Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (top 5 ebook reader .txt) 📗

were not dressed. They were bare. In fact, the investigation ground to a halt after no more than a week because there was zero forensic evidence other than, obviously, her fingerprints and DNA. The only witness was Peter, and he had an alibi. He was with his wife. So, there was nowhere left to go with the case.”

She blinked out the windshield for a while, hunched over her coffee, watching the wet, gray procession of people and vehicles. The only sounds were the listless squeak and thud of the wipers.

“No forensics evidence and no witnesses?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your plan? You know somebody who can read tea leaves?”

“Nyeah… no. I think we can do a little better than tea leaves. Sometimes, little grasshopper, people just ask the wrong questions.”

“And you are going to ask the right questions.”

“I hope so.”

“We just passed the turnoff for the station house, so I guess we’re going to Revere Avenue.”

“Yup.”

We pulled up outside Peter Smith’s at eight thirty a.m. It was a large, Dutch-style red brick with a small front lawn and six steps up to a white front door. I rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened and I glanced up and down the road. Across the way I saw a man open his front door and stand staring at me. He was in his mid to late thirties, medium build with dark hair. He called over, “Good morning! Pete and Jenny have taken the kids to school. They should be back in twenty minutes or half an hour.”

His house was smaller, detached, with a white fence and gate. He stood watching us, smiling. We crossed the road, and I showed him my badge as we pushed through the gate.

“Detectives Stone and Dehan…”

“I kind of figured.”

I frowned.

Dehan said, “Yeah? How’s that?”

He pointed at us both with both his index fingers and spoke as though he were asking questions. “Your physical interactions? The way you relate to each other? You’re obviously not a couple. You’re kind of purposeful? On a mission? Most likely cops.” He pointed at his front door. “You want to wait inside? It’s awful cold.”

I nodded. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

He held out his hand. “Bob, Bob Luff.””

We shook and he led us inside.

It was an open-plan living room, dining room, kitchen with a big bow window that gave a clear view of the Smiths’ house across the way. I glanced into the kitchen, saw two mugs and two plates by the sink. He was making his way to the kettle.

Dehan asked him, “Been here long, Bob?”

“About fifteen years. We moved in a year before Pete and Jenny. We’re the vets! Coffee?”

I told him we’d just had some.

He made himself a mug. He was frowning. “Pete okay?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Just some routine questions about a cold case. If you were here twelve years ago, you may remember it.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh?” He pointed at the chairs and sofa. “Sit. My wife will be back soon,” he added, as though that made it okay to sit. “Twelve years ago…”

Dehan said, “George Bush was president, Chris Brown was in the charts with ‘Run It,’ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was a hit at the box office, it was your third year in this house…”

He watched her say all this with a slack smile. She sat and he sat too. I sat where I could see the Smiths’ house. I added, “And Peter found two arms in his lockup.”

He kind of jerked upright and sighed with closed eyes. “Oh, my goodness! That was twelve years ago.” He glanced at Dehan. There was something reproving about his expression. “Somewhat more memorable than Chris Brown! I remember it well. Poor Jenny was distraught. As was Pete! Imagine! You open your lockup, garage, whatever, and there, staring at you, two arms! It doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s sort of… It always makes me think of Schrödinger’s cat.”

“Schrödinger’s cat?”

He smiled at me. “Well, according to the Copenhagen Interpretation, as illustrated by Schrödinger’s cat, until the box is opened, the cat is both alive and dead.”

I frowned.

He sighed. “The mystery was never solved, then?”

I pulled a face. “Sometimes we look so hard at the essential facts that we miss crucial evidence that is not immediately obvious. Thinking back to that time, Bob, does anything stand out in your memory? Anything that at the time struck you as unusual, remarkable…” I shrugged. “Even if it doesn’t seem relevant. You never know how things are going to link up.”

He sighed again and gazed out at the gray sky. The trees were bowing and tossing, and the odd fusillade of raindrops strafed the glass in the window.

“My wife will be more use to you than I. She has an elephantine memory. Remembers everything, in minute detail, and she notices things. What sticks out for me from that time is that Pete was away a lot. He was a rep for his company, and he’d spend one or two weeks away at a time. That was hard for Jenny.” He suddenly looked scandalized at what we might have thought and waved both hands at us, like he was trying to rub out what he’d said. “Not that she… in any way at all! She was and is an exemplary wife!” He settled down. “It was just hard for her, you know?”

I could feel Dehan’s irritation from where I was sitting. I smiled at her. She asked him, “Did you happen to notice any people in the area who seemed out of place, strange behavior… anything of that sort?”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Well, this is the Bronx, but within the usual bunch of crazies and weirdos, no, nothing stands out in my memory. Nothing that made me stop and think, ‘Hello! What are they up to?’”

Across