Read Online The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) by P.M. Steffen - Free Book Online
Authors: P.M. Steffen
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a raucous, mile-long stretch of academic buildings, brownstones, and dorms. Pocketed with cheap eateries, funky retail stores, and nightclubs, the BU campus presented an urban universe in perpetual motion.
Kyle guided the cruiser west on Commonwealth, weaving around knots of students and double-parked cars. Scarlet banners heralded the university’s presence from Kenmore to the BU bridge and beyond.
“Nicolette’s roommate is Jenna Weems, she identified the body.” Kyle parked along a stretch of brownstones. He jumped out of the cruiser and pulled a print kit from the trunk.
Sky and the detectives entered the Queen Anne-style apartment house beneath a green awning and climbed a flight of worn marble steps to the second floor. Sky rang the buzzer and a tallish young woman answered.
“Jenna Weems?” Sky showed her ID and made introductions.
Jenna led the team into the living room, where a television was broadcasting live coverage of the marathon. The drab, mismatched furniture and stained carpeting were standard student rental.
Jenna, in contrast, presented a vivid array of color. A purple tee with black skulls stretched tight over her canary yellow thermal undershirt, and a pink taffeta skirt floated around her knees above black and white stripped leggings. Purple plaid ballet flats underscored the improbable ensemble with touches of black patent leather at the toe.
Something about Jenna’s large, pale eyes and thin blonde hair made Sky think of a newly hatched chick, still wet from the egg. Jenna was twenty-four, according to Kyle’s folder, but her flat chest and long-limbed body still carried the awkwardness of adolescence.
Jenna muted the TV and clutched the remote like a security blanket. She pointed Nicolette’s bedroom out to Kyle and Axelrod, who began the process of gathering latent prints.
A passing train shook the building with a noisy clatter.
“How often do you hear that?” Sky said.
“Hear what?”
“The train.”
“Every ten minutes.” Jenna’s voice had a nasal quality, as though she were fighting a cold. “That’s the Green Line, Kenmore Square to Boston College. And back again.” Jenna gave a small laugh. “Drove me nuts when I first moved in. Now I don’t even hear it.”
Sky pulled her notebook out and Jenna joined her on the sofa; the taffeta skirt made soft crunching noises.
“The last time I saw Nicolette? Saturday. She came home around five o’clock. I was just bringing in my laundry, watching the end of High Fidelity on HBO.” Jenna sniffed. “She came in all crazy, racing around. Said she was breaking up with her boyfriend. She showered, got dressed, left the apartment around nine.”
“Did she seem depressed? Anxious?”
“No. She was in a good mood. Cheerful, even. Who’s cheerful when they’re breaking up with someone? I wanted the story, but she blew me off. Like she always does.” Jenna corrected herself. “Like she always did.”
“Who was Nicolette’s boyfriend?”
“Ellery Templeton.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ellery Templeton,” Jenna repeated. “The guitar player? You have a funny look on your face. You know him?”
If you spent any time at all in blues clubs around Boston, you knew who Ellery Templeton was. Played guitar in successive incarnations of his blues band. During a blizzard on New Year’s Eve a few years ago, Sky was enjoying too much champagne at the House of Blues. Templeton’s band was performing, standing room only. Sky saw the guitar player watching her from the stage. The attraction was immediate. The crowd chanted a countdown to New Year’s, and by the stroke of midnight Ellery Templeton was kissing Sky. A long, deep kiss.
“You have Templeton’s address?”
“No. He has a place in Charlestown. He’s playing at Genuine John’s tonight. Just around the corner from here.” Jenna’s eyebrows furrowed. “Or maybe he’s not.”
“How long have you known Nicolette?”
“Six months. I’m from Manhattan, by way
Kyle guided the cruiser west on Commonwealth, weaving around knots of students and double-parked cars. Scarlet banners heralded the university’s presence from Kenmore to the BU bridge and beyond.
“Nicolette’s roommate is Jenna Weems, she identified the body.” Kyle parked along a stretch of brownstones. He jumped out of the cruiser and pulled a print kit from the trunk.
Sky and the detectives entered the Queen Anne-style apartment house beneath a green awning and climbed a flight of worn marble steps to the second floor. Sky rang the buzzer and a tallish young woman answered.
“Jenna Weems?” Sky showed her ID and made introductions.
Jenna led the team into the living room, where a television was broadcasting live coverage of the marathon. The drab, mismatched furniture and stained carpeting were standard student rental.
Jenna, in contrast, presented a vivid array of color. A purple tee with black skulls stretched tight over her canary yellow thermal undershirt, and a pink taffeta skirt floated around her knees above black and white stripped leggings. Purple plaid ballet flats underscored the improbable ensemble with touches of black patent leather at the toe.
Something about Jenna’s large, pale eyes and thin blonde hair made Sky think of a newly hatched chick, still wet from the egg. Jenna was twenty-four, according to Kyle’s folder, but her flat chest and long-limbed body still carried the awkwardness of adolescence.
Jenna muted the TV and clutched the remote like a security blanket. She pointed Nicolette’s bedroom out to Kyle and Axelrod, who began the process of gathering latent prints.
A passing train shook the building with a noisy clatter.
“How often do you hear that?” Sky said.
“Hear what?”
“The train.”
“Every ten minutes.” Jenna’s voice had a nasal quality, as though she were fighting a cold. “That’s the Green Line, Kenmore Square to Boston College. And back again.” Jenna gave a small laugh. “Drove me nuts when I first moved in. Now I don’t even hear it.”
Sky pulled her notebook out and Jenna joined her on the sofa; the taffeta skirt made soft crunching noises.
“The last time I saw Nicolette? Saturday. She came home around five o’clock. I was just bringing in my laundry, watching the end of High Fidelity on HBO.” Jenna sniffed. “She came in all crazy, racing around. Said she was breaking up with her boyfriend. She showered, got dressed, left the apartment around nine.”
“Did she seem depressed? Anxious?”
“No. She was in a good mood. Cheerful, even. Who’s cheerful when they’re breaking up with someone? I wanted the story, but she blew me off. Like she always does.” Jenna corrected herself. “Like she always did.”
“Who was Nicolette’s boyfriend?”
“Ellery Templeton.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ellery Templeton,” Jenna repeated. “The guitar player? You have a funny look on your face. You know him?”
If you spent any time at all in blues clubs around Boston, you knew who Ellery Templeton was. Played guitar in successive incarnations of his blues band. During a blizzard on New Year’s Eve a few years ago, Sky was enjoying too much champagne at the House of Blues. Templeton’s band was performing, standing room only. Sky saw the guitar player watching her from the stage. The attraction was immediate. The crowd chanted a countdown to New Year’s, and by the stroke of midnight Ellery Templeton was kissing Sky. A long, deep kiss.
“You have Templeton’s address?”
“No. He has a place in Charlestown. He’s playing at Genuine John’s tonight. Just around the corner from here.” Jenna’s eyebrows furrowed. “Or maybe he’s not.”
“How long have you known Nicolette?”
“Six months. I’m from Manhattan, by way
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