Read Online Stalked by Brian Freeman - Free Book Online

put the gun down and found a lawyer instead.
    Maggie should have owned fish.
     
     
    Abel shaved and showered after he was done on the treadmill and slapped cologne on his face. That was another thing the cops teased him about, that he smelled like a dapper gigolo. It wasn’t a crime. He dressed in an old brown suit and shrugged on his trench coat. The coat wasn’t warm enough for January, but since he had begun jogging regularly, he found he didn’t mind the cold.
    Time to turn over rocks.
    He began with Eric’s office. Eric owned a business called MedalSports, which was located in a drab manufacturing facility on a street near the airport, near businesses making medical supplies, aircraft parts, navigational equipment, and frozen foods. Small planes whined overhead as Abel pulled into the parking lot. The one-level building, painted chocolate-brown, had a series of loading docks, where several shipping trucks were backed up against the platforms. The parking lot was crowded.
    He found a glass door leading into the building’s office. The receptionist inside was on the phone, and he could see used tissues littering her desk. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. She was plump, in her late fifties, with half-glasses on a chain around her neck and gray hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. The office was chilly, and she wore a bulky red down vest. She gave him a weak smile, cupped her hand over the phone, and told him she’d be with him shortly.
    The tiny waiting room was functional, with a cheap rattan sofa, a white coffeemaker sitting on a filing cabinet next to a stack of Styrofoam cups, and a veneer coffee table stocked with sports magazines. He could hear the noise of manufacturing through the door that led to the shop floor.
    He examined several framed photographs hung on the wall that showed Eric at the Olympics fifteen years ago, in his Speedo with a bronze medal around his neck. He was a physically imposing man, at least six feet four, with a muscled, hairless chest and buzzed hair that was so blond it was almost white. The other photographs were more recent and showed Eric with a variety of medalists from the Winter Games, including freestyle skaters, slalom skiers, and bobsled teams. They were all displaying MedalSports equipment. Abel noted that Eric had kept himself in good shape and wore the same brilliant smile in all of the photographs. He had grown out his hair and swept it back like a long, flowing mane over his head.
    “He was
very
handsome,” the receptionist said, hanging up the phone.
    Abel grunted.
    “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
    Abel shook his head and introduced himself. The receptionist told him her name was Elaine.
    “Is it true that his wife shot him?” she asked. “That’s what the media is saying.”
    “We’re still trying to find out what happened,” Abel said. “I need you to answer a few questions for me.”
    Elaine sniffled. She grabbed another tissue, and her round cheeks puffed out as she blew her nose. “Of course.”
    “How long have you worked with Mr. Sorenson?”
    “Ever since he started the company. He was a wonderful man. He treated all of us like family.”
    Abel sighed. Everyone was a saint once they got murdered. “He sounds a little too perfect to me. No one’s perfect.”
    “Well, I’m sorry, but we all loved him here.” Her voice rose defensively.
    “How about the business? How’s it going?”
    “Oh, extremely well. All of the employees got year-end bonuses. Mr. Sorenson shared the profits. He wasn’t selfish.”
    Abel nodded. “Manufacturing is a tough racket. Lots of competition. Cheap foreign labor, right? That sort of thing.”
    “No, no,” Elaine replied, shaking her head. “MedalSports makes high-end merchandise for a very targeted audience. Everything is handcrafted. We don’t compete against mass-market operations. We sell to Olympic competitors and no one else.”
    “Is there really enough business to support that?”