The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) by Kim Knight (red seas under red skies .TXT) 📗

remained mute. The wine bottle slipped from her grasp and dropped to the wood floor, smashing at her feet.

She struggled to suck in a breath of air. Staggering, her soles lost traction, and she kicked glass across the floors, slipping on the wine. Her vision darkened, and she fought to hold on to consciousness. Swinging her arms, she tried to put up a fight and fend off her attacker, but she wasn’t quick enough.

Her vision blurred. The grip tightened, and darkness swallowed her whole.

19

He Said. She Said.

Detective Dunne

The next day, at nine in the morning, Dunne sat in his office. He double checked the alibi Chelsea had given him on the 9th and 10th of August, three months ago.

On the ninth, she was at work—the day before his body was found on the tenth—and she spent the evening alone, or so she had said. So, the last time she had spoken to Tony was the morning of the 9th, which both her phone records and the victim’s confirmed.

Dunne frowned at the paperwork.

Lance, suspect number two, still had to account for his whereabouts during this time.

Yesterday, after he and McDonald had returned to the station after their visit to Manisha’s home, they had applied further pressure during a second interview. Lance had stuck to what he had said earlier in the day, stating he was at work too. But he couldn’t recall if he was with Chelsea the night in question, three months ago.

They could have been together, Dunne thought, especially considering Chelsea’s alibi was the same.

He picked up the call log records he’d picked up from the mobile phone service yesterday, and scanned the pages, coming to August 9th and 10th.

“Bingo”

Chelsea’s number was on Lance’s call log.

He shook his head. “So, you did call her, huh?” He traced his finger over the paper, farther down the call list. “Not only that night, but also during the day too,” he said satisfied.

Dunne’s gaze moved back and forth over the sheets of paper, careful to not miss anything. He had the evidence needed, proof he didn’t have three months ago, as no one was aware of Chelsea’s involvement with Lance, until two days ago when the mystery package had appeared.

Slowly, he came to a theory. Even though Lance couldn’t firmly account for his whereabouts, due to the time that had passed, his phone records—black and white evidence—placed him in direct contact with Chelsea around the time period in question.

For a moment, he sat back in his chair.

Damn. Three months ago, when Tony’s body turned up, and the investigation started, he hadn’t been aware of the affair. This gives Lance and Chelsea motive.

“Better late than never,” he said, then continued to study Lance’s call records, comparing them to Chelsea’s.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Yeah,” Dunne called out.

Shelly, the receptionist, walked in with another letter in hand.

“What now?”

“You’ve got another one. This just came in with the rest of the mail.” She approached, placed an envelope on his desk, then turned on her heels to leave.

At the door, she stole a nervous glance at Dunne.

“Thanks,” he said, holding her gaze. “It’s all under control, Shelly, promise.”

“Okay.” Shelly nodded and left him in silence.

Once she closed the door, Dunne stared at the envelope. He retrieved a pair a

of gloves from his inside pocket, opened up the package, and slid out another note.

“What is this?” Dunne looked at the address. “Some random location in south west London. “He threw the paper on his desk and shook his head. “You’ve gotta be shitin’ me.”

Dunne knew better than to show up at an unknown address, not knowing what or who he was looking for. But one thing was certain, someone was directing him on this unsolved case. Someone who didn’t want to be known. Someone, he needed answers from.

He tapped the address into the Metropolitan Police’s data base. His eyes widened at the result.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Tony Patel was the owner.” He scrolled through the details and picked up the phone.

“Yeah, what’s up?” McDonald answered.

“We need to check out one of Tony’s properties,” Dunne said.

“Why, what’s up?”

“Our little friend sent another note. Seems like there’s something there. What, I don’t know.”

“Are you bull shitin’ me?” McDonald asked.

“Nope.”

McDonald whistled into the phone. “All right, you wanna interview Chelsea again first?”

“Hold up. That’s not all.” Dunne ignored his partner’s question and pushed on. “It turns out Chelsea and Lance had contact in the time leading up to the murder.”

“This does gets better,” McDonald chimed in.

“He contacted her. Could have been to confirm the job was done.” Dunne took a sip of his coffee, then spat the cold fluid out into his cup. “Let’s get over to the house first and follow up on this note. Then we’ll check in on Chelsea.”

“Send me the address.”

“Will do,” Dunne said, then placed the phone on the receiver.

Within a few hours, Dunne had secured a search warrant for the property Tony owned, which now, Chelsea Jackson was the owner of. He and McDonald rounded up a team of officers and headed over.

Let the fun begin, a smile of satisfaction tugged at his mouth.

20

The Eyes Don’t Lie

Detective Dunne

Three hours later, outside the mystery address, the team of officers parked their cars.

Dunne and McDonald jumped out of their cars, followed by four other men. As a group, they approached the door.

The house was well-maintained, but the front garden looked as though it hadn’t been tended to for some time.

Dunne pressed the bell—there was no response.

“Hello, anyone home? This is Detective Dunne. Could you come to the door please?” He called through the letter box.

His gaze moved around the inside of the house.

“Looks like no one’s living here.” McDonald pressed his face to the front window. He looked through the thin curtains into the living room.

Dunne pounded on the door with a fist, then rang the bell again.

“Hello,” Dunne said. “Is anyone home?” There was no answer once again. “All right, let’s kick it down.”

He motioned to his team, then moved back for one