asked Cordie, ignoring Sophie’s comment.
“Read the diary.”
“I will, but tell me now.”
“Okay. You’ll see toward the end, Mary was scared of Shields. He had threatened her. If you read the last entry, you’ll see that her handwriting is all over the page, which tells me the drugs were in her system and making her loopy. Maybe that’s why she wrote what she wrote… but then again, maybe it was really happening.”
Regan picked up the papers, pulled the last page out, and read. There were only four words.
Too late. They’re coming.
Chapter Six
The alley smelled like wet dog hair and puke. The over-flowing Dumpster that Detective Alec Buchanan had spent most of the night behind smelled much, much worse.
In all, there were now seven detectives working the case. Alec had drawn the short straw and was relegated to doing backup for another detective named Mike Tanner, who was inside the dry and most likely warm warehouse, waiting to make the deal.
Undercover detectives Dutton and Nellis were across the street, watching the entrance to the warehouse from different angles.
Two other detectives were across town at a restaurant, looking as young and clean-cut as high school honor-roll students dressed in the uniform of all the teenagers in the city—Old Navy T-shirts, Gap loose-fit jeans, and scuffed white Nikes. They were impatiently waiting for a fresh supply intended for the streets of suburbia.
The seventh detective was following the money.
Detective Dutton was officially running the show, but Tanner thought he was in charge. Alec had worked with Tanner for only a couple of days, and so he tried not to make any snap judgments about the man. He’d adopted a wait-and-see attitude. Though, admittedly, what he had seen so far hadn’t impressed him. Tanner had a short fuse and let his temper get the upper hand. Not good, Alec thought, in a situation like this. Not good at all.
Tanner had already caused problems. He’d refused to wear a wire and wouldn’t let the techs put a couple of bugs inside the warehouse. Tanner was worried the mikes would be discovered, and since he was the only one who had worked with the twins, the others had to acquiesce.
Alec had been told to
Cordie put the cheeseburger back on her plate before answering. “Yes, it looks like there were other women, but no hard evidence had been collected. The lieutenant insisted he was working on it. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, another month went by and still no arrest had been made. I found out that Lewis had shuffled the investigation over to one of his more lackluster detectives named Sweeney.”
She picked up the cheeseburger again and was about to take a bite when Regan asked, “And how long did you say you’ve been working on this?”
“Not that long,” Cordie said.
Regan deliberately waited until Cordie was about to take a bite of her sandwich and then said, “One more question…”
Cordie put the sandwich down again. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? Asking me questions just as I… Sophie, leave my french fries alone.”
“They’re not good for you. I’m just helping you eat them because I care about your health. That’s the kind of friend I am.”
Cordie rolled her eyes at Sophie and then turned back as Regan was asking, “I do have a serious question. Do you think Mary Coo-lidge committed suicide, or do you believe what Sophie believes?”
“That she was murdered?” Cordie whispered. “I’m not sure. It’s possible.” Regan dropped her fork and leaned forward. “Are you serious?”
“How come you didn’t act shocked when I told you my opinion?” Sophie asked.
Regan didn’t mince words. “Because you’re a drama queen. Cordie’s more practical, and if she thinks it’s possible, then…”
“Then what?” Sophie asked, frowning now.
“Then it’s possible.”
“I’m not a drama queen.”
“Tell me why you think it’s possible,” Regan asked Cordie, ignoring Sophie’s comment.
“Read the diary.”
“I will, but tell me now.”
“Okay. You’ll see toward the end, Mary was scared of Shields. He had threatened her. If you read the last entry, you’ll see that her handwriting is all over the page, which tells me the drugs were in her system and making her loopy. Maybe that’s why she wrote what she wrote… but then again, maybe it was really happening.”
Regan picked up the papers, pulled the last page out, and read. There were only four words.
Too late. They’re coming.
Chapter Six
The alley smelled like wet dog hair and puke. The over-flowing Dumpster that Detective Alec Buchanan had spent most of the night behind smelled much, much worse.
In all, there were now seven detectives working the case. Alec had drawn the short straw and was relegated to doing backup for another detective named Mike Tanner, who was inside the dry and most likely warm warehouse, waiting to make the deal.
Undercover detectives Dutton and Nellis were across the street, watching the entrance to the warehouse from different angles.
Two other detectives were across town at a restaurant, looking as young and clean-cut as high school honor-roll students dressed in the uniform of all the teenagers in the city—Old Navy T-shirts, Gap loose-fit jeans, and scuffed white Nikes. They were impatiently waiting for a fresh supply intended for the streets of suburbia.
The seventh detective was following the money.
Detective Dutton was officially running the show, but Tanner thought he was in charge. Alec had worked with Tanner for only a couple of days, and so he tried not to make any snap judgments about the man. He’d adopted a wait-and-see attitude. Though, admittedly, what he had seen so far hadn’t impressed him. Tanner had a short fuse and let his temper get the upper hand. Not good, Alec thought, in a situation like this. Not good at all.
Tanner had already caused problems. He’d refused to wear a wire and wouldn’t let the techs put a couple of bugs inside the warehouse. Tanner was worried the mikes would be discovered, and since he was the only one who had worked with the twins, the others had to acquiesce.
Alec had been told to
Similar Books
