Loose Screw, page 16
“Did he say why he was calling you now?” Val asked.
“I’ll get to that in a minute. The only thing he asked from me was in the event of his death that I make arrangements for his cremation and burial, which I will do once the medical examiner releases the body.”
“I’ll check with him, if you’d like. The body should be ready by now,” I said.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“You said you’d tell us why he called when he did,” Val said.
“Right. Morty also asked me to deliver a letter to the police he would send me. I got it the same day he was killed. He said there’d be no point contacting you until you contacted me. I wanted to abide by his request, but you have to believe I would’ve contacted you in a few days if you hadn’t called.”
I sat there attempting to remain businesslike, since unlike Val, who’d already revealed her impatience, I was the one in charge. But when had I ever investigated a case where the victim attempted to communicate with us before he or she was eliminated? Of course, his letter could be an attempt to shame us for not catching his killer before his death, but only reading the letter would hopefully clue us in on his thoughts.
“Have you read it?” I asked. What normal human being could resist reading something from the dead?
“I think Morty knew who his murderer would be. If he named names, I didn’t want to be in the position for someone to come after me as well.”
Smart woman. I didn’t think I could’ve held back.
“Could we have it now?” It was all I could do not to search her house on my own.
“Yes, of course.” She stepped across the room to a secretary desk, pulled a key from a top drawer, flipped open the lower door and unlocked one of the drawers behind it. Opening the drawer, she removed a white business envelope and a larger manila envelope, closed the secretary and brought the contents to me. “I’ve been worried that the wrong person might learn of these.”
I put on gloves and withdrew a large evidence bag from my purse before accepting either envelope and had her insert them in the bag. The manila envelope had been addressed to her through regular mail. The white envelope simply said, “Shasta Police Department.”
“Thank you. We’ll see that the right people receive this,” I said.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“It appears to be a vital clue to his murder. I don’t want to disturb the chain of evidence, if it proves to be essential. Plus, we don’t want to put you in additional danger. However, we do need to get your fingerprints before we leave. For elimination purposes.”
“I understand.”
We quickly took care of that process. It was my first time to do it on an app on my electronic device. Slick. And much less messy than the old method. Val watched, fascinated. I was impatient to leave and learn the contents of the letter.
“Was there anything else you wanted to tell us about your cousin?” I asked, not feeling right just racing for the car now that we had the letter.
“Morty wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even antisocial. He just hadn’t been exposed to the things in life that matter. I’m sorry he met his end the way he did. He was much too young to die.”
“We’ll do our best to find his killer,” Val said, apparently also feeling the need to cap off this interview the right way.
“That’s all I can ask,” Connors said. “He asked that his ashes be spread in a park not far from the building inspection office. Would you be able to get the proper permission for me?”
“We’ll do what we can. It’s fitting he remain somewhere near the work in which he took such pride.”
She smiled at me. “You have gotten to know him. In the end, he was a good man who just didn’t fit in. The park will accept him.”
I asked the usual about her whereabouts during the period of her cousin’s murder. “The man trusted me more than anyone else in the world. Why would I kill him?”
“For his estate,” I replied impassively. “This is a beautiful home. Maintaining it must cost a bundle.”
Her demeanor changed immediately, her body going stiff, her breathing increasing. “How dare you! We may not have been all that close, but I would never harm my cousin.” She paused momentarily. “Unless you think I invented this letter from him?”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to me yet, but now that she brought it up, maybe that was what happened. “Just answer my question.”
“I went to a movie with a friend. She can vouch for me until around nine. Then I came home and was here by myself the rest of the night until I went to work around eight thirty the next morning.”
“Thank you. We’ll handle the letter from here.” I gave her one of Herc’s cards he’d given me for such purposes, and we took our leave. Val and I hurried back to the car as fast as we could go without running.
“So?” Val said as we headed out of town. “Where can we stop to open the letter? We are going to open it, aren’t we?”
“As much as I want to, I need to inform the captain first. I’ve never received a letter from the deceased before. All I know to do now is to keep it preserved, so in case it might be needed in court at some later date to prosecute the killer, there’ll be no question about its veracity.”
She sighed. Big-time. “Darn, I thought I was really getting in on something big.”
“You did. She trusted us enough to turn it over to us. That has to make you feel good.”
“Mom, it’s a clue. A vital clue. The man actually knew his days were numbered for some reason, which I hope he reveals in the letter. We owe it to him to read it.”
“I hear you. But this is when department protocol trumps our curiosity. We both agreed to abide by it when we signed on to consult.”
I called Watkins and gave him a quick summary of our visit with the cousin before I brought up the letter.
“You opened it?” he asked, his tone noncommittal.
“No, sir. I was really tempted because timing is important right now before the trail goes cold. If he felt it necessary to leave a message for the police in the event of his death, we need to find out what he wanted to tell us as soon as possible. But I didn’t want to jeopardize the chain of evidence.”
