SR Murders--7

1

SR Murders2

By Andy Stephenson and Geri Fitzsimmons 3

Chapter Seven4

The clock on the wall informed him it was ten after five; unlikely he would receive any further reports today. Joe Farley finished off a cold cup of coffee and considered his options. Too early to eat, too early to sleep, he thought, then remembered he hadn’t made it to the bank. Rose would have a fit. A smile creased his mouth. Maybe his ex would call to bitch and he could talk to his daughter.5

The desk monitor still held a floor plan of the Baine site, on his desk laid the file. Hours had gone by since he began his search and he hadn’t been able to find out anything about Michelle’s boyfriend. It seemed that no one at Michelle's place of employment had been close to her. She had been very much a loner. She was conscientious and dependable, but she had not tried to make friends. Hal was unknown to them. To her neighbors he was only a body going in and out of her apartment. 6

Now, a check with the post office confirmed no one but Michelle Baine received mail at her address. Tapping his pen on his desk, Farley considered his next course of action. 7

A thought hit him. Picking up Michelle's file, he located a number and dialed.8

The ‘hello’ squeaked into the receiver reminded him of a child.9

"Ms. Beverly Oleander please?"10

"May I ask who wants to know?" The woman’s voice took on a clearer tone yet, still there was hesitation.11

"This is Detective Sergeant Joseph Farley, 61st. precinct, New York City Police. Is Ms Oleander at home?”12

“Oh, I’m sorry…yes, of course, this is Beverly Oleander.”13

Farley couldn’t help but grin. The sudden transformation from suspicious to accommodating made him shake his head. He should warn her such a reaction isn’t in a person’s best interest. Sometime later he would, but not now. Now he wanted her cooperative. He said, “I'm looking into Michelle Baine's death. Can I ask you a few questions?"14

"Oh God, it was so awful! If only I could have done something to help her."15

"Yes, it is a sad waste." He paused to allow for the expected tears. Then continued, "Ms. Oleander, Michelle had a boyfriend named Hal? Can you tell me anything about him?"16

She sniffled. “Hal?” she said with a question as if attempting to recollect. Then it seemed to come to her and she said, “A few months ago, Michelle called me. She was so excited. She’d met this great guy. I think he managed or was assistant manager at an electronics store; televisions, computers, that sort of thing."17

“Did she tell you they were living together?”18

“I don’t think so. Not then. They’d only been out a couple of times.”19

“What about his last name? Did she mention that?”20

He could hear an intake of breath as if she mouthed words under it, trying to reclaim a memory, hal..hal..good something.21

She repeated out loud, “Hal Goodsomething…like Goodson…Goodman…I’m not sure. I remember teasing her that he must be good.”22

"You wouldn't happen to know anything else about him?"23

"Well, he has black hair. I remember Michelle raving about the color. But no, not really. I never met him. I’m sorry."24

“Don’t be. Actually you've been a great help,” Farley said. “If you think of anything else, do call."25

"Detective?"26

"Yes?” 27

"Was there something suspicious about Michelle’s death?"28

"We just have to investigate everything pertaining to it—right now I’m tying up loose ends."29

After Farley rang off, he doodled for a while creating every form of Good known to be a last name.30

At six thirty he checked his cell phone even though it hadn’t rang. He felt disappointed his ex hadn’t bothered to call. Even her screeching was better than no response. Tomorrow he’d make the bank, setup the direct deposit, then he’d have a reason to call her.31

He went through his usual closing ritual, before slipping into his seven- year- old Impala and heading for Mallory’s Pub. 32

At around the same time Mark Gheil’s new Porsche moved smoothly through the early evening traffic. Its motor purred, unlike the owner who fumed. He’d known when the Old Man offered him the proposition that he should have left it alone. He had even tried his damnest to convince Connelly they were on dangerous ground. Late night talk shows drew more than their share of weirdoes. If you legitimized one by having an honest to goodness Psychiatrist answering the callers—you were opening yourself up to lawsuits.33

Of course the Oldman always got the final decision. ‘Mark, this fellow has a voice that can soothe a rabid dog. Wait till you hear his demo.’34

