Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

I made a face of curiosity and surprise and dropped into my chair. “Really?”

“Night before last, she complained to Lynda about the party going on till the early hours. Lynda told her to take a hike. She says she called the cops and a car came around. By that time the boys had gone, but she said there was another man who turned up, there was a violent row, she’s pretty sure the guy was beating up on Lynda, though she can’t be certain. When the cops arrived, Lynda told them there was no problem and they would keep it down. Shortly after that, the guy left in a dark sedan.”

“And around and around we go... I seem to remember once before we had too many suspects. And that time the answer was staring us in the face, too. OK, we’ll leave Akachukwu, Mr. Oni, to meditate on his future for a while, and go and have another talk with Lynda and maybe Jack.”

I went to stand but she was giving me a funny look. “You mind taking this one on your own, Stone?”

I frowned at her. “Why?”

“You said before that you wanted to review Rosario’s case file. You keep saying we’re missing something that is staring us in the face. I think you’re right, and I think it has to do with Rosario. If you don’t need me, then I’d like to review her case, in detail. Maybe the thing we are missing is in that file.”

I stared at her for a long moment, then said, “I need you.”

She looked momentarily startled.

I smiled. “But I agree you should review her case. Call me if you find anything.”

She watched me stand and leave, without answering.

In the car, on the way to Lynda’s house, I kept going over in my mind how she had seemed when we spoke to her. She hadn’t looked like a woman who had been beaten up in the last few hours. The absence of bruising didn’t say much. Men who are in the habit of hitting women soon learn to strike where it doesn’t show. But it was a different kind of bruising that was missing with Lynda: a bruising of the mind and soul, a latent fear that you can see in the eyes, that tells you she has grown accustomed to wincing and cowering. It was a bruising I had seen in Mary Irizarry, but not in Lynda Graham.

When I got there and rang on the bell, she opened the door almost immediately. She looked surprised to see me. She also looked up and down the road to see where Dehan was.

I smiled. “I’m on my own, may I come in?”

“Course! You want a grog? Or are you on duty?”

“I’m on duty. I don’t want anything, thank you. Can we sit down, please, Lynda?”

She gave a little frown. “Sure. Go ahead.” She gestured at a chair and we both sat.

“Lynda, if I take you down to the station, and have a female police officer, or a doctor, examine your body, will they find bruises?”

She sighed and made a face like I was being a pain in the ass. “No. Has Mrs. Paglieri been on at you? Look, the party went on a little too long, things got a little wild…”

“I thought you didn’t remember…”

She closed her eyes. “All right, you caught me. I’m sorry. My delightful neighbor complained. Two very polite coppers came around, asked us to keep it down. By that time, the boys had already left.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

I felt a wave of irritation and fought to control it. “Come on, Lynda! Do I look stupid? What car does Jack drive?”

She closed her eyes again and sighed. “This is so fucked up. He drives a clapped out old BMW…”

“What color?”

“Black. He phoned me. It was late, I don’t know, around one I guess. It was at the same time as that bitch next door complained. He wanted to know if the guys had left. He could hear the music and Luis and Sebastian laughing. He got mad and said he was coming ’round. I told him not to. Then the bionic bitch said she’d called the police. So that was all kind of a downer? And Seb and Luis left. Two minutes later Jack turns up, like a fucking, raving lunatic, and starts shouting at the door. I knew the cops were coming, so I dragged him inside. He was still shouting his fucking head off when they arrived. I mean, where does he fucking get off? He’s not even my boyfriend.”

“So what happened?”

“They told us to keep it down. I told them we would. They left, and after a while Jack left.”

“How much of a while?”

She shrugged and sagged. “I’m just shit with time, you know? I guess it might have been about two? Half two?”

“Two or two thirty. He didn’t hit you?”

“He wouldn’t fucking dare!”

“You should have told us this when we first spoke to you, Lynda. It is not smart lying to the cops. Have you seen Jack since?”

She shook her head. “No. I think he’s kind of ashamed?”

I stood. “How old are you, Lynda?”

She looked surprised at the question. “Twenty-seven, why?”

I reached for the door. “Because it’s about time you started growing up?”

Her cheeks went pink and I stepped out into the sunshine, feeling unreasonably mad.

It was a short walk to Jack’s house. All the way, I tried to imagine him holding a gun and shooting Sebastian through the window of the Toyota that night. Sexual passion of one sort or another is the prime motivation for murder—it always has been and always will be. Sex and murder go together like oysters and champagne. And in some ways Jack fit the bill better than Akachukwu—at least for my money.