Carol Ericson - Eyewitness

When she turned to the fourth page, a pair of dark eyes challenged her, the twist of the lips knowing and seductive. She traced her finger around the face.

Kieran sucked in a breath. “Someone you know?”

“I’m not sure.” She brought the book closer to her face and smoothed over the wavy plastic with the side of her thumb. “This one looks familiar.”

“Let me see.” Kieran took the book from her hands and zeroed in on the photo with his good eye. “Kind of looks like Sam.”

“Sam? Elena’s Sam?” She jerked the book out of his hands and squinted at the mug shot. “Too old.”

“I didn’t say it was Sam. Just looks a little like him around the eyes and mouth.”

Detective Marquette cleared his throat. “Who’s Sam?”

“Michael’s seeing a therapist in Coral Cove, Elena Estrada. Sam Frost is her boyfriend.”

“How old is Sam?” Marquette scribbled Sam’s name on his notepad.

“He’s about Elena’s age-early fifties maybe? What do you think, Kieran?”

“Is that how old Elena is? At first I thought her new boyfriend was younger.”

“Well, he’s in good shape and I think he dyes his hair.”

“Doesn’t matter if the guy’s her age or if she’s robbing the cradle, this man-” he tapped the photo “-Bud, The Pelican, Pelicano, died in prison last year.”

“W-was he one of Johnny Del’s cohorts?” Devon flipped to the next page to escape The Pelican’s intense stare.

“Yes, he was.”

Devon shivered and studied the six-pack on the following page.

Kieran scooted his chair back, stood up and stretched. He paced behind Detective Marquette and leaned over his left shoulder. Pointing to a thick folder on the table, he said, “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.” The detective shoved the folder toward the edge of the table where Kieran scooped it up.

He flipped through the pages as Devon finished perusing the mug shots. She slapped the book closed. “Nothing. I don’t recognize anyone there from my apartment house or from Coral Cove. If one of those guys did kill Granny Del and is now after me, he’s keeping himself well hidden-and for no reason. I didn’t see a thing.”

“We’ve made it clear we have no witnesses, Ms. Reese.”

Kieran dropped the open file folder on the table and jabbed his finger at the drawing of Granny Del’s kitchen. “That’s where she was found?”

Devon leaned over. “Yeah, in the kitchen. She must’ve been washing dishes or something. That’s how the guy drowned her-dunked her head in the kitchen sink. By the time I showed up, the sink was overflowing.”

“And what’s this?” He scraped his fingernail around a rectangle penciled on the wall.

“That’s an old dumbwaiter. We don’t use it.”

Tilting his head, Kieran massaged his temple above the eye patch. “You think the killer was trying to get information from Mrs. Del Vecchio, Detective?”

“Probably. Why else kill the old lady?” He smacked his fist on the book. “All these guys had already done their time. There was always a rumor that Johnny Del had stashed away some money from one of their heists. Someone probably came looking for it and tried to get it out of Johnny’s widow.”

“That’s crazy. Mrs. Del Vecchio didn’t have a lot of money.”

Detective Marquette shrugged. “These rumors get passed around among family members until they become legend. Now I need you to sign a statement that you viewed the photos.”

He slipped a piece of paper from the front of the binder and placed it in front of Devon. “Sign and date here and put your comments in the box.”

“I guess I should put that number twenty-three, The Pelican, looked like Sam, huh, Kieran?” She held the pen poised above the comments box on the form. Then she glanced at Kieran, still studying the crime scene drawing. “Kieran?”

“Huh?” He looked up, his brows drawn over his nose.

“Sam and The Pelican. Should I note the similarity?”

“Yeah. Detective Marquette?”

“Sure. Why not? I’ll look at Pelicano more closely if you want.”

Devon scribbled in the box and then shoved back from the table. “Let’s get home. I’m going to text Elena first.”

She pulled her cell from her purse and typed in a text message to Elena asking if everything was okay. A minute later, Elena responded with, ok on picnic.

“Ready, Kieran?”

He dropped the file folder on the table. “Let’s go.”

Kieran’s eye ached, and he fumbled in his pocket for the small bottle of ibuprofen he kept there. They thanked Detective Marquette, who promised to keep Devon informed and suggested she find another place other than Coral Cove for R and R.

When they got in the car, Kieran popped the pill in his mouth and gulped some warm water from the bottle in the cup holder.

“What’s wrong?”

“My eye’s throbbing.”

“Is that why you were so distracted back there?”

“How far is your apartment from here?”

“Not far. I’m in North Beach. It’s a few blocks north of here, up Columbus.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“I’d like to have a look around.”

“My place? We can’t get into Granny Del’s.”

“Your place will do.” He flattened the pad of his thumb against the two vertical lines between her eyebrows. No need to worry her about a hunch. “Since we’re so close, I’d like to see where you and Michael live.”

She started the engine and backed out of the parking slot. “Okay, but I promised Michael I wouldn’t go home.”

He covered her hand on the steering wheel. “And I promised him I’d take care of you.”

It took less than five minutes to arrive at the front of Devon’s apartment house-an old Victorian that had been converted. She parallel parked in a small space and reached across his knees for the glove compartment. She pulled out a plastic card and hung it from her rearview mirror. “Parking permit for the neighborhood.”

He followed her up the three steps to the front door and stood to the side while she inserted a key. So how’d the killer get in without anyone seeing him?

Kieran looked up. No security cameras.

Devon slipped through the front door and propped it open for him with the toe of her shoe. She pointed to a door to the left. “That’s the infamous laundry room. If I hadn’t decided to put a load in that day, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

“If you hadn’t decided to put a load in that day, you never would’ve come back to Coral Cove and run into me.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

She closed her fist around the material of his shirt and pulled him near. “You would’ve found me, Kieran. Wherever I was, you would’ve found me.”

He pressed his lips against hers and then ducked around her to peek into the laundry room. “Your back was to the door when it slammed shut?”

“Absolutely. I thought it was the annoying teen who lives on my floor.” She tugged at his arm. “This is Mrs. Del Vecchio’s apartment.”

Kieran tried the handle. No yellow tape crisscrossing the door, but it was locked. “You’re right above her?”

“This way.”

He followed her up the stairs and waited while she unlocked her door. Stepping through the door, he blinked. Sun soaked through every window in the place. Casual furniture and colorful prints on the walls didn’t make the apartment look like some place you’d want to flee. “It suits you.”

“It used to suit me. How am I ever going to get Michael back here?”

“When you’re safe and this is all over, he’ll heal.” He took a turn around the room. “Is your layout the same as Mrs. Del Vecchio’s?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

He wandered toward the kitchen, sudden apprehension clawing at his gut. He glanced at the sink, imagining it full of sudsy water and an old woman struggling for her life. He stopped short and gripped the edge of the tiled counter. “Is that the dumbwaiter?”