Her Last Word(82)

“None. For the longest time she kept to herself. She told everyone she was an artist, but she never painted. Her art studio was as pristine as the day she set it up. The canvases were all blank.”

“There’s a woman in town named Kaitlin Roe who’s interviewing people related to a cold case. Do you know if she ever met with Mrs. Crowley?”

“I heard Mrs. Crowley talking to a reporter on the phone once. But I think that reporter was a man.”

“You’re sure?” Adler asked.

“Yes. She was speaking on her cell, and his voice carried.”

“Any other visitors or callers?” Quinn asked. “You work in this house every morning. You hear and see things.”

“No. It was a good job and it paid well, but every day I was glad to get out of that house.” She shook her head. “And now she’s dead.”

“Did you ever hear the name Jennifer Ralston?” Adler asked.

“Yes, she was a friend of Mrs. Crowley’s. She visited the house sometimes. I cleaned for her once a few months ago.”

Adler tensed. “You had a key to Jennifer Ralston’s house.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear what happened to Ms. Ralston?” he asked.

“No.”

“She was murdered in her home.”

Mrs. Wallace sat back, and her face tightened with tension. “I don’t have time for much television. I didn’t know.”

“What did you do with the key to Ms. Ralston’s house?” Adler asked.

“When I receive my work assignments from the central office, they give me a key. I turn it in at the end of the day with my time sheet.”

“You do that even for regulars like the Crowleys?”

“Yes. The company is very security conscious.”

“Did you ever bring any keys home?” he asked.

“No, never. I’d get fired for that.”

“Who else lives in this house with you?” Quinn asked.

“It’s me. Sometimes my grandson comes over to play.”

“Who’s your boss?” Adler asked.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, ma’am, you’re not in trouble. You’re actually a big help.”

“My boss is Kelly Dixon.” She supplied her number.

“Thank you,” he said.

The detectives thanked Mrs. Wallace, and once in the car, Adler called Kelly Dixon at Margie’s Maids. His call went to voicemail, and he left his name and number.

He drove directly to Café Express, a funky shop with purple walls, modern art, and beads hanging over the front window. It looked as if it belonged in the city near the university and not in the suburban West End.

Out of the car, they crossed the lot and stepped inside. The scents of coffee and cinnamon greeted them. The shop had a collection of round tables and wooden chairs all painted vibrant colors. The place was empty.

Quinn glanced at her watch. “It’s almost closing time.”

A young woman holding two clean pitchers came out from the back. She glanced up and smiled. “Can I help you?”

Adler showed his badge and introduced them. “We’re trying to retrace the last few days of a murder victim.”

Her smile fading, she set down the pitchers and dried her hands on her green apron. “I’m Dot Lawrence, and I own the shop. I’m here a good bit of each day.”

Adler pulled up Erika’s picture on his phone. “Have you seen her?”

Dot studied the picture, nodding almost immediately. “Sure. That’s Erika. Are you saying Erika is dead?”

Adler accepted his phone back and tucked it in his breast pocket. “She is. When was Erika here last?”

“My God, that’s awful.” Dot brushed a loose strand away from her flushed face with the back of her hand. “Last Wednesday. She missed Saturday.”

“When she was here, did she meet with anyone?” Adler asked.

“Yeah. A guy. Had a young face, nicely dressed. He seemed very into her when she spoke. He was always taking notes during each of their meetings.” She shrugged. “Erika looked nervous.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No, sorry. He always paid in cash. I do remember his order: black coffee, heavy cream, and a couple of sugars. I don’t suppose that helps you too much.”

“You have security cameras?”

“Can’t afford one. But there are shops around here that do. I can tell you Erika was always here at 8:15 a.m. on Wednesdays and at 6:00 a.m. on Saturdays. He came in right after.”

“Did she meet with anyone else?” Quinn asked.

“No, just that guy.”

“Ever overhear them?”

“He was after something,” Dot said.

“Why do you say that?” Adler asked.

“A feeling. You stand behind this counter long enough and you learn to read people.”

Adler nodded. “We’ll check into the cameras, but if we can’t find one that monitors this store, would you be willing to sit down with a sketch artist?”

“Absolutely. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”



INTERVIEW FILE #23

NOTHING TO LOSE

Monday, May 21, 2018