Cold in Murder: Lessons in Murder, Book 8, page 1
Cold in Murder
LESSONS IN MURDER, BOOK 8
Edale Lane
Past and Prologue Press
Cold in Murder, Lessons in Murder Book 8
By Edale Lane
Published by Past and Prologue Press
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Edited by Melodie Romeo
Cover art by Melodie Romeo
This book is a work of fiction, and all names, characters, places, and incidences are fictional or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition February, 2024
Copyright © 2024 by Edale Lane
Contents
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Epilogue
Also By Edale Lane
About the Author
1.
Friday, December 8
Jenna’s gaze lingered over the diamond engagement rings in the cracked showcase just a bit too long. Some were gold, others silver, with tiny shining slivers like shards of ice, huge audacious rocks, classy clusters, cubic zirconia, multifaceted, traditional, sleek, round, heart-shaped, solitaire, three stone, and halo diamond. The choices boggled Jenna’s mind; so did the prices.
“Mr. Bergstrom, do you have security camera footage I can look at?”
Ethan Bauman’s voice dragged Lieutenant Detective Jenna Ferrari’s thoughts back to the mission at hand—apprehend the jewelry store robber from this morning and return the owner’s money and merchandise.
“Yes.” The older gentleman’s hands shook as his despairing gaze passed over his violated shop. Broken glass littered the floor, half of the display cases had been smashed, and the register drawer pried open and emptied. The thief had escaped with about eight hundred dollars in cash, some high-end watches, necklaces, and pendants. However, his efforts were thwarted by the blasting alarm when he shattered the first glass top. Indications were that he stuffed what he could in a bag and skedaddled.
“It’s in here,” Mr. Bergstrom directed and shuffled toward a back door.
“I’m just so thankful he broke in before we got here,” commented a petite woman of a certain age who remained with Detective Jamison while Bauman followed the man out.
“And your name?” Jamison asked.
“Mrs. Bergstrom,” she answered. “Anders and I own Bergstrom Jewelers. This isn’t our first incident, but it’s been years since we’ve suffered so much as a cracked window. Everything is insured, yet it’s still just so upsetting. And of course, if we don’t recover the merchandise and have to make a claim, our premiums will go up. It’s hard to maintain a family-owned business with so many big franchises to compete with,” she bemoaned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jamison sympathized. She looked as stunning as ever in her black, full-length, designer wool coat with her lush, red mane of hair tumbling over the collar. A sudden cold snap, the first major freeze of the winter, had Jenna’s whole team bundling up on a blustery, frostbitten morning. Although Jenna sported a navy turtleneck under her leather motorcycle-styled jacket, she envied Trisha Jamison’s calf-brushing woolen wrap. And while her short crop of black hair was ideal for summer heat, Trish’s flowing strands offered the impression of an extra layer of warmth.
“Would you and your husband be able to provide a list of the missing items?” Jenna asked as she tore herself away from the engagement rings to join them across the small space.
The downtown store was in its own separate building but hemmed in on both sides by walls adjacent to the neighboring stores. Narrow and long, to minimize the street face, it backed onto a service alley. An icy blast assaulted them, blowing the hem of Jamison’s coat, when Detective Ron Owens stamped through the front door. The broken pane by the door handle for the thief to gain entry hadn’t allowed so much cold air up to that moment.
“Guy across the way noticed an old Plymouth Neon, might have used to be silver, peel out down the street a few minutes after the alarm sounded,” reported the big detective with a chunky football linebacker’s build. Even he had thrown on a thick charcoal topcoat over his basic suit. “Didn’t get a plate number, but he showed me where it was parked. We’ll have forensics collect a sample of the oil puddle I found because that clunker is leaking for sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken down a mile from here.”
“Good catch, Owens,” Jenna said and turned back to Mrs. Bergstrom.
“Yes,” the older woman replied. “Let me get out my sheet. I keep a master copy of exactly which piece goes in each slot, so I know when to place a new order if a popular item is running low.”
While she rummaged through a drawer, Bauman and Mr. Bergstrom returned from the other room. The tall, dark-haired Bauman—in his mid-thirties with face-framing black glasses—and the tiny, old, bald man with snowy white skin and hunched shoulders looked almost like a cartoon pairing. “At first glance, it just shows a dude in a puffy coat and ski mask, but I’ll take it back to the office and run it through some enhancement programs, see if we can get something more distinct to go on,” Bauman stated with assurance.
Jenna acknowledged him with a nod, and Mrs. Bergstrom opened a three-ring binder on an undamaged surface. “Anders, they want to know exactly what’s missing.”
From somewhere in her Coach bag, Jamison produced a notepad and pencil. “Please, if you could write down each missing item,” she instructed. “I understand it might take a while, but it’s important if we are to recover all the valuables.”
Long beyond marveling at Jamison’s ease and skill with people, Jenna now merely appreciated having her on the criminal investigations team. It was imperative to match together a variety of skill sets to achieve maximum results—the muscles, the brains, the heart … then what am I?
