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“Yeah, we’ll see how much things change. I know he won’t be going diving with me whenever we have a few days off,” Tessman lamented.
“You never know.”
“Thanks, Angel. I better get back to it.”
He brought the food with him and returned to his office to continue the desk work, which for this case was a necessary evil.
Charlie
Becca Elliot once again sat on the hood of her car; her gaze fixed on her sister’s two-story home. She still couldn't comprehend what had taken place inside the walls. Her thoughts were dominated with pain and death, her sister running for her life only to be gunned down in her kitchen. The police detective assigned to the case had contacted her that morning, asking that she meet him here.
“Miss Elliot,” his familiar voice startled her out of her dark thoughts.
“Detective Davis,” she greeted him, having found him standing beside her. She’d been so trapped by her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him drive up. She glanced behind her car. Sure enough, his silver sedan was parked there.
“I know you don’t agree with the findings, but the coroner is standing behind his ruling. The investigation has officially been closed. I'll be taking the crime scene tape down. You may enter the house now.”
Her gaze flickered to the yellow police tape that surrounded the house and swayed in the unseasonably warm seventy-two-degree breeze.
“I have to warn you, though, you know, the condition it is in.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I will contact that crime scene clean-up company you suggested.”
She didn’t expect that anyone had cleaned the mess up. And since it had sat this long, she could only guess how hard it would be to clean up all the blood. The girls’ mattresses would have to be hauled away. And their rooms would have to be painted. So would the kitchen. The hardwood floors would have to be stripped and sanded. What she really wanted to do was just take a match to it and burn the house to the ground.
“Again, I'm sorry for your loss,” the detective said. He paused for a moment. “You should take some time. Go away somewhere. You know, take care of yourself.”
She didn’t look at him. She stared straight ahead at her sister and brother-in-law’s house, where so many happy memories were made. “Nick didn’t do this,” she told him for at least the fortieth time.
“I know you believe that, but you just never know what some people will do.” He’d told her that before. He doubted she'd believe him now. He watched her for a few seconds. “Are you still planning to pursue a private investigator to look into it?”
For the first time, she faced him. “Wouldn’t you? I know Nick didn’t do this,” she said, her confidence unwavering. “Whoever did it has to be caught.”
“Look, I’m not agreeing with you, but if you’re going to do this, I know of this group who may be able to help. They’re good. I don’t know for sure if they take this kind of case or what they charge, but I know they’re legit and won’t rip you off.” He brought up a contact app on his phone and searched for the group he was thinking of. “If there’s anything to your, if it wasn’tyour brother-in-law, this group can figure it out and will refer actionable items back to the Schaumburg Police Department. They’re mostly ex-military and are thorough.”
Reading between the lines, she surmised that this group he was referring her to was respected enough that they’d be believed. She was encouraged by the detective’s offer. Could he believe the coroner was wrong? “Yes, thank you. I'll take the name and phone number.” She plugged the contact info into her phone as he read it off to her. “Thank you, Detective,” she said.
“Miss Elliot, Becca,” he said more gently, “take care of yourself.” Then he crossed the street and took down the crime scene tape.
After he drove away, Becca dialed the phone number he'd given her.
Angel was at her desk at the Shepherd Security Building, working on budget spreadsheets. She saw the incoming call on the public agency line. They received very few legitimate agency calls on that line. It was normally solicitation cold calls. “Shepherd Security, how may I help you?” she answered, expecting the normal sales call.
Becca was put at ease by the pleasant female voice that answered the phone. She’d had wagered it would have been a gruff male voice. “Hello. I was given this number by Detective Davis with the Schaumburg Police Department. He thought you might be able to help me,” she said.
“May I have your name please?” Angel asked, more than a little surprised.
“Becca, Rebecca Elliot.”
“Hello, Miss Elliot, may I call you Becca?”
“Yes, please do.”
“My name is Angel. Is the number you’re calling from the best number to reach you at?”
“Yes, it’s my cell.”
“May I inquire about the nature of the work you have for our agency?”