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Authors: Allen Eskens
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nails. Her death came quickly. With both the carotid and the internal jugular cut, she would have lost consciousness in a matter of seconds.”
Max walked over and looked at Jennavieve Pruitt’s body, taking in the contrast between her cold white skin and the black zigzag of the stitching that held her chest and abdomen together. He looked at her face, knowing that it would come to him in those moments when sleep and wake lived in equal parts in his mind. He wanted this face to come to him. He wanted her to speak to him in those quiet moments of the night. If Ben Pruitt killed his wife, Max would make sure he paid for that crime. Although the math didn’t add up perfectly, Max could sense a certain equilibrium to it. He may never be able to bring his own wife’s killer to justice, but this man squandered a gift. He killed his wife, a woman who loved and trusted him. Pruitt threw away that which Max would kill to have back.
If he could bring Jennavieve Pruitt the justice denied to his own wife, she might help him find some small measure of peace. He knew this bordered on fantasy, maybe even insanity, but deep inside he hoped it to be true.
Chapter 11
Max was finishing up with Maggie when Niki called him. “Ben Pruitt’s here,” she said, “at his house.”
“How’s he acting?” Max asked.
“Maybe a bit over the top but not out of control. I have him waiting outside.”
“Is his car there?”
“I let him park in the driveway so it’s covered in the search warrant.”
“Excellent. I’d like to get a look in his trunk and in his suitcase, so don’t let him take anything out of the car.”
“I already sent an officer to secure it.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re a damn fine detective?”
“Can never hear it enough.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you a parrot and teach it that one phrase. I hear parrots live to be about sixty.”
“And I hear parrots taste like chicken. In the meantime, what should I do with Mr. Pruitt?”
“Have a squad car bring him downtown. I’ll see if he’s interested in talking. Depending on how long that takes, I should be back in time to canvass the neighbors with you.”
“See you then.”
Max hung up, said his good-bye to Maggie, and headed back to City Hall to prep for his interview with Ben Pruitt.
Pruitt arrived twenty minutes later and was led to the interview room by the unit staff officer. Pruitt looked unsure of himself as he sat across the table from Max. Max held out a hand and Pruitt, with some hesitation, shook it. Rule one: make them comfortable , Max thought to himself.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Max began.
“Are you sure it’s Jennavieve? I mean there’s been no positive ID.”
Good one , Max thought, don’t tip your hand that you know for sure it’s your wife . Jennavieve’s murderer would know that she was dead and exactly how she was murdered. An innocent man would be asking questions. “You’ll have to go make a positive identification, but I have a photo I could show you, if you want to see her.”
“Yes . . . I . . . I need to see.”
Max opened his file enough to pull out a black-and-white picture from the autopsy. He turned it around and slid it across the table. Now watch his reaction .
“Oh my God!” Pruitt began to shake, his fingers clamped tightly on the edges of the picture of his wife’s pale, dead face. “Oh my God, it’s Jennavieve. I can’t . . .” He put the picture down, leaving it face up, not as Max expected. A guilty person would feel compelled to turn the picture over, to hide the face of the person they killed. They wouldn’t want to see their victim looking back in judgment.
“What happened? Who did this?”
“I assure you we’re doing everything we can to answer those questions.” An answer but not an answer.
“Anything you want from me, just ask.”
“I appreciate that. It’ll help a lot if we could exclude you as a suspect. Can we get your fingerprints and
Max walked over and looked at Jennavieve Pruitt’s body, taking in the contrast between her cold white skin and the black zigzag of the stitching that held her chest and abdomen together. He looked at her face, knowing that it would come to him in those moments when sleep and wake lived in equal parts in his mind. He wanted this face to come to him. He wanted her to speak to him in those quiet moments of the night. If Ben Pruitt killed his wife, Max would make sure he paid for that crime. Although the math didn’t add up perfectly, Max could sense a certain equilibrium to it. He may never be able to bring his own wife’s killer to justice, but this man squandered a gift. He killed his wife, a woman who loved and trusted him. Pruitt threw away that which Max would kill to have back.
If he could bring Jennavieve Pruitt the justice denied to his own wife, she might help him find some small measure of peace. He knew this bordered on fantasy, maybe even insanity, but deep inside he hoped it to be true.
Chapter 11
Max was finishing up with Maggie when Niki called him. “Ben Pruitt’s here,” she said, “at his house.”
“How’s he acting?” Max asked.
“Maybe a bit over the top but not out of control. I have him waiting outside.”
“Is his car there?”
“I let him park in the driveway so it’s covered in the search warrant.”
“Excellent. I’d like to get a look in his trunk and in his suitcase, so don’t let him take anything out of the car.”
“I already sent an officer to secure it.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re a damn fine detective?”
“Can never hear it enough.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you a parrot and teach it that one phrase. I hear parrots live to be about sixty.”
“And I hear parrots taste like chicken. In the meantime, what should I do with Mr. Pruitt?”
“Have a squad car bring him downtown. I’ll see if he’s interested in talking. Depending on how long that takes, I should be back in time to canvass the neighbors with you.”
“See you then.”
Max hung up, said his good-bye to Maggie, and headed back to City Hall to prep for his interview with Ben Pruitt.
Pruitt arrived twenty minutes later and was led to the interview room by the unit staff officer. Pruitt looked unsure of himself as he sat across the table from Max. Max held out a hand and Pruitt, with some hesitation, shook it. Rule one: make them comfortable , Max thought to himself.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Max began.
“Are you sure it’s Jennavieve? I mean there’s been no positive ID.”
Good one , Max thought, don’t tip your hand that you know for sure it’s your wife . Jennavieve’s murderer would know that she was dead and exactly how she was murdered. An innocent man would be asking questions. “You’ll have to go make a positive identification, but I have a photo I could show you, if you want to see her.”
“Yes . . . I . . . I need to see.”
Max opened his file enough to pull out a black-and-white picture from the autopsy. He turned it around and slid it across the table. Now watch his reaction .
“Oh my God!” Pruitt began to shake, his fingers clamped tightly on the edges of the picture of his wife’s pale, dead face. “Oh my God, it’s Jennavieve. I can’t . . .” He put the picture down, leaving it face up, not as Max expected. A guilty person would feel compelled to turn the picture over, to hide the face of the person they killed. They wouldn’t want to see their victim looking back in judgment.
“What happened? Who did this?”
“I assure you we’re doing everything we can to answer those questions.” An answer but not an answer.
“Anything you want from me, just ask.”
“I appreciate that. It’ll help a lot if we could exclude you as a suspect. Can we get your fingerprints and
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