“Hey, boss.” Jamison caught her attention and Jenna crossed to where she had drifted to a broken display case.
That pretty much answers my question, she supposed. “Yeah? What’d you find?”
Jamison pointed to a red stripe about two inches long, running across a jagged edge of broken glass. A slow smile curled onto her perfect, painted lips and Jenna mirrored her response.
As if on cue, CSIs Wilcox and Davenport bustled through the door, wrangling it shut behind them. “That wind is godawful!” swore the young Brian Davenport. His light brown hair stuck up in an unruly fountain while he hugged a police-blue puffy coat around his skinny frame, clutching his kit.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” greeted Destiny Wilcox with white teeth chattering between blue-tinged lips. In contrast, Wilcox was shorter, curvy, and a good fifteen to twenty years Davenport’s senior. Jenna liked the forensic specialist, who almost resembled an African American version of herself, only taller. It seemed to Jenna that the entire world was taller than her—maybe not Mrs. Bergstrom.
“Good morning, CSI Wilcox,” she returned and pointed at the evidence. “Over here first, if you will. Jamison spotted some blood.”
“Victim’s?” she queried with curious, intelligent ebony eyes.
“Perp’s.” Jenna grinned at her. “Oh, and there’s oil out front in a parking space that leaked from the suspect’s car. Davenport, Detective Owens can show you. You know what to do.”
“We’ll get on it,” Wilcox confirmed while Davenport groaned and spun around toward the door with an expression of dread.
Leaving the collecting of oil, trace, fingerprints, DNA, and other sundry samples to the capable Wilcox and dependable Davenport, Jenna led Jamison back to where Bauman stood with the store owners to wait for their list.
“It’s not that cold,” Owens allowed with a touch of humor as he ambled over to show Davenport out. Between the vehicle description, security video, and blood evidence, Jenna hoped to have the perpetrator in custody by noon. That would give her plenty of time to enact her master plan.
“You seem a little distracted this morning,” commented Jamison on their ride back to the station.
“Do I?” Jenna glanced over at Jamison, wondering if she should expound. Despite being under her professional authority, Trish was about the closest person to being a friend she could name. And she had style—no doubt about it. She might be just the right woman to advise Jenna in making her purchase.
“Actually, you do,” the younger detective confirmed. “Gazing longingly at engagement rings …” she added with mischievous mirth.
Jenna smirked. “When did you get to be such an astute detective, Detective?” An infectiously adorable sound giggled from the passenger seat.
“I’m so happy for you two! When are you going to pop the question, or have you already?” Jamison’s excitement filled the car.
“Well, today is the one-year anniversary of our first date. I thought it would be romantic, and Randi probably thinks I forgot, so it would be a surprise. But that would mean I’d have to pick out a ring today, and I don’t have a clue what to get.”
“She’ll like anything you choose,” Jamison assured her with a cheer
Jenna was more concerned than excited. “Yeah, but I want everything to be perfect. What if she doesn’t really like the ring I pick out and she just says she does? Then when she’s alone, she’ll stare at it in disappointment, and I’ll never know how bad I messed up.”
“Then why not take her with you to the jewelry store and let her choose one she likes?”
Stopped at a red light, Jenna stared at Jamison with jaw-dropping horror. “That’s not romantic. It would spoil the surprise. I mean, we’ve talked about getting married and I’m confident she’ll be thrilled when I ask because I’m the one we’ve been waiting on, who wasn’t convinced I could ever cut it as a decent spouse. But I can’t just take her into the store and say, ‘pick out something.’”
“Why not?” Jamison chirped. “Bennet and I have browsed shops, and he’d say, ‘What do you think looks dreamy?’ and I’d point to a few and coo over them. It’s not like he bought it on the spot.”
“Are you two engaged?” The light changed, and Jenna had to return her eyes to the road. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
Another round of bubbling laughter. “Not yet, but we’ve talked about it. We have parents to consider, and it gets very complicated with the religious angle to work around. His parents want a traditional Jewish wedding officiated by a rabbi; mine want it in their church with the minister who baptized me as a little girl. Then they keep asking how we’ll raise the children.” Trish sighed and her enthusiasm waned. “We need to work all that out beforehand and decide if it’s even worth it. I mean, we love each other and things between us are great. My rich, socialite parents are so happy I’m dating the assistant district attorney, and they aren’t the least bit anti-Semitic, but they still insist on inserting their wishes. I just envy the fact you two don’t have to worry about parents being in the mix.”
Suddenly, a horrified expression filled Jamison’s face, and she spun toward Jenna. “I’m so sorry! That was terribly insensitive. I know Randi lost her parents and yours are, well—”
“It’s complicated too,” Jenna interrupted. “And apology accepted. I don’t care what my parents will or won’t do or say about me marrying another woman, even though we’re speaking again—sort of. They likely will never approve, but at least they like Randi; that I know, so it’s something. It helps that I’m older and they live in a different state, so what I do doesn’t really reflect on them anymore. I hope my brother and sister will come to the wedding, though. Randi would be so thrilled to get married in her LGBTQ-affirming church.” A grin blossomed on Jenna’s lips. “And that would drive my Medieval Catholic parents crazy!”
