Golden Girl(68)

She turns the key in the ignition and gets the hell out of there.





The Chief




“Is this room always open?” The Chief is talking to the general manager of the Stop and Shop, a guy named Dick, from Taunton. Dick is very protective of his employees; the Chief likes that. Turns out that Donald, the evening custodian, is nearing his eightieth birthday; he’s a vet on a fixed income and is hard of hearing, and Dick would prefer he be left out of the investigation unless it’s absolutely necessary.

“Yes, it’s always open,” Dick confirms.

“Even when the store is closed?”

“We have a cleaning crew and stockers in overnight and they use this room.”

“How closely is entry to this room monitored?” the Chief asks. “Because someone put those shoes in the trash.”

Dick gives the Chief a list of store employees, then admits that it would be easy for a shopper in the store to slip into the break room undetected. The break room is right next to the public bathrooms. One would only need to open the door, stuff the shoes in the trash, and close the door. Unfortunately, there are no cameras in the break room or in the hallway where the bathrooms are. “Why would we have cameras?” Dick asks. “Just in case someone pops in to dump evidence from a homicide investigation into the trash?”

The Chief leaves the store feeling dejected. It’s six o’clock on a Friday night in July. Andrea is putting together a family dinner, which means that Chloe and Finn have to put their work and social lives on hold—and Ed does too.

On his way home, he calls Pamela Bonham Bridgeman and asks if he can set up a time to talk to Peter.

“About what?” Pamela asks. She’s blunt to a fault on a good day, and usually Ed appreciates this because they all have business to attend to, and small talk can be a waste of time.

“I need his help with the Vivian Howe case,” Ed says. He takes a breath to slow himself down; he’s probably said too much already. “How old is Peter?”

“Nineteen,” Pamela says.

“I’ll speak with him directly, then,” the Chief says. “Would you please give me his number?”

“He’s at camp in Maine until the end of August,” Pamela says. “Cell phones aren’t allowed and there’s no service even if they were allowed.” She pauses while the Chief’s spirits plummet even further. He can’t get anywhere with this case. “Why on earth would you want to talk to Peter about Vivi’s death?”

“I just have a few questions for him,” the Chief says. “But clearly they’ll have to wait. Thanks, Pamela.”



He needs to ask for help. Investigating homicides isn’t his job anyway; his job is to oversee the department. But he misses actual police work and he feels connected to this case, not only because Vivian Howe was a local (and Andrea’s favorite author) but also because he wants to clear Cruz’s name.

Ed calls the Greek. “The Greek” is Nicholas Diamantopoulos, a Massachusetts State Police detective.

“Nicky,” the Chief says. “I could use some advice.”

“I’m on vacation, Ed,” the Greek says. “I’m lying on Mansion Beach on Block Island. I got here forty minutes ago and I’m not due back at the station until a week from Monday.” The Chief can hear a female voice in the background. The Greek is very, very popular with the ladies. “Can this wait ten days?”

Can it wait ten days? Peter Bridgeman, who sent whatever photo that had Cruz so upset, is incommunicado. When the Chief called Lisa Hitt to see if she’d found anything usable on the shoes, he learned that she was on vacation as well.

“Do you have five minutes so I can run something past you?” the Chief asks.

“Five minutes,” the Greek says. “Four minutes, fifty-nine seconds…”

Hit-and-run, the Chief says. Local author of some note, New York Times bestsellers and all that, killed running on her own street. Forensics has, so far, turned up nothing useful, but then the clothes and running shoes went missing from the hospital.

“First I thought it was just a simple mistake, they got lost or whatever, misplaced. Then the shoes show up in the trash in the employee break room at the local Stop and Shop.”

“Random?” the Greek asks, and Ed can tell his interest is piqued. On vacation or no, the Greek is a professional and an unsolved homicide is catnip to him.

“No, I don’t think so. The kid who called the accident in, name of Cruz DeSantis, works at the Stop and Shop. He was a friend of the deceased’s son, and that morning he was driving over there to talk to the son.”

“Do you think that’s who hit her?”

“No,” the Chief says. “Forensics found blood on his car but only on the handle, not the bumper. The woman had a gash on her leg, so it stands to reason there would be blood on the bumper.”

“Don’t assume,” Nick says. “She could have sliced it on a rock when she hit the ground.”

“He’s a good kid, Nicky,” the Chief says. “I know him, I know his dad, Joe. Joe’s an Iraq vet—”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“I think someone is trying to frame the kid,” the Chief says. “The sneakers turning up at his place of employment indicate that. But who is it and why?” The Chief clears his throat. “The kid, Cruz, is Black, so it has occurred to me that race might be a factor.”