Read Online The Stolen Ones by Richard Montanari - Free Book Online

possibility of mold. Once evidence had been tested, it went into plastic, to prevent cross-contamination.
    Byrne reached into his briefcase, took out a second evidence bag, handed it to Hell.
    ‘This was the envelope that contained the photographs,’ he said.
    Hell removed the contents of the bag, studied it for a moment. ‘So, someone signed along the flap in case someone else opened it.’
    ‘That’s what we figured.’
    ‘And that’s why you opened it at the bottom,’ Hell said. ‘You guys are super sleuths.’
    ‘All in a day,’ Byrne said. ‘There’s an exemplar of our victim’s signature on a voided check in there. They look the same to me, but we wanted you to take a look at it.’
    ‘You got it. You know I love handwriting.’
    A good portion of what document examiners did involved handwriting. Nobody was better at it than Hell Rohmer.
    ‘I’ve got a few things in the pipeline for this afternoon, but I’ll get on this right after.’
    ‘Thanks, Hell.’
    Jessica turned at the door to the lab, glanced back.
    The big man was standing over a pile of old photographs, an entire world of scientific possibilities now open to him.

10
    CycleLife LLC was located in the back of a red-brick, two-suite professional building on an industrial parkway in the southeast section of the city.
    On the way, Jessica did a search on her iPhone, and found the company’s website. According to the site, CycleLife was a provider of reclining lift chairs, walkers, grab bars, shower chairs, bath lifts, scooters, ramps and other healthcare products. While the company’s headquarters were in Philadelphia, there were catalog stores in Allentown and York.
    When they pulled into the parking lot there were only two vehicles: a white delivery van and a red Kia Rio. The van had the CycleLife logo on the door.
    On the way to the building they met a woman coming out. She was in her early forties, and wore a smart navy blue suit, white blouse. She also appeared to be in a hurry.
    Byrne took out his ID wallet, opened it, introduced himself, then Jessica.
    The woman nodded at both of them, but she couldn’t shake hands because her hands were full with binders, catalogs, a pair of telephone directories, as well as a pair of tote bags, each bulging with papers.
    ‘Your name, ma’am?’
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m Karen Jacobs.’
    Byrne gestured to the nameplate next to the door. ‘Do you work for CycleLife?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m the national accounts manager.’
    ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you have a moment.’
    It was clear that the woman did
not
have a moment – rush hour was in full thrum, and there was a good chance this woman needed to get home, make dinner, corral the children, etc. Jessica could relate. But Kevin Byrne had a way of posing this particular question, especially to women, that broke down the barrier.
    When Jessica saw the woman’s shoulders relax, she knew Karen Jacobs was resigned.
    ‘Is this about Robert?’ she asked
    ‘Which Robert would that be?’ Byrne asked.
    ‘Freitag,’ the woman said. ‘Robert Freitag. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘We don’t get too many visits from the police.’
    Byrne smiled. ‘That’s probably a good thing.’
    ‘No offense.’
    Byrne just nodded.
    ‘Did you catch the person who did it?’ she asked.
    Jessica noticed that the woman used
person
, not
man
. Most people said
the man
or
the guy
who did it.
    ‘Not yet,’ Byrne said. ‘We’re working on it.’
    The woman looked a bit longingly at her car, then back at the two detectives. ‘Well, we might as well go inside.’ She turned to the door. ‘If that’s okay.’
    ‘That will be fine,’ Byrne said.
    The woman tried to balance the books and folders in her hands, attempting to get to the right key on the ring.
    ‘Let me take those for you,’ Byrne said.
    The woman hesitated, as if she might be carrying highly sensitive material, then