Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read aloud books TXT) 📗

Calatrava, Susan Carter, Ernesto Cortez, Ira David, Mohamed Eze, Maria Garcia, Peter Heseltine, Lenny dos Santos, Toni Sotomayor.

There was a vague familiarity to several of the names. I thought aloud: “By the very nature of the classes, Dehan, more than one of these is going to have a rap sheet. That was the whole point of the exercise, after all.”

She paid no attention to me. Instead she said, “You like apples?”

I looked up from the sheet. She was staring at the screen. She thumped the enter key and said, “Well? Do you?”

“Sure, I’m not…”

She stood and walked over to the printer, came back with a couple of sheets of paper and tossed one of them at me.

“Well, how’d ya like them apples?”

She read aloud as I scanned through it. She was the only person on Earth who could do that without annoying me.

“Leonard Arbuthnot dos Santos, twenty-nine years of age…” She shook her head. “This kid’s been in and out of detention centers since he was thirteen: shoplifting, mugging, possession… OK, he did time ’98 to 2004, for assault with a deadly weapon. He was charged with attempted murder, but there was a self defense angle and he pled to the lesser charge. Two years later he was charged with selling heroin but walked because the defense alleged the evidence was wrongfully obtained. He also beat a guy to within an inch of his life, but because it occurred concurrent with and as a part of the other offense, the evidence was also inadmissible. January 2015, he is arrested, charged and successfully convicted for the murder of Mahalia Campbell, AKA Cherry Cam, a prostitute. He was her pimp. She’d been skimming off the top to pay for her habit and he…” She looked up at me. “And I quote, severed her head with a kitchen knife.”

“Oh…”

“Yes indeed.”

“Them’s powerful good apples, Dehan. Where is Mr. dos Santos now?”

“Upstate, in Malone, maximum security. He injured three cops during his arrest. He’s a very bad man.”

“Upstate? That’s almost in Canada.”

She was looking at her phone. “Yup, it’s on the border. Interstate eighty-seven, five or six hours. Road trip.”

“Does it seem strange to you that it never occurred to Helena to mention this guy?”

“Maybe she didn’t know. He hadn’t murdered anybody yet, and he’d been let off his previous offense on a technicality.”

I sighed. “We’ll see when we get there, but I am willing to bet he is not the shy, retiring type. I’m willing to bet he stands out in a crowd.”

She flopped back in her chair and stuck a pencil in her mouth as though it were a cigarette. “She’s just a crazy broad, Stone, with her head full of dumb-ass ideas about compassion and understanding, giving people a second chance, not judging people by their appearance. One of those New York liberals who never climbed out of her European car long enough to get mugged.”

“You are a strange and disturbing creature, Dehan. Those are not dumb-ass ideas. I happen to believe in those ideas myself.”

“Sure,” she said with a deadpan face. “Me too. I was just kidding. When was the last time you were mugged, by the way?”

“I have never been mugged. But that has nothing to do with not getting out of my European… Call upstate, wiseass, make an appointment and book us in somewhere comfortable. I’m going to call Helena and ask her about this guy.”

“Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say, boss.”

I called Helena. It rang twice and a fruity, fluty voice said, “Aloh, Magnusson residence here. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Ebba, this is Detective Stone. May I speak to Mrs. Magnusson, please? It is quite important.”

“Yoh, one moment please.”

Fifteen seconds later, Helena came on the line. “Hello, Detective, I gather you received the list.”

“Yes, there is one person on the list I am interested in. I wonder if you could tell me a little more about him.”

“If I can, of course.”

I glanced over at Dehan. She was talking into the phone and scrawling something on a piece of paper. I said, “Lenny dos Santos.”

“Oh yes, Lenny.” There was a smile in her voice. “He was amusing. We used to laugh a lot with Lenny.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he was funny. Quite outrageous. I seem to remember he was talented, too. Of course no discipline, and no desire to understand grammar, or the mechanics of language.”

“Sure, but I am more interested in what kind of relationship he developed with you.”

“With me?” She sounded surprised.

I repressed a sigh. “Yes, of course. Did he admire you? Did he display affection toward you? Did he ever try to see you or talk to you alone, outside of class?”

There was a small laugh. “I have no idea if he admired me. He never spoke about my books, if that is what you mean. Displays of affection? He was big and noisy, and he was always embracing the girls in the class, me included, but not more than the others. I never saw him outside of class, Detective. If he ever made an attempt to see me, I was blind to it, or he was too subtle.”

“Mrs. Magnusson, I need you to try a little harder. This is very important. Was there ever anything unusual, or that struck you as odd, in Lenny’s attitude toward you?”

Again the laugh, with a faint patronizing whiff to it. “What have you done, Detective? You scanned the list and found the black student, and now he is your prime suspect? If you are suggesting that Lenny, or any of my students, was my husband’s killer, I am afraid you are very much off track. Lenny was a kind, sweet, noisy clown who was incapable of hurting anybody.”

“I see. I have just a couple more questions, Mrs. Magnusson, and then I’ll let