“Good. That was smart thinking, Ro. I know how much you want to know what he had to say. Bring it into the office and give it directly to me. I’ll have our counsel here with us while we open and read it.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence.”
“You’re both doing good work. We’ll talk more when you get here.”
As promised, the department counsel was already waiting for us, along with a fingerprint tech and videographer from the forensics team. Watkins turned the meeting over to Carol Norris, the department’s attorney, after introducing us. Norris was relatively new. I’d never worked with her.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” Norris said. “Mrs. Summerfield and Mrs. Kowalski, please sit on one side of the table. Captain, you and I and our fingerprint tech, Mark, will sit on this side. Katie, set up at the end of the table so you can get all of us in your shot.” Katie was ready within a minute. Norris turned to the camera. “I am Carol Norris, attorney for the Shasta Police Department. Next to me is Captain James Watkins, head of the homicide unit. Next to him is Mark Riley, certified fingerprint technician. The team currently investigating the murder of Mortimer Fonseca, Mrs. Rowena Summerfield and Mrs. Valerie Kowalski, consultants to the department, are seated on the other side.” She gave the date and time and turned it over to me to describe how we had come upon the letter.
I hadn’t given evidence on video before. When I was on the force, we recorded on tape. Times change. I went through how I had come upon the name of Jessica Connors through Fonseca’s personnel records provided by his boss, Fred Gordon. I then went into how, because she lived outside of town, I’d called Connors in advance to ensure she would be home for the interview. I quickly summarized the interview and then introduced how the subject of the letter had arisen. Then I went on to describe how I had received both envelopes wearing latex gloves and stuck them in the evidence bag I held up. I also noted how I had obtained a set of fingerprints from Connors for the purpose of eliminating hers on the envelopes.
“I am now turning this bag over to Captain James Watkins, my supervisor. Ms. Connors’s fingerprints have already been saved electronically.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Summerfield,” Watkins replied, accepting the bag. “I am handing this package over to Mark Riley to be examined for fingerprints. Our videographer, Katie Rood, will follow him to his lab and record everything he does to capture the prints.” Watkins turned to Riley before he left the room. “How long will this process take? I’m sure our investigative team as well as I would like to know the contents of that letter as soon as possible.”
Riley gave the question some thought before replying. “I can probably knock out the preliminary check in a half hour to get you a copy of the contents of the smaller envelope. To speed things up, I’ll email you a photo you can share as you see fit.”
Katie followed Mark from the room. The rest of us remained there, silent. At length, Norris spoke to the captain. “I’d like to review the letter’s contents as soon as possible, but I’d rather not sit around waiting.”
Watkins checked his watch. “Tell you what. I’ve got some contracts in my office I need to discuss with you, Carol. Why don’t we check those off our list while we wait for Mark to take his examination far enough to get us a copy of the envelope’s contents?”
“Is it okay if Val and I wait also? We really want to know what he had to say.”
“Why don’t you two take a break while you wait,” he said, smiling at Val the whole time. “I’m having coffee and snacks sent in to celebrate what I consider a major break in this case. Carol and I will join you as soon as we’ve completed our business.”
“That would be great,” Val answered for us. “I’ll use this time to finish the notes I’ve been taking this afternoon.” She withdrew the little notebook she’d been writing in, like she was expecting a gold star from him.
“Ah, good idea.” He didn’t bother to ask me what I’d be doing. Within seconds, Val and I were alone in the conference room.
“Too much?” she asked.
“The notebook?” I replied.
“No, showing it to him.”
I turned to her. “Why did you?”
She flipped a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You handled the video thing, which I don’t mind, because I had no idea what we were supposed to do. I guess I wanted him to know I’d contributed to our findings today also. That he’d made a good decision asking me to join you while Herc was off elsewhere.”
“I get it now, but I don’t think it was necessary. He’s already impressed with what we accomplished today. Even though it was our dumb luck to be the first to contact Connors since she was informed of her cousin’s death.”
“How long will we have to wait to see the letter?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I hope not too long because I don’t want to miss talking to that next-door neighbor before he takes off for the evening. But I have to say, I don’t ever recall one of our superiors celebrating a possible break in a case with us by having goodies sent in. This case is turning out to be unique.”
Watkins wasn’t gone long. He walked in carrying a pastry box. A minute after he arrived, an intern showed up with a stainless steel coffee server and paper cups for hot beverages. “Help yourselves, ladies.”
“Where’s Carol?” I asked.
“She had an appointment she postponed when I summoned her for our meeting. I promised to forward a copy of the letter to her as soon as we have it.”
I poured coffee for the three of us. “Have a brownie,” he said. “The intern I asked to get them didn’t have time to get to Dawson’s Deli, where I usually treat my sweet tooth. But these look pretty yummy also.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I will.”
