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

Dunne pulled out his notepad and flicked through it.

“The notes. If anyone had a motive for directing us toward Chelsea for Tony’s murder, so far, it would appear to be her.” McDonald responded, “with Lance, he’s been in custody, he couldn’t have personally mailed those notes.” Dunne nodded in agreement.

“We last saw Chelsea alive Monday morning, then we pulled Lance in for questioning,” McDonald confirmed, then turned down the heating system in the car. “She, more than anyone, would want Chelsea dead. We need to know where she’s been since we last saw Chelsea alive.”

“True, it’s a possibility.” Dunne entertained the theory with his eyes trained on the house. “Losing her battle to contest the will would be enough to piss her off.”

“Exactly.”

“Then there’s the access to the properties. She was Tony’s wife,” Dunne added.

Both men looked at each other, then back at the house. The lights were on.

“Manisha’s home.” McDonald stepped out of the car. “Or so it appears.”

After locking the doors, Dunne and McDonald strolled over to Manisha’s front door. Dunne rang the bell.

“Damn, shitty London weather,” Dunne whispered under his breath.

McDonald chuckled, then straightened the collar on his raincoat to shield himself from the rain and wind.

The rain hadn’t let up all day. It was now approaching early evening.

A few streetlights flicked on in the background, and footsteps approached the door.

Through the glass, Dunne noticed someone taller than Manisha heading down the hallway. The door swung open with a flash of light.

“Detectives, hi.” Sandip looked from one detective to the other. “Come in. Mum’s in the kitchen.”

Sandip stepped back from the door, allowing them in.

In silence, Dunne and McDonald stepped in.

“Straight on ahead,” Sandip instructed.

Dunne led the way with McDonald behind him. As always, he was on high alert, scoping out the home on the way to the kitchen area.

As they entered the kitchen with Sandip behind them, Manisha was washing the dishes at the sink.

“Evening, Mrs. Patel,” Dunne greeted her.

“Oh, hi, please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?” Manisha called over her shoulder.

“No, no, thanks. We’re fine.” Dunne glanced around the kitchen and got straight down to business. “Mrs. Patel, we need you to come to the station. We have some questions.”

“Questions?” Manisha spun around and face Dunne, wide-eyed. “What’s happened? Why can’t we speak here?”

“This is more formal,” McDonald stated flatly.

“Me? But . . . I—”

“Mrs. Patel, we must go now,” McDonald said. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

She looked from the detectives to her son, standing by the threshold of the kitchen entrance.

“It’s okay Mum,” he reassured her as if he could read her mind. “I’ll come with you and—”

“We have a car waiting outside,” Dunne said. “Sandip, it’s best you stay here. Someone can give you a call when we’re done, and then you can come and collect your mum.”

“Shit, that serious, huh?”

Dunne turned to Sandip but said nothing in response.

Sandip was tall and slender, he looked like a trendy ‘geek’ to him with his dress sense. He removed his round glasses and cleaned them nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Dunne turned to Manisha. “When you’re ready, Mrs. Patel, let’s go.”

24

Theories

Detective Dunne

At the station, an hour later, Dunne snatched up the ringing phone.

“Yeah. Make it quick.” He paused. “I’m heading to Interview One to see Manisha.”

“Detective,” the doctor said. “Just a little update.”

“Doc, what’s the latest.” Dunne instantly recognised the coroner’s voice.

“Chelsea’s approximate time of death was around ten last night. She’s been dead coming up on twenty-four hours now.” Dunne flicked his wrist and glanced at his watch. He noted it was eight-thirty at night.

“Thanks, cause of death?”

“Strangulation, plain and simple, probably a belt.”

“Right, okay, thanks, Doc.”

“No problem.”

Dunne placed the phone down, then headed out. On the way, McDonald strode out of his office, and they met in the narrow corridor.

“Any news?” McDonald slipped his notebook in his pocket.

“She’s been dead almost twenty-four hours. Strangulation,” Dunne said.

McDonald gave a cool nod and adjusted his tie. “Let’s see what the wife’s got to say. I went over the last interview scripts again. She was very clear, stating she had no idea about the affair.”

Dunne considered the situation further. “So, if she lied, and she did, it places more weight on her involvement with the notes—possibly Chelsea’s death too. Only one question, why would she go through all the trouble of sending the notes to frame Chelsea and lead us to the murder weapon, only to finish her off? Doesn’t make sense.”

The question hung in the air between them. Dunne further contemplated the theory he and his partner had pieced together ever since the notes had appeared, as well as the interviews that had taken place. Manisha was the last point of pressure to see exactly what she may have been capable of. Between interviews with Chelsea, Lance, and now Chelsea’s death, all roads seemed to lead to her.

“This is what we’ll find out,” McDonald said.

Dunne shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels. A co-worker headed toward him, he moved out of the way, making room for others to pass him in the corridor.

“Let’s go,” Dunne said. “We have a date in Interview One with the widow.”

25

The Alibi

Manisha

Manisha sat in the interview room, fidgeting with her fingers. She was well aware that on the other side of the blacked-out glass, she was being watched by the officers on guard.

Keep calm, stay in control, she reprimanded herself and tapped her nails on the table.

The door flew upon, and Dunne’s large frame walked in.

She froze, averting her gaze from his and focused on the fine scratches on the wooden table.

Dunne took a seat in front of her. His cologne invaded her senses. The fresh scent filled her nose and caused her to glance up at him briefly. Her eyes moved over his frame.

“Ahem.” He adjusted his tie, then locked eyes with her.

She looked away like a nervous schoolgirl. From