Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read with me .TXT) 📕

my face for a second. “Sure.” She paused. I stood. She said, “You OK, Stone?”

“Never better. Let’s go.”

I gave her the keys to the Jag and we went downstairs.

The bank and phone records were on my desk. There was only one thing I was interested in and I leafed through the phone records until I found it. Friday and Saturday, 13th and 14th May, 2016. There were not many calls: a couple out of state to Pennsylvania, and a cell phone that called her late Friday and just before midnight. It lasted ten minutes, and then called again Saturday at two PM.

I dialed the number. It rang three times and was answered by a woman who sounded flustered. “Yes? Who is this?”

“This is Detective John Stone of the NYPD, ma’am, who am I speaking to?”

“This is Mrs. Silvia Sterling. What do you want?”

“Mrs. Sterling, how long have you had this number?”

“Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, ma’am, it is not a joke. It is part of a homicide inquiry. If you like, you can call the 43rd Precinct and ask for Detective John Stone, they’ll put you through to me. However, it would save time if you simply told me how long…”

“Yes, all right! I have had this number for about a year. Do you need the exact date?”

“No, thank you, ma’am. That is all I needed to know. You have a good day.”

I hung up and called AT&T and asked them to tell me who had that telephone number in May of 2016. They said it would take time and I went upstairs to talk to Inspector John Newman. When I knocked and went in he didn’t look real pleased to see me.

“John.” He sighed and gestured at the chair opposite him. “Come in, sit down. You look troubled.”

I nodded. “I’m not happy about the deal with Wayne Harris.”

“I know you have reservations, John.”

“It’s more than reservations, sir. I have real concerns.”

He spread his hands. “All right, let’s hear them.”

I thought for a moment. “For a start, we don’t need him. We are closing in on a prime suspect, Jimmy Fillmore…”

“Have you got an address?”

“Not yet.”

“A photograph so we can put out an APB?”

“No, not yet…”

“National Insurance number? Anything more than a name?”

“Not yet, sir.”

He studied my face for a moment, then said, “What are your other concerns?”

“Wayne’s story, about how he was at the river and witnessed Angela’s murder, it just doesn’t hold up for me.”

“Why not?”

“For a start, I went and lay down on the spot where he said he was lying, smoking a joint and gazing at the stars, when the killer showed up.” I shook my head. “He wasn’t lying there. You couldn’t. It was covered in stones and prickly bushes. When we took him there, to find Angela’s purse, he didn’t know the path to that location: he knew the path to the spot where Angela was killed. Also, he needed to get up close to the spot where her purse was buried, and then he knew the exact spot. That is not consistent with someone who saw it concealed from almost a hundred yards away—in the dark.”

He nodded. “They are all good points, and classic John Stone, insightful thinking. But it is not… substantial enough to warrant stopping the deal. We have a serial killer out there, John. It was your own intuitive brilliance that found him…”

“Sir, my gut tells me that Wayne Harris has developed a dangerous fixation on Detective Dehan. If he is released on the strength of this deal, she could be seriously at risk.”

He grunted and looked down at his thumbs, as though he was trying to decide which one he liked best. “You believe Wayne could be our killer and he is playing a deep game?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that whenever she has been present at an interview with him she has had to withdraw from the conversation because he cannot focus when she is present.”

He frowned at me. “What do you mean?”

I sighed again. “He fixates. He seems to believe that he and Detective Dehan have some kind of special connection. He began talking about the primal drives of the deep unconscious that united them. It was not good stuff to listen to, sir.”

“It is natural that you should feel protective toward her. She is your partner in more senses than one…”

I fought to keep the irritation from my voice. “Sir, I would feel the same way if he was talking this way about Maria Sanchez at the local grocery store. He was unquestionably present at Angela’s murder, he knew the exact location of her purse, and he is fixating on a young woman who fits the model of our killer’s victims. That for me is a pretty powerful reason to stop the deal.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You understand that this is a very difficult call, Stone.”

I shook my head and said simply, “No.”

There was irritation in his eyes when he opened them. “All right, let’s look at it this way. Suppose we talk to Wayne, he gives us the name of the alleged killer, and it does not pan out. It leads to nothing. Then he stays where he is in prison and you are free to continue your investigation into either this James Fillmore or Wayne Harris.” He shrugged, “However, if, on the other hand, the information he gives us is good and we catch the man responsible, then we have taken a serial killer off the streets and you have your assurance that Wayne Harris is not the man and, in all probability, he is not fixating on Carmen but merely having a bit of fun at your expense.”

“A