Val stared longingly at the brownies but then waved them off.
Watkins watched this act, because that’s what it was. My daughter loves brownies. “Go on, Valerie,” Watkins said.
“I really shouldn’t,” said someone in my daughter’s body with a demure voice I didn’t recognize.
He picked one up, put it on a napkin and handed it to her. “I insist.”
She made a thing about appearing to give in. “Well, when you put it like that …”
“I do.”
Although they both took small bites of their respective goodies, they stared at each other while they ate. I was embarrassed for both of them. Or was I just feeling like a fifth wheel? “Speaking of Dawson’s Deli,” I said, searching for something, anything, to break the logjam of silence, “I understand you play racquetball with Chuck Dawson?”
Watkins blinked his way back to reality. “Yes, I do, although it’s been a while. I take it you know Chuck?”
Val now found her voice also. “She’s been seeing him lately.”
Watkins raised a brow. “Oh? I thought old Chuck was a confirmed bachelor.”
“He’s still that,” I said, feeling some explanation necessary. Why had I felt compelled to bring up his name in the first place? “We’re just enjoying an occasional meal or bottle of wine together.”
“Good for you both,” he replied. What else could he say?
The mutual admiration society was brought to an abrupt halt when the captain received the photo of the letter Mark Riley had promised him. Watkins forwarded his copy to me and Val. “Ro, would you mind doing the honors? We’ll read along with you as you read out loud.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d love to.”
* * *
To whom it may concern:
* * *
I, Mortimer James Fonseca, am writing this letter because I fear my days on this earth are numbered due to something I inadvertently saw yesterday. As I was leaving a site I was inspecting at 1480 Cheswick Avenue, I saw a man dump something small into one of the trash barrels in back of the building across the alley. Had he not appeared to be so furtive, checking around to see if anyone else was watching, I would have continued on to my car without thinking further about him.
* * *
We stared at each other briefly before I moved on. It wasn’t until I was driving home that I got to wondering why someone would be back there disposing of trash in the first place. If he lived in the building, it’s a high-end condo complex that employs its own building maintenance person. If he didn’t, why that building? In my job I’m trained to take in my surroundings to recognize discrepancies, but I’m not so great observing people. All I can say about this guy is that he was Caucasian, average height, medium to dark hair and he was wearing a jacket and dress pants. Oh, and the side of his right hand was bandaged.
* * *
A white SUV followed me all the way back to my apartment building but moved on as soon as I pulled into my parking lot. I drive one of the department cars that has our logo on both sides, so I’m sure he knows not only where I work but now also where I live. As I was walking to my apartment, I ran into the man who lives in the apartment next to mine. I believe his name is Calvin Jones. I recalled he drove a truck for the city sanitation department and asked him if it was typical for individuals other than the person in charge of building maintenance at that particular building to dispose of their own trash rather than leaving it in the areas provided for it within the building. He replied that it wasn’t but also sloughed it off as just someone who wanted to make sure something was picked up as soon as possible.
* * *
But Jones’s dismissal of my concern didn’t convince me. The scene at the trash barrel outside that building intrigued me enough that I returned to the building later that evening to check for myself what had been thrown into the trash barrel. I parked in front of the building and made sure no one else was around before I approached that particular barrel. A small brown vial rested on top of a pile of paper trash. Wearing latex gloves, I retrieved it, placed it in a small plastic bag and took off before anyone saw me.
* * *
At home, I examined what I’d found. The label was made out to a Nora Adams. I had no idea who she was. The date of issue was from a couple months ago. The bottle was about two-thirds full of pills. The label said the bottle contained timolol. I emptied the contents onto my desk; there were two kinds. I did an internet search and learned that, among other things, timolol was a beta blocker used to prevent myocardial infarction. Half the pills spread out on my desk matched one of the online photos. After checking the internet, the other half turned out to be nitroglycerin tablets, used as an emergency measure to treat heart attack.
It was possible there was a legitimate reason for him to be throwing away these pills, but just the same, I decided to keep them. I wouldn’t mention them to anyone. I’d already said too much to Jones.
* * *
Maybe I’m being too paranoid, but I don’t have a good feeling about this guy. I fear for my life. I have made arrangements should I be right. My cousin, Jessica Connors, has received this letter and given it now to you, since I obviously was correct. I hope this provides you with enough information to bring my killer to justice. I don’t know who my murderer was or why he killed me, other than I saw him at that trash barrel getting rid of what could have been life-saving meds for someone. The bottle is in my locker, #4, in my apartment building’s storage room. The key is taped to the top of the middle drawer in my desk. I leave it to our trusty police department to do your job.
I waited for the captain to respond first. “That’s … some letter,” he said at length. “Your thoughts, Ro, from what you’ve learned about the man.”