“I want to be invited,” Jamison entreated.
“Oh, you’ll have to be in the wedding party,” Jenna confirmed, “along with Randi’s sister—if she’ll agree to it. Randi says she’s not sure; Ellen is supportive of her, and she seems to like me, but she has little kids and a husband. Randi will ask her anyway. Now, back to the rings. Will you come with me to help pick something she’ll like?”
Trish’s green eyes rounded. “Me? I don’t know what Randi will like. You’re the one who lives with her, who knows her like the back of your hand. How could I help?”
“Because you have style. You know things about jewelry, and I don’t know squat. She’s traditional, but also creative. She likes quirky, unique things and conservative, old-fashioned stuff too. But this decision is forever—I hope. I’ve got to get it right.” Jenna bit her lower lip, her brows knitting together in anxiety. Randi deserved the best Jenna could give her, whether it was the best version of herself or the perfect ring. This would be a lasting symbol to say, “I love you.” I must get it right.
“If you want me to, I’ll go with you,” Jamison conceded. “But I’m not telling you what to buy—no way, no how.”
“Good enough.” In the back of the station, Jenna parked the car and turned off the key just as it had finally warmed up inside. “Now, let’s catch this clumsy robber so we can go shopping.”
2.
Back at the office, Jenna wrote up her report while waiting for the lab to do their thing. Jamison hummed at her desk, scouring DMV records for an old Plymouth Neon still operating in the county. Owens was calling pawn shops to ask about anyone trying to unload jewelry.
“I’ve cleaned up this video as much as possible,” Bauman announced. He transferred the images to a new large-screen monitor hanging on the wall. Captain Myers had said it was the department’s early Christmas gift to the criminal investigations unit.
Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. While not as grainy, it still revealed little. The thief broke a hole in the glass above the door handle with a hammer and let himself in. It looked like a male in a dark, puffy coat wearing a black ski mask and thin gloves. He approached the register first and used the claw end to pry open the drawer.
“Pause it there,” Jenna ordered. “Can you zoom in?” Bauman did as requested. With the robber’s arms bent working on the cash register, his coat sleeve pulled up enough for a wrist to show through. “White guy, maybe Asian or Hispanic, but not Black.”
“Great,” Jamison chirped. “I can cross off any Black guys with old Neons registered to them.”
“Thanks. Start it up again.”
The video showed him shoving money into his pockets before using the hammer on the glass showcases. He visibly jumped when the alarm sounded and winced when he cut his hand on the broken glass. His head jerked back and forth from stuffing watches into a cloth brandy bag and checking the front windows for approaching police. After about a minute, he rushed out the door he came in from, leaving the rest of the loot behind. Bauman stopped the projection.
“What did you notice, Owens?” Jenna asked.
He raked a broad hand over generic brown hair a little longer than a crew cut and puffed out a breath. “Skinny guy, jitters, unprofessional job, grabbing just what he could in sixty seconds … I’d guess an addict who needs a fix. Now, a pro would know how to disable alarms and video cameras and stuff. No partner, no lookout …”
“I concur,” Jenna said. She glanced at a pile of papers on his desk. “Why are you still waffling about taking the sergeant’s exam? I thought you would have put in your paperwork already.”
He shot her a steely stare of irritation. “When do I have time to study? And what if they want to transfer me to some other department? All the best action is here, and you’ve all grown on me.”
“Just so you know, I talked to Captain Myers about it last week,” Jenna admitted, returning her attention to her paperwork.
“You what!” Owens eyes and mouth rounded like a cartoon gorilla.
She shrugged. “He assured me you wouldn’t be transferred if you didn’t want to be and that you had certainly put in the time and miles to earn those stripes. Besides, don’t you have like a zillion kids to provide for?”
“Four,” he answered with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “Thing is, the first one’s graduating high school in May. Kid takes after his mother, wants to go to college instead of the Army, and isn’t in line for a sports scholarship. And then there’s three more of them. Even on a detective’s salary, I can’t pay for all that. So, you probably saw my application and study book there, where I didn’t hide them well enough to evade prying eyes and nosy neighbors. I can knock down bad guys all day long, but pencil-and-paper tests?”
“I made the same excuse to the lieutenant when I was debating about taking the detective’s exam, and she gave me all kinds of encouragement,” Jamison said. “You’ve already passed that one; how hard can sergeant be?”
He hunched his shoulders and scowled, muttering, “Had to take it twice.”
“So what?” Jenna threw back at him. “Take it as many times as necessary and don’t give up. Think about your quartet of white-collar kids who deserve an education. Besides, if you don’t hurry up, Jamison over there’ll beat you to a promotion and you’ve got at least ten years on the job over her. The kid is determined to make lieutenant by thirty.” Jamison beamed at them.
