Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (books on motivation .txt) 📗

“I never turn down food.” Kimberley nodded.

28

“Here you are. One BLT with fries and one medium rare cheeseburger with fries.” A waitress with a name tag that said “Sandy” placed a plate in front of Kimberley and one in front of Sam. “Anything else I can get you two?” She gave a toothy grin.

“Nope. All good. Thanks, Sandy,” Sam said while picking up his BLT sandwich.

Sandy nodded and walked away. Sam and Kimberley were seated in a booth across from one another in Andrea’s Café, Dead Woman Crossing’s local diner. It had a fifties feel to it with big red cushioned booths, white tables, and black flooring. It appeared to only have a couple employees, the cook and Sandy, the waitress. Kimberley took a big bite of her burger and squirted a pool of ketchup on her plate for her French fries.

“You want some fries with that ketchup?” Sam teased.

Kimberley tilted her head with a slight grin. “Ketchup is its own food group.”

“So how is it? Live up to your New York standards?”

“I mean, it’s no Shake Shack, or an Emily burger, or Raoul’s or Minetta Tavern or—”

“Alright! I get it.” Sam put up his hands.

Kimberley shot him a small smirk. “No, it’s good. A greasy-spoon burger is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.”

“If you say so.” Sam popped a few fries in his mouth, glancing over at Kimberley. “Detective, this case, where’s your head at?”

Kimberley paused her eating and sat up straight in her seat, taking a drink of water to clear her throat.

“I still don’t think it was an outsider.”

“Why?” Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“The scene was too clean. This person knew the area. They knew what they were doing. Her murder was swift. She never saw it coming, and she trusted this person enough to meet them down by a bridge in the middle of the night.”

Sam nodded.

“Then there’s the mysterious unregistered phone number. She talked to that person several times a week for at least a year. Why wasn’t the number saved? Why did they only call each other? No texts. No voicemails. I think that the phone is the key, and I think we’re going about this whole investigation the wrong way.”

“What’s the right way?” Sam cocked his head.

“I think we need to take a step back. Instead of looking for the murderer, let’s look at the victim. Who was Hannah Brown?” Kimberley raised an eyebrow.

Sam scratched his chin, and when he didn’t speak, Kimberley continued.

“What do we know about her? Aside from where she worked and that she was a single mother, we know nothing. Megan said no DNA evidence, so this was planned. Someone she knew did this, but why?”

“Isobel’s father?” Sam said, throwing out a name. “Maybe she wanted child support.”

“Maybe. I’m still trying to gather that information. I contacted Houston Police Department for help locating him. He’s been out on an oil rig in the Gulf the past couple days, but I’m expecting a call from him this afternoon.”

Sam nodded approvingly.

“There’s also her co-workers. I know Bearfield talked to them, but the reports were minimal, more so about her state of mind the day of her murder. We need to find out what they knew about Hannah. I’d like to interview them again.”

Sam nodded again.

“I want to talk to her mom again too. Find out how often she watched Isobel. Did Hannah frequently go out at night? If so, who was she meeting?”

He nodded again.

“And the daycare workers. Perhaps they know something we don’t know about Hannah. She interacted with them several times a week.”

Kimberley was practically manic as she went on and on about all angles of the case. Her excitement couldn’t be contained. She felt like she was herself again, the New York City detective; the one that asked all the questions, even the hard ones. The one that looked at a case like it was under a microscope. She knew getting to know Hannah Brown on an intimate level would lead them to the murderer.

Before Sam could speak, Kimberley’s phone rang. She pulled it from her utility belt.

“Chief Deputy King,” she answered.

“Hi, this is Tyler Louis returning your call. I got a voicemail from you the other day and a police officer waiting at my door when I arrived home a few minutes ago, telling me to call you,” he said. His voice was deep.

“Thanks for returning my call.”

“What’s this about?” he asked cutting Kimberley off.

“I’m assuming you haven’t heard the news about Hannah Brown.”

“No. Did something happen to her? Is she alright?” The concern in his voice was evident as he spoke a little louder.

“She’s dead, Tyler. I’m sorry to tell you she was murdered.”

Sam watched Kimberley deliver the news to the man on the other end of the phone. His heart broke a little and the memory of him discovering his deceased child and wife flooded his brain. He had arrived on the scene of the accident not realizing his own family was involved until he stumbled upon their broken bodies, bloody faces and motionless eyes, frozen forever. He blinked a few times, wiping away the memory. He never had control over when those images would appear right in front of him but he had learned how to rid them from his mind.

He focused on Kimberley, her lips moving as she spoke—her eyes darting back and forth, her fingers tapping on the table.

Tyler gasped. “Do you know who did it?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, thank you for letting me know, Chief Deputy King,” he said.

“Can I ask where you were September eighth between the hours of two and four a.m.?” Kimberley asked.

“Wait, what? You think I had something to do with this? Why would I do something like that?”

“I don’t think that, I just need to know where you were is all. Just facilitates us ruling people out. Merely a formality, I’m sure you understand. Plus, it helps get Hannah justice.”

Tyler let out a huff. “Working offshore with my crew. I have six guys and