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Mark vented his temper on the steering wheel. It was the Oldman’s baby—so long as the ratings held. Wait until things started going wrong—then Connelly would quietly divorce himself from the show.35

“Knew we had a winner.” Mark mimicked Connelly’s Boston twang as he swung the car into his parking garage. Attempting to work off his rage, he took the stairs at a run.36

Ten flights up he was breathing heavy and his chest hurt, still he didn’t pause until he reached his door. He stood outside, waiting for his lungs and heart to slow down before he slipped the key in the lock.37

“I’ll walk alone, and to tell you the truth I’ll be lonely…” The sound of her singing like the scents of Lavender and Lilac christened his world with a feminine touch he’d been lacking for years. The thought of Bridgett made coming home a radiant experience. 38

Of course there also was the addition of her cat, Thomas. The overweight golden tiger, stretched leisurely on Mark’s leather Barca lounger. Mark threw his keys at the beast in an effort to dislodge him before any more scratches were added to those he’d already put there. Thomas stood up; his green eyes glared at the intruder. Recognizing Mark, he sniffed at the keys, managed to knock them on the floor, then lay down and rolled about, insuring that gold sheddings amply covered the seat.39

Bridgett must have heard the key in the lock or the keys jingling on their trip from hand to chair to floor, the door to the kitchen opened and she came through.40

Bridgett O’Reilly the absurdly Irishness of her name always brought a grin to Mark’s Jewish lips. ‘Abe’s Irish rose’ and how she fit that picture. Barely a hundred pounds bouncing on a five-foot three frame all delicately curved in the proper places. “Off Thomas, off.” She shooed the cat. “Darling.” She smiled at Mark. “You look beat.”41

“Just a victim of management. They kept me there for four f..ing hours knowing full well I’m due back at the studio by twelve.” Mark looked longingly at his hairy Barca lounger. Then collapsed on the matching couch and kicked off his shoes.42

“Poor boy,” Bridgett cooed. 43

In spite of his dark mood, Mark replied, "Hi Love, something smells delicious."44

”It’s almost ready.” Brigitte curled up next to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Tell me how it went.” Her mouth formed a pout and she wiggled her nose. 45

He laughed. He knew there was no way to dissuade her when her mind was made up. She'd be after him to discuss whatever was worrying him until he gave in. Might as well get it over with. He tried for a convincing smile and said; "You know I try not to bring the office home with me."46

"Well, you're loaded with it today." Laying her auburn hair on his shoulder, her face tilted till her green-gold eyes flashed up at him.47

"It’s that obvious, is it?” Mark thought fast. He didn’t want to burden her with the whole truth. “It's just that I've been trying to get at least a ten percent increase in Neil Harris 's salary. He's good for the station and I would hate to see him walk."48

"Has Neil given any indication that he’s dissatisfied?" When Bridgett got up, Mark marveled. Her movements could barely be felt. She breezed over to the wet bar and claimed a bottle of Chardonnay she’d set to chilling earlier. Filling two glasses she lightly stepped back to Mark.49

Mark was still contemplating, how much he should confide. As he accepted his glass, he stayed on safe ground and said, "No, Neil seems to like KJAB well enough, but I'm afraid that someone will try to buy him out from under us. The ratings have gone up considerably for the graveyard shift."50

Bridgett slipped at wine and her eyes glittered above the shine reflected in the crystal. "Hmm, well lamb, you'll just have to convince them. Surely, but you could persuade the Devil hisself out of his horns. "51

He laughed at the brogue she replicated only when desired. He said as he toasted her with his own glass. "It's all a matter of sales, but that's not my department."52

"What does the station manager say?"53

"Don says that the ‘powers that be’ won't go higher than five percent. That's almost an insult."54

“Well…I have this Dutch Oven filled with Beef Bourguignon and some crusty French bread… if it sits there much longer, that would be an insult.”55

Mark was on his feet quickly. “My favorite. I know what we’ll do. You make it again on Sunday, and I’ll bring Oldman Connelly here for dinner. I’ll get Neil a twenty percent raise after one taste.” His arm sneaked around her narrow waist and he squeezed her against his hip.56